The three hunters were now snowed in for the winter. “We have denned up like the bears,” Bruce told Ray, “and now is your chance to make up rest and sleep.”
However, the campers were not idle. Wood had to be cut and carried in, two meals had to be cooked and eaten, and moccasins, clothing, and blankets needed attention. There was very little dishwashing, because the hunters had no dishes outside of a kettle, a frying-pan, and three tin cups. The lads tried fishing, but they had no luck.
All the campers made three snowshoe trips after the moose meat. On these occasions they always spent a night at the storm camp, which made a pleasant break in the monotony of their winter life, and robbed the trip of all hardship. [[222]]
On these trips they saw grouse, rabbits, and squirrels, but no big game. The moose had left the country. On the last trip, several wolves followed them almost to the home camp. “We ought to shoot them,” Ganawa said again, “if we had more powder and lead. Hunger is making them bold.”
“How often does a wolf eat?” asked Ray.
“My son, a wolf does not eat often in winter, when game is scarce, because on many days he cannot catch game. If he can make ten good meals or twelve all winter, he will not starve, but he will be thin. The wolves are hungry. We have seen no tracks of moose or caribou. There are not very many rabbits in the country, and wahboos and his tribe are wise. They know enough to live in the thick brush of swamps, where it is difficult for mahungeen to catch them.”
A few days later Bruce had an experience with a wolf which made him sorely regret that he had not heeded Ganawa’s warning [[223]]never to go away by himself without taking his gun along.
Near the spruce swamp, which they passed on their way to the hunting camp, Bruce had seen a number of grouse. The three hunters had really lost all count of the days, but after they had moved into their winter camp they decided to keep one day a week as Sunday. So one Saturday afternoon Bruce started with a bow and some blunt arrows to get a few grouse for their Sunday dinner, for all felt that they would be a welcome treat.
About a mile from camp he saw a lone wolf come out on the trail. The beast had heard and smelled Bruce and now he came slowly forward, his teeth flashing and his shaggy hair bristling on his back and shoulder. The brute looked lean and hungry, and Bruce felt his own hair rise on his head. He had never seen a wolf act so bold as this one, and he reached instinctively for his hunting-knife, and found to his horror that he had forgotten to put it back in the sheath [[224]]after he had cut some birch brush for a new broom.
To shoot blunt wooden arrows at the wolf would have been useless, to turn and run for home would mean sure death if the hungry beast followed and attacked him. There was only one thing to do. Fight for his life barehanded. Bruce had done considerable boxing with the boys in Vermont, and now he squared himself for the attack.