I knew that Rock Island was infested by that species of wild animal. Some years before my father and I had killed three of the beasts on the south shore during the winter.
I tugged at the rope that bound me with might and main. Soon my right wrist was so chafed that it began to bleed.
I was afraid the scent of blood would attract the wolf’s attention, and in this I was not mistaken; for presently he stopped growling and took a deep breath.
But my tuggings at the rope were not without result; for presently I managed to squeeze my left hand through the tight opening. It hurt to do so, but in the excitement of the moment this was not noticed.
My left hand free, I tried with all my power to make my right hand follow.
Meanwhile the wolf, scenting the blood, stopped growling, and broke into a short bark, not unlike that of a terrified dog. This struck straight to my heart, for I knew that he was now getting ready to attack me.
My right wrist was so lacerated by the rough rope that I found it impossible to withdraw it. In trying to do so I merely made the blood flow more freely, and this soon reached the wolf’s nose and made him more savage than ever.
He disappeared for a moment again, and I could hear nothing of him. But I was certain he would not remain away for any great length of time. Perhaps he had companions in the vicinity, and had gone to call them to the spot.
A moment later his lonely howl arose on the night air calling to his mates. I listened with strained ears, but heard no response.