“I hope so,” he said, “but I don’t believe they have given it up yet.”
And in a few minutes his fears were realized as they saw, by the dim light, form after form creeping forward. The wolves were spread out nearly in a semi-circle.
“There must be fifty of them,” Jack declared just as Bob fired again.
His shot went true to the mark but this time the wolves paid no attention to their fallen companion.
“We’ve got to take to the tree, Jack,” Bob shouted. “You go first and I’ll hand the rifle to you.”
Fortunately the lowest branches of the big pine, at the foot of the trench, were near the ground and Jack, crawling out on the snow, had no trouble in reaching them.
“Get a hustle,” he called, reaching for the rifle which Bob was holding up to him.
At this moment the wolves, seeing their prey about to escape, plunged forward with mighty leaps through the snow, and were almost upon Bob as he reached for the limb. The leader, an enormous brute, lank with hunger, sprang from the snow and his dripping jaws closed on the boy’s leg. Fortunately his leggings were strong and thick and before the sharp teeth had time to penetrate to the flesh a shot rang out and the wolf fell back, shot through the heart. He almost dragged Bob with him so securely were his teeth fastened in the leggings. But exerting all his strength, he clung to the branch and kicked his leg free. A moment later he was safe in the tree.
“Good shot that,” he panted. “I thought for a minute that he had me.”
The wolves, as if realizing that their prey was beyond their reach, broke into a chorus of mournful howls as they slowly circled around beneath the tree.