The wolves, startled by the sudden burst of sound, were motionless.
In the brief second before they leaped, Ralph threw his body across Mitchell to shield the injured flyer from the savage onslaught.
The automatic in his hand blazed, shattering the darkness with shafts of flame.
Bullets thudded into the gray shapes which swirled around the dim campfire.
A huge timber wolf landed on top of Ralph. He felt its hot breath, heard the throaty growl of triumph, felt the muzzle seek his throat.
With desperate effort and strength born of terror, Ralph pressed the muzzle of the automatic against the shaggy grey fur. The shock of the heavy bullet distracted the wolf and it ceased its efforts to kill Ralph and slunk into the shadows.
The reporter crouched over Mitchell, waiting for more onslaughts. The wolf cries continued and Ralph put more fuel on the fire.
In the light from the leaping flames he saw the explanation. His first bullets had brought down two of the huge beasts and their companions, scenting the fresh blood, had turned from their attack and were tearing the stricken wolves to pieces.
Mitchell handed a fresh clip of cartridges to Ralph and the reporter sent another hail of lead in the direction of the wolves.
Fresh cries of pain filled the night but it was not until Ralph had brought down two more of the great beasts that the others slunk away and disappeared in the timber.