His guess in connection with the heart of that stump proved to be a good one, for he soon had taken out sufficient dry stuff to answer all purposes. So, striking a match, he applied it to the tinder thus collected, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flame start up at once.
This he carefully and assiduously cherished and fed until he had collected quite a nice mess of red embers. Then he began to put on some of the other wood, and, as he anticipated it soon burst into a crackling blaze.
How good it felt to the wet boy, words could hardly tell. By degrees he managed to dry his clothes by keeping turning around like a teetotum, from one side to another, standing the heat as long as possible.
An hour had perhaps gone—Frank could tell only by the movement of the heavenly bodies, since water had got into his wrist watch and stopped the wheels from turning.
He found himself turning every little while toward the east, in the hope of seeing signs of dawn, even though good common sense told him that must still be an hour and more away.
Just as he began to feel what he called "dopey," sitting there by the warm fire, his head nodding, Frank caught a sound that disturbed his growing confidence that the worst was past. It was a series of queer, blood-curdling yelps that he guessed came from a pack of those fierce, mountain gray wolves Jerry had told him about. From the tenor of their eager howls, the boy knew they must be hunting for something toothsome with which to sate their ferocious appetites!
CHAPTER XIV
THE TIMBER-WOLF PACK