The fire had died low but there was still a few burning embers. He seized the ends of several of these and hurled them toward the hungry eyes.
The flaming brands made fiery arcs through the night. Some of them dropped sizzling into the snow; others struck dark bodies.
Hoarse cries shattered the midnight stillness as the wolves fled before Ralph’s sudden attack. In a second it was over and when Mitchell wanted to know what had happened, Ralph felt as though he had been dreaming.
“Wolves were closing in on us when I woke up,” he explained. “For a minute I was too scared to do anything. Then I remembered that they were afraid of fire and I hurled half a dozen embers from our campfire at them.”
“I never thought of wolves,” said the mail flyer. “Good thing you woke up or we might have become 'A Great Mystery’ or some such thing. It wouldn’t take those timber wolves long to finish a fellow.”
Ralph agreed that the wolves were dangerous and piled new fuel on the fire.
Mitchell still had his heavy service automatic and Ralph appropriated the weapon.
The bright light from the fire kept Ralph awake for a time but after an hour and a half of struggling against fatigue his eyes closed.
Stealthy movements in the forest failed to arouse him and slinking figures emerged from the timber. The wolves were advancing again.
A dozen of the hungry, grey beasts of prey crept nearer and nearer the fire. In an ever narrowing circle they closed in upon their victims, treading lightly lest they make some noise.