Paul, with a renewal of his fear, resumed his trail home. He wished to run, but Amesbury had told a story of having been followed by three or four once, when he was unarmed, and had stated that the fact that he had not increased his pace, and had given the animals no evidence of fear, had prevented them from attacking him. “An animal knows when you’re frightened,” explained Amesbury. “Let him feel that you’re in fear of him, and he’ll attack. If you’re ever followed, keep an even, unhurried gait, and they’ll be shy of you. But start to run and the beast will do the same, and overtake you every time.”
So Paul kept as even a pace as he could maintain under the circumstances. Now and again he glanced back. The wolves were following. For a little way they seemed not to be lessening the distance between him and them. At length, however, he discovered that they were coming closer and closer—very gradually, but still gaining upon him. Once or twice he stopped and they stopped, but when he started forward so did they.
When Paul made the second halt he noted with alarm that the wolves had shortened the distance between him and them, since he had first discovered them, by half. He knew then without a doubt that they had marked him for their prey.
He had not yet reached the point where Dan had parted from him in the morning. It was all he could do to restrain himself from breaking into a run, but this he was satisfied would prove immediately fatal.
At length the wolves were less than a hundred feet from his heels, and when he reached the branching of his own and Dan’s trails they were less than fifty feet away. He realized now that they were preparing for the attack. He could not hope to reach the cabin.
He halted before a clump of thick willow brush that grew along the stream, and faced about. The wolves stopped, sat on their haunches as before, their red tongues hanging from their mouths. He could see the fierce gleam of their eyes now.
He resolved to try again to frighten them, and again he gave a wild yell, stepping a pace toward them. They drew in their tongues and snarled, showing their wicked fangs. He who has seen the snarl of a wolf will understand Paul’s sensations. There was no doubt now of their intentions.
Paul was afraid to turn his back upon them. He felt the moment he did so they would spring. The cabin was still a half mile away. He waited, his axe grasped in both hands, prepared to strike.
This position was held for ten minutes, though it seemed an hour to Paul. Presently the animals took to their feet, and gradually edged in, snarling now in savage malevolence. One at last made a spring. Paul saw the preparatory move, swung his axe with all his strength, caught the beast square on the head, and it fell lifeless at his feet. At the same instant a rifle shot rang out, and the other wolf rolled over, also dead.