His mates without a second’s hesitation deserted their attempts to get at Frank, and began snarling over the dead body. The sight sickened Frank, and he closed his eyes a moment. Then the thought occurred that, if he added several more corpses to the ghoulish feast, he might divert the attention of the rest of the pack to such an extent that he would be able to slip away unseen, perhaps by making his way through the trees for a short distance before jumping to the ground.
There was no need now for care in aiming, as the wolves were in a thick mass over the body of the fallen, so Frank fired several shots in rapid succession into the mass. The effect was instantly apparent, for two more wolves went down, and the tearing and crunching announced a renewal of the awful feast.
Now, thought Frank, was his time to escape, if possible. He had heard no answering replies, and believed his companions must have gotten out of earshot. If so, he must depend on his own resources to make his escape. He was about to start swinging to a nearby tree, the branches of which interlocked with those of the tree in which he had found refuge, when the thought occurred that, perhaps, he would be able to obtain his rifle undiscovered by the wolves.
Cautiously he started to descend, his eyes alternately on the snarling wolf pack several yards from the tree and on the limbs he must grip in his descent. He had almost reached the lowermost limb when his grip slipped and he fell.
Frank thought his end had come, but as he struck the ground his hands closed on the coveted rifle, and he scrabbled to regain his feet, flinging the rifle to his shoulder as he did so.
His fall had been seen. One of the wolves turned aside from the outskirts of the pack, where he was not getting his share of the gruesome feast, and sprang for him. The next moment, as a shot rang out from behind Frank, the wolf dropped quivering at his feet.
“Steady, Frank,” cried Art’s voice. “Give ’em all you’ve got.”
Without looking around, mastering his trembling by a supreme effort, Frank brought the rifle to his shoulder and began firing into the pack, even as the three rifles of his companions also opened fire.
At that close range every shot told and not a wolf escaped. Eleven bodies, including the mutilated remains of the three which Frank had slain with revolver shots, were stretched on the snow under the trees.
When it was all over, his companions gathered about Frank and explanations followed. Then they made their way back to camp.