The two wolves did not stop running, but went after Harry, snarling and yelping directly at his heels.
Then, with a lightninglike movement, the brave boy swung around, and, without bringing his gun to his shoulder, fired almost directly into the open mouth of the leading beast.
With hardly a sound, the wolf toppled over, knocking his companion down as he fell.
This gave Harry a moment’s respite, of which the exhausted boy was not slow to take advantage.
He came to a tree whose branches were scarcely seven feet from the ground, and, with a jump, landed in several of them. He managed to haul himself up just as the remaining wolf made an unsuccessful attempt to bury his gleaming teeth in his leg.
But, alas! as Harry reached the branches in safety, his gun slipped from his hand, and went down into the snow under the wolf’s feet!
He was now practically defenseless. And the worst of it was every one of his chums with their guns were at least a hundred feet or more away.
“Here’s a fine mess!” he muttered to himself, as he looked down and surveyed the situation. “If I had that gun I could easily settle that fellow, but without it I can do practically nothing.”
“Hullo, Harry! where are you?” sang out the voice of Jack, from a tree which was out of sight.
“I’m up a tree and I’ve dropped my gun!” was the dismal response.