Whether he was addressing the wind, or the nearby wolves, Billie did not say; but his defiance was meant all the same.
He tried to penetrate the darkness so that he might see some object at which he could fire, for he wanted to make every bullet count, if possible. There was no telling how many of the wolves and coyotes there might be. If he kept on shooting them down, and more continued to arrive, the dreadful moment must come when he would run out of ammunition. What then? The programme ceased to interest Billie after that stage. True, he would still have his trusty hunting-knife, and that possessed a keen edge on both sides; but what a puny weapon it must always be in the hands of one unaccustomed to wielding a blade like that, and with an unnumbered throng of four-footed adversaries leaping about him.
Now the howls were along a different order. Billie fancied that he could trace exultation among
other things in the last series; just as though the wolves began to feel sure of their supper, and rejoiced accordingly. Many a time had Billie himself shouted with glee because of that call to the spread; and now he was experiencing how it felt to be on the other side of the fence, with these hungry wolves springing to the feast.
Well, first he would at least have some satisfaction in knocking over a few of his lupine enemies—he believed that was what they were called in books he had read concerning their characteristics.
There was certainly something moving close at hand, and coming toward him too. Billie swung his ready gun that way. Looking closely he felt sure that he could make out a dark, slinking form—yes, and there were two shining dots that made him think of a cat’s eyes as seen in the dark, such as he had often done at home.
Billie waited for no more. He knew the first of the wolves had arrived, and that he could not get busy any too soon now. The quicker he taught these varmints a much needed lesson, the better. Besides, if he could only succeed in killing a few of the gray rascals perhaps he might take that keen edge off the appetites of the others, for he knew that they would lose no time in pouncing on any of their mates from whom blood was drawn.
With this in mind he leveled his rifle, took as
good aim as was possible under the conditions, and pulled the trigger.
Instantly a wild screech arose, proving that his bullet had not been wasted. He instantly got his rifle in readiness for further operations, and then grimly waited to see what followed.