The dogs, at first eager to meet their mortal foes, now huddled together, terrified by overwhelming numbers. Still the occupants of the camp slept, unconscious of their danger. Suddenly there came a rush, an unearthly clamor of savage outcry, and the sleepers were roused to a fearful wakening by a confused struggle within the very limits of the camp and over their recumbent forms. They sprang up with yells of terror, and at the sound of human voices the invaders drew back, snapping and snarling with rage.
"Timber wolves!" shouted Serge. "Your rifle, Phil! Quick!"
Emboldened by this re-enforcement, the dogs advanced to the edge of the camp space, but with low growls in place of their former defiant barkings.
Phil was trembling with excitement; but Serge, steady as a rock, was throwing the No. 4's from the double-barrel and reloading with buckshot, at the same time calling to Chitsah to pile wood on the fire, and to the other Indians not to fire until all were ready. Jalap Coombs seized an axe, and forgetful of the bitter cold, was rolling up his sleeves, as though he proposed to fight the wolves single-handed. At the same time he denounced them as pirates and bloody land-sharks, and dared them to come within his reach.
"Are you ready?" cried Serge. "Then fire!" And with a roar that woke the forest echoes for miles, the four guns poured their contents into the dense black mass, that seemed just ready to hurl itself for a second time upon the camp.
With frightful howlings the pack scattered, and began to gallop swiftly in a wide circle about the fire-lit space. One huge brute, frenzied with rage, leaped directly toward the camp, with gleaming eyes and frothing mouth. Ere a gun could be levelled, Jalap Coombs stepped forward to meet him, and with a mighty swinging blow his heavy axe crushed the skull of the on-coming beast as though it had been an egg-shell. Instantly the dogs were upon him, and tearing fiercely at their fallen enemy.
With the first shot Phil's nervousness vanished, and as coolly as Serge himself, he followed with levelled rifle the movements of the yelling pack in their swift circling. At each patch of moonlit space one or more of the fierce brutes fell before his unerring fire, until every shot of his magazine was exhausted.
"NOW," CRIED SERGE, "ALL MAKE A DASH TOGETHER!"
"Now," cried Serge, "we must scatter them. Every man take a firebrand in each hand, and all make a dash together."