Tad Butler Faced the Pack.
With the bush-knife in his left hand now, revolver in the right, the boy slashed and shot alternately. Nearly every shot and nearly every pass of the knife reached the body of a wolf, not always killing, but in almost every instance doing the animal no little damage.
It was likely to be a sad day for the brave dogs, which, the more they were overwhelmed, the more desperately they fought. Some of the dogs were already dead, or crawling away in their death agonies. All of the dogs would be killed unless the wolves were swiftly driven off.
"Chunky," yelled Tad, "can't you use your rifle without hitting the dogs?"
"I can try," panted the fat boy.
"Rustle it, then! Don't mind me. I'll try to keep out of the way of your bullets."
Stacy raised his rifle, taking quick aim at a big gray wolf. Bang! went the overcharged cartridge, with a noise so like that of a cannon that Stacy's horse leaped to one side, while the fat boy went in the other direction, landing on his head in the ooze.
Yelping in their mad joy, a dozen wolves charged upon the momentarily helpless Chunky.