“Hush, the trail leads under that mass of piled-up trees,” returned Henry. “Got your gun ready?”
“Yes.”
Dave had hardly spoken when there came a snarl from under the mass of trees, and looking down both young hunters saw a pair of gleaming eyes glaring hatefully at them.
“It’s a bear!” cried Dave.
“No, a wolverine!” burst out Henry. “And an ugly one, too. Look out for yourself.”
Henry was indeed right; it was a wolverine they had trailed to its lair—a ferocious beast, sometimes known as a glutton, because of its enormous appetite for meat. The wolverine was of unusual size, with a shaggy body of brownish-black. The muzzle was darker than the rest of the beast, and under the throat were several whitish spots. The upper lip hairs were long and coarse, and the fangs keener than those of a wolf.
The wolverine had been feasting on the carcass of a fox, but the meal had evidently not sweetened his temper. Suddenly he turned and disappeared from view along the tree-branches.
“He has gone,” said Dave.
“Keep your eyes open!” shouted Henry. “He means fight! I know the kind!”
A moment passed and the wolverine reappeared, this time on an upper limb of a fallen tree. He gave one low snarl and then sprang directly for Dave’s throat.