"I wish it was colder!" he exclaimed, when he found the place growing uncomfortably warm. "If it was winter now, I shouldn't want anything nicer."
He stood it like a hero, however, and by and by his place became more pleasant, for the reason that the fuel was rapidly burning down. About this time sleep regained possession of his senses, and, cramped up though he was, with his back against the rock, his slumber was scarcely less sound than if he were stretched out upon his blanket beneath a tree in the forest.
At the time young Chadmund relapsed into unconsciousness it was nearly midnight, and for nearly two hours following there was scarcely the slightest change in the surroundings. The fires burned low, until the figure of the lad braced up against the rock grew dim and shadowy in the deepening gloom. Scarcely a breath of air stirred the vegetation about him, and everything seemed to be calculated to lull one into a deep, soothing, dreamless sleep. But at the end of the time mentioned, something came out of the undergrowth and advanced stealthily toward him. It was vague, shadowy, and so dimly outlined that at first its form could not be recognized; but as it glided closer to the fire, there was enough light remaining to disclose the figure of another wolf.
Like a phantom born of the gloom itself, it moved toward the unconscious lad, until scarcely a dozen feet intervened. Then, as if directed by Providence, one of the embers snapped apart, throwing out a sudden flame, which momentarily lit up the surrounding darkness. Like a flash the wolf slunk back, and then, pausing, stood and stared at the lad, licking his jaws as if in anticipation of the feast he expected to enjoy upon him.
As the flames subsided again, and the same gloom crept over the scene, the hideous creature stole up again, resolved to have the meal displayed so temptingly before him. Once more he was within reach, still advancing with jaws distended—ready to leap upon him. The boy slumbered dreamlessly on. Still nearer crept the wolf until Ned was at his mercy.
At this critical juncture, something whizzed from the upper surface of the rock, with the velocity almost of a bullet. It was a tomahawk, which, speeding true to its aim, struck the unsuspicious wolf fairly and with such terrific force that his skull was cloven in twain as completely as if smitten by the headsman's ax. There was scarcely time for the wild yelp as he tumbled over backward. But, such as it was, it aroused Ned, who sprang to his feet and gazed about him with an alarmed and bewildered air. Before he could fairly comprehend what had taken place he saw figures descending and approaching. It was too late to retreat. He was surrounded.
"I'm a goner now!" he muttered.
But as the firelight brightened, he saw the kindly faces of Tom Hardynge and Dick Morris.