It seemed to be a success, too, for the animals turned tail, and bolted. Wolves, as indeed about every other wild animal in the woods or in the mountains, inherit a peculiar dread of fire, though of course the only acquaintance most of them have with its terrifying qualities is when a forest or a prairie fire threatens their lives.
Even before the white man came to these shores of America, the Indians knew how to use flint and steel in order to kindle their fires; and besides, now and then, doubtless conflagrations may have occurred through fire coming down from the clouds, and the lightning striking some dead tree in the woods.
Thus the fear of flames is born in these predatory animals; and as even in the broad daylight the wolves saw the greasy newspaper flash up into a little pyramid of fire, they just "scooted for all they were worth," as Felix afterwards declared, when telling the story of his little adventure.
He did not even waste a second in glancing over his shoulder as he ran, in order to ascertain how far this fear carried them. Chances were, they would quickly get over the condition of panic, especially when seeing their expected dinner making off in that vigorous fashion. And Felix knew that once this occurred, they would be racing after him as fast as they could run.
As the boy had always been fond of baseball, and kindred games, while at school, doubtless he could look back to many an occasion when he put in what he considered his "best licks" in endeavoring to stretch out a two-base hit into a three-bagger; or possibly trying to steal home, when the ball was being sent back to the pitcher, and his club needed a run the worst kind, to win.
But Felix always claimed that had he been able to cover ground on those occasions as rapidly as he did when those three wolves were after him, he might have easily counted a home-run on that two-base hit; or be sitting on the home plate by the time the pitcher was ready to throw to catch him.
He fairly flew, every muscle and nerve being "on the job," as he called it. The yawning open door was just in front of him; but by now he could positively hear a terrible scratching sound in his rear, which must be produced by the scrambling of his lupine foes over the intervening ground.
They had recovered from their temporary scare, and were after him at full speed, bent on pulling him down as they would a wounded deer.
But he reached the dugout, and shot through that opening like a flash. At the instant of doing so he reached out, and catching hold of the door, gave it a desperate fling.
He heard it strike something, which could only be the head of the foremost wolf. And turning as quickly as possible, Felix threw his weight against the door, which was even then commencing to move inward, under the rush of enemies without.