Instead of firing, the Major beat the beast over the head, and with a snarl he resumed his place in the ever-narrowing circle.
And now the time for concerted action on the part of the pack seemed to have come; for, with one savage snarl, the first row rushed straight on. There came a flash, then the hiss of a white-tongued fiery serpent. As the first wolf reared on his haunches, the smell of burning hair and roasting flesh halted the half-maddened pack, and, falling over one another, again they retreated.
It was a tense moment. Slapping his hands to warm them, Barney adjusted cartridges and swept the circle with an imaginary volley. What if the machine-gun jammed? There could be but one result. The torch would not long hold the beasts off. Besides, the gas would not last.
"Well, shoot if you can!" exclaimed Bruce. "This gas is precious stuff.
We can't waste it."
At that, there came the staccato music of the machine-gun. With steady eye Barney swept the inner circle. They went down like grain before a gale. With strange wild snarls they bit at their wounds, at one another, at the snow. The gun swept again with its merciless fire. The furthermost members of the pack began to slink away. Then as Barney raised his gun and sent a rain of bullets pattering about them, the whole snarling pack fled in yelping confusion.
The battle was won. Bruce cut off the gas. Barney ceased his fire. The Major, loosing his harness, stood up and stretched himself. Then they looked at one another and laughed.
"Some fight!" exclaimed Barney.
"Some fight!" agreed Bruce.
"Some fight!" reechoed the Major. "And the next thing is to put the injured out of their misery. After that we must skin 'em and make a cache for the meat."
"Meat?" the boys questioned.