AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF
Crack!
The report of the pistol in that confined space sounded loud and clear, and brought Sam and Jack Wumble to their feet with a bound.
"What's the matter, Dick?"
"What ye firing at?"
"Some wild animal. It just leaped over me!" cried the one who had used the firearm. Dick was now on his feet, too, and all stepped away from the shelter of the cliff.
Following the discharge of the weapon had come a short sharp bark or yelp, showing that the animal had been hit. Now followed more barks and yelps from a distance.
"A fox—an Alaskan fox, thet's wot it was," said Jack Wumble. "An' I reckon as how ye hit him, Dick."
"I'm sure I did, for I aimed right at him, and he wasn't over twenty feet away," was the reply. "Wonder if he'll come back?"
"I don't think so—not if he's hurted," returned the old miner. "He must have been putty hungry to come so clost. Must have smelt our grub."