Slowly the afternoon wore away. In the meantime the sky grew darker, and the snow came down so thickly that but little could be seen in any direction.
“I must say I don’t like this,” remarked the old hunter, with a grave shake of his head. “Reckon I had best go across the lake and see what has become of those lads. You won’t mind staying here alone, will you?”
Fred did mind—not having forgotten about the bear. But he hesitated to say so, and put on a bold front.
“Go ahead, but don’t stay away any longer than is necessary,” he said, and a few minutes later Joel Runnell departed on his search for the missing ones.
CHAPTER XIII
LOST IN A BLIZZARD
To Joe and Harry the sight of so many half-starved wolves was certainly a dismaying one. They were vicious-looking creatures, and the fact that the first arrivals had quickly devoured the beast they had brought low proved that they would stop at nothing in order to satisfy their hunger.
Without wasting words, each of the youths fired into the pack, and by good luck two more of the creatures were killed. The others retreated for a minute, but then came forward once more, to rend the dead bodies and snarl and fight over the choicest pieces.
“That was lucky,” said Joe. “But those dead ones won’t last long.”
“What had we best do?” questioned his brother. “Run for it, or climb into the tree?”
Before an answer could be given to this query three of the wolves advanced on the lads, snarling more savagely than ever. Not wishing to be attacked before he could re-load, Harry leaped up into the lower branches of the tree in which the two deer still hung. Joe followed, and both climbed still higher out of harm’s way. More wolves came up, until eight were stationed at the foot of the tree, all snarling and yelping and leaping, their polished teeth showing plainly, and their eyes reflecting the cruelty of their natures.