“What is it?” inquired Ed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Listen!” whispered George. “They’re coming this way—don’t you hear them?”
“Who’s coming? Hear what?” began Ed. “Great Scott! It’s the wild dogs!” he cried, excitedly, springing to his feet and seizing his rifle.
Nearer and nearer came the wolfish pack, and louder and louder their baying rang through the woods. As nearly as the boys could judge, they were headed directly for the lean-to.
“Quick! Pile wood on the fire!” shouted Ed, throwing on several armfuls of dried twigs.
“Let’s climb a tree,” George suggested, when it seemed certain that the pack was really coming for them.
They scrambled out of the lean-to, and each sought shelter by the side of a near-by tree, ready to swing themselves up into the branches at the first sign of real danger.
“Hold to your gun and we’ll bowl a few of them over!” said Ed.
Then they heard the crashing of brush, and they pulled themselves aloft into the branches. Hardly had the lads reached their places of concealment before a large animal dashed past just beyond the light of the fire. For some moments afterward there was absolute silence. Then the excited yelps of the pursuing pack broke forth close at hand. They heard the dogs tearing madly through the undergrowth, but were unable to see them.
“They’re going by!” yelled George.