One of the old greys dropped and several others with him. With a cowardly yell the animals veered; but it was only for a moment. Then, some savagely turned on their fellow-comrades to tear them limb from limb, while others scattered to right and left. Again the men fired, and then charged with fixed bayonets, rushing on the animals with cold steel.
By this time the whole force was roused, and clinching their guns appeared on the scene. But brief as it was, the battle was almost over. A number of the wolves were killed, some were wounded and others, still unhurt, retreated into the forest; while one or two, surrounded by the bayonets of the men, made a wild dash through the camp for the woods on the further side.
Helen did not go to sleep early that night. The excitement of the day's travel, together with the new conditions, had unsettled her nerves. Consequently, a couple of hours passed away before sleep came, and then troubled dreams marred her rest.
The mad yells of the wolves as they neared the camp awoke both her and Harold. With a suppressed scream, Helen clutched her husband as he sprang up to don his outer-clothing. Then came the fire of the first shots.
"Don't leave me," she pleaded, in momentary terror. "What if a wolf should squeeze in between the poles!"
"No fear of that, dearest," he answered, pulling on his boots and tunic in less time than it takes to tell. "But I won't leave you. There has been no general call for the men as yet."
"The only way in or out is through that passage," she cried, calm again, and busy dressing while she spoke. The shooting continued and the shouts of the men grew louder, while there was less yelling of the animals. Then came a wild hurrying and stampeding around the camp. Harold had stuck a lighted candle in a crotch and a brace of pistols in his belt. In another moment he was ready for anything.
"What's that?" exclaimed Helen with a wild shout.
Harold turned instantly, and by the dim light saw that the slabs at the entrance were being wriggled.
"By heavens, it's a wolf!" he shouted, and almost without taking aim he fired one of his pistols at the head of a monster which was squeezing between the poles. The bullet grazed his shoulder, but with a gruesome howl and snapping jaw he continued forcing himself into the narrow cell. Helen, shrinking to the further end, seized a dirk from the sheath in which it hung, while Harold fired his second pistol. This time the ball passed through the wolf's neck into his body. Still he was not killed, and snapping savagely he floundered into the room.