“‘And be they any more wolves, so’s I kin git a shot at ’em?’ queried Bill.
“‘Old Spot has fixed two of ’em,’ said I.
“‘And there’s the other two eating poor Whitey over there,’ exclaimed Teddy, pointing at a snarling knot of creatures two or three hundred yards across the interval.
“Sure enough, they had dragged down poor Whitey and were making a fine meal off her carcass. But Bill rode over and spoiled their fun. He shot two of them, while the other left like a gray streak. And that’s the last I’ve seen of wolves in this part of the country!”
“‘That was a close shave,’ said I; ‘and the cattle showed great grit. I’ve heard of them adopting tactics like that.’
“‘Well,’ said the old farmer, getting down from the fence rail and picking up his tin can. ‘I must be moving. Good-day to you.’ Before he had taken half a dozen steps he turned round and remarked, ‘I suppose, now, if those had been Norway wolves or Roossian wolves, the “critters” would have had no show?’
“‘Very little, I imagine,’ was my answer.”
Whether it was that my story had gone far toward putting every one to sleep, I know not. The fact remains, to be interpreted as one will, that no longer was there any objection raised when I proposed that we should turn in. That night, I think, no one of us lay awake over long. Before I dropped asleep I heard two owls hooting hollowly to each other through the wet woods. The sound changed gradually to a clamor of wolves over their slain victim, and then to the drums and trumpets of an army on the march; and then I awoke to find it broad daylight, and Stranion beating a tin pan just over my head.
CHAPTER III.
AT CAMP DE SQUATOOK.
The next morning we got off at a good hour. For the last half mile of its course we found Beardsley Brook so overgrown with alders that we had to chop and haul our way through it with infinite labor. Here we wasted some time fishing for Sam’s pipe, which had fallen overboard among the alders. The pipe was black, with crooked stem, plethoric in build, and so heavy that we all thought it would sink where it fell. As soon as the catastrophe occurred we halted till the water, here about two feet deep, had become clear. Then, peering down among the alder-stems, Ranolf spied the pipe on the sandy bottom, looking blurred and distorted through the writhing current. Long we grappled for it, poking at it with pole and paddle. We would cautiously raise it a little way towards the surface; but even as we began to triumph it would wriggle off again as if actually alive, and settle languidly back upon the sand. We all knew, without Ranolf’s elaborate explanations, that its lifelike movement was due to its being so little heavier than the water it displaced, or to the uneven refraction of the light through the moving fluid, or to some other equally satisfactory and scientific cause. Finally Sam, getting impatient, plunged in arm and shoulder, and grasped the pipe victoriously. He came up empty-handed; and we beheld a huge tadpole, now thoroughly aroused, flaunting off down stream in high dudgeon. Ranolf remarked that the laws of refraction were to him obscure; and we continued our journey. The real pipe we overtook farther down stream, floating along jauntily as a cork.