All these preliminaries Felix seemed to settle, just like a great general would his plan of campaign; only he had to do it out of hand. The impatient and hungry wolves would not wait his pleasure; they wanted things to be moving along.
Felix had let the empty bucket drop to the ground when his brilliant scheme came flashing into his mind, so that both his hands were free to conduct the work he had arranged.
First of all was the striking of the match, and this he would have to accomplish along one leg of his trousers, as Tom always did. The act was greeted by more nasty and irritating snarls, as the three wolves moved still closer, hardly able to hold back longer.
When the flame of the match was communicated to the greasy newspaper, of course it flashed up splendidly.
This was his chance, and delay now would be apt to injure his prospects of being able to reach the shelter of the cabin.
So Felix began to wave his flaming torch, made up of the twisted newspaper, and at the same time sprang straight at the three wolves. He knew that such a move would add to their temporary panicky state of feeling and give him a chance to cover some ground.
And as he started to jump at them, he also called out at the top of his voice, and waved both arms, as though he might be an animated human windmill in action, bearing down upon them.
[CHAPTER V—A FIRST TASTE OF VENISON]
"Get out! Get out, you rascals!"
That was about the burden of what Felix yelled, as he dashed at the three timber wolves; although, when put to it afterwards he could never be sure of what he said, only that he endeavored to make his whole appearance as fierce looking as possible.