"They won't come back," was John Barrow's comment. "They have learned to respect us." And he was right, the wolves bothered them no more.
While the guide was busy finishing the beast which had been too much hurt to retreat, the boys turned their attention to Jasper Grinder. They saw he had fainted, and noticed the blood dripping from his shoulder. His body was slowly leaving the tree crotch where it had rested.
"He's coming! Catch him!" cried Sam, and as the unconscious man came down they did what they could to break his fall. Fortunately he landed in the deep snow, so the fall proved of small consequence.
"He's shot, that's what's the matter with him," said Dick, after an examination. "Who fired at him? I'm certain none of us did."
The question could not be answered. Bringing out a blanket, they placed Jasper Grinder upon it, close to the fire, and John Barrow made an examination of the wound, picking out a couple of the loose buckshot.
"He was probably shot from his own gun," said the guide. "More than likely he dropped the piece from the tree, and it went off when it struck the ground."
They bound up the wound carefully, and did all they could for the sufferer. Then, while Dick watched over Jasper Grinder, the others got rid of the wolves' carcasses by dragging them into the timber, and then set to work to prepare the midday meal.
It was fully an hour before Jasper Grinder was able to speak, and then he could say but little. But he explained how it was that he had been shot. He wanted to know if the wolves had been driven off, and begged that they would not leave him alone again.
"We'll stay by you, now you are down," said Dick sympathetically. "We are not brutes, even though we haven't any great love for you."
"Thank you; I'll not forget your kindness," returned Jasper Grinder, and for once it must be admitted that he meant what he said.