“Keep quiet!” Ed cautioned, in a lower tone.
One of the brutes either heard or scented them, for the boys saw a big, wolfish-looking animal sneak forward into the firelight. Before they could shoot, it vanished into the blackness. The savage baying gradually sounded fainter as the dogs sped away on the trail of some unfortunate victim.
“Say, that was a close call!” said Ed, soberly.
“I should say it was, and I’m not so sure we’re rid of them. I have an idea that they may come back this way,” replied George, a bit nervously.
“Well, we’ll be ready for them if they do.”
They remained in the trees for some time, and finally, when the fire began to die down, the lads slid to the ground and hastily piled on more brush. The storm had about ceased, but a piercing cold wind had come up. It moaned mournfully through the tops of the trees. All about them was inky blackness. The fire threw weird, fantastic shadows against the neighboring tree-trunks. George consulted his watch, and found the time to be an hour past midnight. An owl hooted dismally, and the boys drew near the flames.
“Isn’t this a ‘spooky’ place?” inquired George.
“All big swamps are, I imagine,” laughed Ed, trying to appear cheerful.
They remained close by the fire and talked in subdued tones. Since the visit of the wild dogs neither cared to sleep. The snow stopped and the wind increased to a gale. They heard the snap of breaking branches and the crash of falling trees in various parts of the swamp. Once they thought they heard the cries of the returning pack; but after listening intently they heard nothing more, and decided they had been mistaken.
At last daylight came, much to their relief, and the boys cleaned and cooked another grouse for breakfast. Then, as they talked over their experience of the night before, they walked to the pathway of the dogs and saw many large paw-marks in the snow.