Dick was silent. His face was haggard. The troubles of the trail were weighing heavily on his sturdy shoulders, and this new danger of the northland taxed his courage to the utmost. Yet he did not falter. Instead, his words were cheerful, though they came from drawn lips.
“I guess we have a few shots left in our rifles,” said Dick meaningly. “Those wolves better not come too close.”
“Few shots is right,” Sandy came back dishearteningly. “Dick, do you know we have only about ten shots left for each of the rifles? And we had the hard luck to unload Corporal Richardson’s ammunition when we put him on the sled. All he has is a belt full of revolver cartridges.”
Dick’s hands clenched on the strap with which he was helping pull the sled. “Makes no difference, Sandy. After we’ve escaped all these human wolves that have been after us, I guess we can handle the animals all right.” But he was not quite so sure as he tried to make Sandy believe.
“Wolves eat um dead dogs back trail,” Toma called from the rear of the sled, where he was following up after a stiff job of breaking trail.
All afternoon the cries of the gathering pack could be heard, now near, now far. Once it seemed they were all around them. Then the boys redoubled their efforts on the heavy sled.
“We ought to pull into that cabin the corporal mentioned before long,” Dick said worriedly, as he changed places with Sandy.
“I don’t know about that,” Sandy replied. “The corporal was probably estimating the distance if we made time with a good dog team—but we haven’t gone more than five miles today.”
They made no stop for a mid-day meal, chewing raw bacon while toiling on the trail. The fear of the wolves had entered their hearts yet they would not let one another feel that fear by any spoken word.
Near nightfall they were certain the wolves were trailing them, and they could not hide it from one another. Far in the rear they could hear the hunting cry of the pack, and it was blood-curdling.