“Timber wolves!” shouted Serge. “Your rifle, Phil! Quick!”
Emboldened by this reinforcement, the dogs advanced to the edge of the camp space, but with low growls in place of their former defiant barkings.
Phil was trembling with excitement; but Serge, steady as a rock, was throwing the No. 4’s from the double-barrel and reloading with buckshot, at the same time calling to Chitsah to pile wood on the fire, and to the other Indians not to fire until all were ready. Jalap Coombs seized an axe, and, forgetful of the bitter cold, was rolling up his sleeves as though he purposed to fight the wolves single-handed. At the same time he denounced them as pirates and bloody land-sharks, and dared them to come within his reach.
“Are you ready?” cried Serge; “then fire!” And with a roar that woke the forest echoes for miles, the four guns poured their contents into the dense black mass that seemed just ready to hurl itself for a second time upon the camp.
With frightful howlings the pack scattered, and began to gallop swiftly in a wide circle about the fire-lit space. One huge brute, frenzied with rage, leaped directly towards the camp, with gleaming eyes and frothing mouth. Ere a gun could be levelled, Jalap Coombs stepped forward to meet him, and, with a mighty, swinging blow, his heavy axe crushed the skull of the on-coming beast as though it had been an eggshell. Instantly the dogs were upon him, and tearing fiercely at their fallen enemy.
With the first shot Phil’s nervousness vanished, and as coolly as Serge himself he followed, with levelled rifle, the movements of the yelling pack in their swift circling. At each patch of moonlit space one or more of the fierce brutes fell before his unerring fire, until every shot of his magazine was exhausted.
[“Now,” cried Serge], “we must scatter them. Every man take a firebrand in each hand, and [all make a dash together.”]
[“NOW,” CRIED SERGE, “ALL MAKE A DASH TOGETHER!”]
“Yelling,” added Jalap Coombs.