“I’d be no good,” said Long Jim. “Sence I did that fool trick o’ cuttin’ my hand with the axe a couple-three days ago, I cain’t set finger to trigger. You better go, Art.”
“All right, boys,” said Art. “I’d like to stretch a leg, too.”
The four, accordingly, set out. In the forest surrounding the spot where they had chosen to erect their huts, there was no longer any game, for the animals had come to learn that these strange creatures brought destruction and had decamped elsewhere. Finally, after they had proceeded some distance without sighting anything, Art suggested they strike for a higher level on the adjacent mountain side. The huts had been erected near the foot of one of the ranges rimming the valley.
“Maybe we’ll run into a mountain sheep or a goat,” he said. “Anyhow, we can see better from a higher lever, for this forest down here is so thick you can hardly see a yard away. The moon’s out an’ up there the trees is thinner.”
With Art leading the way, the party began its upward climb. For some time they toiled upward until presently they reached a level unaffected by the more temperate air of the valley floor, and where, as a consequence, snow covered the rocks. Across a bare shoulder of rock from which the wind had swept all but a trace of snow they made their way and then plunged into a thick woods beyond.
Frank, who was in the rear, laid down his rifle and bent over to adjust the clumsy lacing of a thick shoe pack of the kind they had made for themselves from the skins of slain animals. The others plodding along, head down, did not notice he had stopped, and kept on going. He spent more time at the task than he had anticipated, and when finally he straightened up and picked up his rifle, they were not in sight.
Frank was not worried, however, for he felt sure he would be able to trace them in the snow and would soon catch up with them. He set out at a brisk pace. The snow grew deeper, however, where the wind had not had a chance to whisk it away, and the going was hard. He had proceeded some distance before he noticed that he had gotten off the trail left by his companions. Angry with himself for his carelessness, but still not worried, he halted to consider what was best for him to do.
“Shucks,” he said aloud. “Guess I better go back over my steps till I find where I left their trail.”
And with this intention, he turned to go back. Even as he did so, he saw a pack of long gray bodies racing through the trees in his direction. At the same instant they gave tongue. It was a pack of wolves. They had scented him and were now lifting the cry which announced their prey was near.
Frank started to fling the rifle to his shoulder, but then he lowered it. The flitting forms were still yards away. And although moonlight sifted through the bare limbs of the trees, it did not sufficiently illumine the scene to make the wolves good targets. He decided his best plan would be to seek refuge in a tree first of all, and then he could fire at the wolves at his leisure and with a sureness of aim that would not now be his. These thoughts or reflections flashed through his mind in an instant. The next moment he was putting his plan into execution, and climbing into a tall fir.