All the afternoon the tireless old man worked laying in a supply of fuel and making things snug, not allowing the boy to help, but making him “tend camp” lying on a pile of warm furs beside the fire.
CHAPTER IX
THE TIMBER WOLVES
Early the next morning Martin roused Larry for breakfast. The old man had been up an hour and was ready to start on his hunt as soon as breakfast was finished, but he had let the boy sleep as long as possible. While they ate Martin gave Larry final instructions as to what he was to do during the day.
“Rest all you can,” he instructed, “and don’t go far from camp under any circumstances. Don’t let the dogs loose even for a minute. It isn’t likely that they would wander off, but they might get started after a rabbit and wind up chasing caribou or fighting wolves. Anyhow don’t give them a chance.”
At the mention of wolves the boy looked anxious. “What if the wolves came near here—came right up to the camp and wanted to fight Jack and Kim?” he asked.
The old man pointed to the little rifle standing against the wall. “Give ’em the thirty-eight,” he said. “But they won’t come very near,” he added. “They’ll be howling around in the distance of course, because they will scent our cooking. But at worst they wouldn’t dare come near until night; and I’ll be here by that time. And always remember this: a wolf is a coward; and your thirty-eight will knock dead in his tracks the biggest wolf that ever lived. Just keep the little gun strapped on you all day and you won’t be afraid or feel lonesome. Next to a man a gun is the most comforting companion in the world.”
Larry followed Martin’s instructions almost to the letter. He strapped on the gun and loafed about the camp-fire all the long forenoon, varying the monotony by patting and talking to the dogs, who lolled luxuriously beside the fire where Martin had tied them with double leashes. By noon the period of idleness palled on the boy who had entirely recovered from the exhaustion of the day before. So he took his axe and spent a couple of hours gathering fuel although Martin’s huge pile was still more than sufficient for another day.
At intervals he heard wolves howling at a distance, but that had now become a familiar sound, and he paid little attention to it. When the sun was only an hour high he began getting supper ready, keeping a sharp lookout for Martin who might appear at any minute. He had planned an unusually elaborate meal to surprise and cheer the old man when he returned, and he was so occupied with the work that he was oblivious to everything else, until the dogs startled him by springing up, bristling and snarling fiercely. Thinking that they had scented or sighted the returning hunter Larry ran out to look for him, shouting a welcome. But there was no sign of the old man.
In dismay he noticed that the sun was just setting, and on looking through the trees in the direction indicated by the dogs’ attitude he saw the silhouettes of four huge, gaunt wolves skulking among the trees. The odor of his elaborate cooking had reached them, and as night was coming on they were emboldened to approach.
The sight of the great creatures snarling and snapping in the gloomy shadows made the “goose flesh” rise on the boy’s skin. And while the presence of the dogs was a comfort, their attitude was not reassuring. They pulled and strained at their leashes, bristling and growling, but sometimes whining as if realizing that in a pitched battle they would be no match for the four invaders.