Jimmy gave a cry of dismay.
“Fire into ’em,” said the man against the wall.
Jimmy loaded quickly and fired again. As the third wolf fell the others drew away, dragging one of the carcasses with them. The man against the wall now sent a bullet after them and they broke into flight.
“Quick,” said Jimmy, “before they come back!” He ran to the man and put a shoulder under his arm.
“That’s my good leg,” said the man, dryly; “come the other side.”
“Well, hurry,” said Jimmy. “Here’s the door. There ought to be a staple about here. Steady a minute. Land sakes, man, don’t faint yet. Wait till we’re inside. So—careful of the sill. Don’t trip. You’re all right now. Drop down anywhere. I must get the door fastened. You can’t strike a light?” He fumbled hurriedly with the staple and tongue inside the door. Then he drew a breath of thankfulness.
“Queer,” he said, controlling his excitement, “we haven’t had any wolves here this winter. Did you bring them with you, sir?”
But the stranger had fainted.
Jimmy made a light and set a torch burning in a socket against the wall. Then he examined the stranger’s broken leg. Then he looked around the cabin. It was as bare of restoratives as an empty cornfield.
He shook the stranger. “Wake up,” he said. “You’ve got to tell me what to do.”