“Great Scott; they seem to be as big as wolves, and as dangerous!” he cried.
“Oh, if you’d ever seen the real articles you wouldn’t talk that way,” exclaimed Tom.
“Dog no hurt,” said Thunderbolt, reassuringly.
He spoke sharply to the skulking animals, and by a threatening movement of his foot caused them to retire.
At last, beyond the confines of the village, the lads turned to look back at the collection of wigwams. Here and there some were brought out clearly by the flickering campfires; others rose spectrally, scarcely seen amidst their surroundings, while many were completely enveloped in the gloom.
Above the forbidding amphitheater of hills the stars and constellations shone with singular brilliancy.
“Hold a match for me, Bob,” cried Dave, suddenly. “I’ve got that inspiration for a poem. I’ll scribble it off in a jiffy.”
Amid the laughter of the others, Bob obligingly complied.
“Are we ever going to read it?” asked Larry.
“That remains to be seen,” answered Dave.