He was not a moment too soon, either, for the baying came closer and closer and even as he struggled frantically to climb higher the leader of the wolf pack reached the foot of his refuge, and sprang high into the air. Frank heard the snap of the great jaws, and looked down into a yawning red cavern of a mouth.
The next moment his rifle slipped from his grasp, and fell on the snout of the wolf who leaped aside in temporary panic. Then the rest of the pack arrived on the scene, jumping and snarling, their heads in the air, their wicked eyes agleam as they scented the prey they had treed but which temporarily had escaped them.
Frank threw an arm around the main trunk of the tree to steady himself, for he was sick with vexation at his own carelessness in not having properly, secured his rifle. Meantime the wolves circled close about the tree, looking up, and one big fellow even put his forefeet against the trunk and reared high till his head rested on the lowermost branch. Then he retired to join the others, and all squatted in an expectant ring close about the foot of the tree.
When his vexation had passed, Frank set himself to a serious consideration of his position. And at once he realized that he must try before it was too late and they got out of earshot to attract the attention of his comrades. Perhaps already they had gotten beyond reach. At that he had a moment of panic. Then he grew calmer. If they had moved away, he told himself, they would discover his absence presently and retrace their steps in search of him.
He still had his revolver. At first he did not trust himself to handle it, because of the trembling of his hands. Then he grew cooler. His hand steadied. He thought he would shout to attract his companions’ attention first of all. And raising his voice, he sent call after call ringing through the forest.
The wolves gave back yelp for scream, and soon the whole pack was snarling and yowling and making a terrific, demoniac din.
The sound steadied him.
“Good,” he thought, “the boys will know there are wolves, anyway.”
Their own snarls reacted on the wolves, exciting them. And once more they came up to the foot of the tree, rearing their forefeet against it and leaping upward. It was Frank’s chance, and he took it.
With one arm clasping the trunk of the tree, he leaned forward and took careful aim at the biggest of the grey shapes below. At that moment, the wolf opened his mouth in a jaw-clashing howl. It was his last. Frank’s bullet plunged down his throat, and the wolf rolled over in the snow.