Both went sprawling, but they were up quickly and dashing toward the door of the little hut, as it now appeared to be. From behind, the wolf-pack, seeing their prey so near, leaped forward with renewed energy.
“Open the door quick!” shouted Jack.
Boris laid hold of the knob, turned it and pushed vigorously. The door opened and Boris stepped back to let Jack pass in first. The lad hesitated a brief moment and then sprang inside. Boris would have followed, but at that moment three gray figures launched themselves through the air.
Boris’ revolver spoke twice—his two last cartridges were now gone—and two of the enemy fell to the ground; but the leap of the third wolf—the largest of the pack—carried him to Boris’ shoulder.
The Russian was borne to the ground.
He was up in a minute with a terrible cry, and seizing the wolf in both his great hands, he plucked him from him; then, turning, he threw the animal squarely into the pack as it dashed upon him.
The pack gave back and Boris took advantage of that moment to spring within the hut and slam shut the door; even as the wolves, recovering, leaped against it.
Inside the two fugitives hurriedly barred the door and sank to the floor, tired out from their exertions.
“Safe!” panted Jack at last, getting to his feet.
“I guess so,” returned Boris. “They can’t get in here unless there is a window open. Look around quickly.”