“But, Phil, go slow if that’s one of the poacher’s dogs!” warned Lub in alarm.
“Dog nothing!” came from Phil as he took up his gun; “that’s a gray wolf I tell you!”
[CHAPTER III—FISHING THROUGH THE ICE WITH TIP-UPS]
No one moved after that save Phil himself, though Lub breathed very hard, as if the information had given him the “heart-jump,” he often spoke about.
Phil knew he had made no mistake when he pronounced the prowling animal a bold timber wolf; though he would have had some difficulty in believing it if some one else had told about one of those animals daring to venture so close to a camp where a number of hunters were sitting about a fire.
He judged that the beast must be unusually hungry, or else not in fear of mankind, from some reason or other.
“Whoo! see his green-yellow eyes, will you?” whispered Lub.
“Put the bullet square between ’em, Phil!” advised Ethan, secretly wishing it had been his rifle that was within easy reach at the time.
Hardly had he spoken than there came the report. A jet of flame spurted from the end of the leveled gun; there was one sharp yelp and that was all.
“You got him, Phil!” shouted X-Ray Tyson, always the first to see things that happened.