“Maybe you’re right,” he said to Jerry. “That sure sounds like a bunch of dogs.”
“Yeah, let’s give it a try, anyhow,” Jerry pressed.
They were just about to veer off in the direction of the howling when they heard a familiar harsh rumbling directly in front of them. It was the unmistakable growl of a husky.
“Charley!” Sandy called out. “Titan! Black Titan!”
A succession of sharp yelps knifed through the storm. “That’s the team all right!” Jerry cried.
Miraculously, their legs seemed to find new strength, and they practically ran the rest of the way through the knee-deep snow. Directly ahead of them, the sled loomed out of the darkness. The dogs, in harness, were seated on their haunches or huddled low in drifts to escape the force of the wind. But Charley was nowhere to be seen.
Jerry sagged against the back of the sled. “Oh my gosh! What happened to him?”
“He must have doubled back to look for us and we didn’t see him in the storm.” Night had deepened the blinding downfall even more.
There was a tremor in Jerry’s voice. “You don’t think the wolves got him, Sandy?”
“No, they rarely attack a man. Especially with the dogs here. Besides, Charley had a rifle.” He rummaged through the packs on the front of the sled. “It’s not here, so he must have taken it with him.”