"That would be almost too good to be true," remarked Bob, who knew more about the habits of animals than his brother. "Instead, I fear that the taste of food they have had will only make them more savage."
"Look! they are beginning to creep closer again!" exclaimed Sandy, a minute later, with a feeling of renewed uneasiness.
"Then we had better begin to shoot again, and make every bullet count. Let me start the ball rolling, boy," said Bob, as he picked out a dark form advancing slowly over the white snow.
Resting his musket across the upper log, he took a careful aim and fired. With the report a series of howls burst forth, and many forms were seen dashing this way and that. Some fled, only to come back again when they scented a new feast, and in another minute the wolf that had fallen before the gun of the young pioneer was affording his mates an additional scrap of dinner.
"Now, wait until I have reloaded, and then you do as well," remarked the calm Bob, who had learned many valuable lessons from older hunters; and he knew how dangerous it would be for them to be caught with empty guns, should their foes attempt to rush the shelter in a body.
Sandy, nothing loth, picked out his victim, and when his brother gave the word he pressed the trigger with more or less delight.
"That is one the less, I reckon," he remarked, as he quickly dropped the butt of the musket on the frozen ground, and commenced to handle his powder horn, to measure out sufficient of the precious black grains for another charge.
"But I fear that for every beast we drop two new ones come out of the woods," said Bob, believing that they should understand the worst, and not deceive themselves with false hopes.
Sandy was for keeping up the fusillade, but his wiser brother had already recognized the folly of wasting their scanty ammunition so hastily.
"How many more bullets have you in your pouch?" he asked, quietly.