"Huh!" grunted Felix; "I reckon each one looked about as tall as a house to me, when they stood there, and showed me by their bared fangs, and savage growls, that they didn't mean to let me make a dash from the spring to the shack without tackling me."
"The spring! D'ye mean to say they waylaid you there? But how lucky it was that you didn't forget to have your gun along!" ejaculated Tom.
"That's where the joke comes in," remarked the other, drily; "because it never once occurred to me that a fellow ought to go to get a bucket of water, with his gun under one arm. It was in the cabin at the time, more's the pity."
Tom plumped down on the ground, and mopped his face with his bandana; his run had apparently heated him up considerably.
"Spin the yarn, Felix; don't keep me guessing so hard. However in the wide world did you keep them off till you grabbed up the gun?" he urged.
"Couldn't have done it at all, I give you my word, because they were just bent on tackling me off-hand; but it chanced that I had an old newspaper in my pocket."
"A newspaper!" echoed Tom; "what under the sun did that have to do with it! How could a paper interest wolves? Come on, tell me what you did, Felix?"
"Struck a match, and made a bully old torch. Then I just jumped for 'em, and hollered to beat the band!" replied the other, with a grin.
Tom's face was a study as he listened, and he too smiled broadly.
"A great stunt, my boy, it sure was," he went on to say. "And so that scared 'em off enough for you to get inside, where your gun was, did it?"