"What happened?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"It looked as if the wolves had chased the deer for a long distance, for he seemed 'most played out. Three of the brutes flung themselves upon him at once, and—well, you can guess the rest."
"How far away was this?" asked Dave.
"Not more than two miles."
"We are certainly much obliged to you," put in Dick Travers. "It wouldn't do to be unprepared, if they happen to come along."
"I should say not. Wolves are bad customers at this time of the year. I suppose," added Robson, with a smile, "you thought something terrible had happened?"
"Yes, we did," admitted Dick. "Where are the other fellows—how did you manage to make that signal alone?"
"They just left, a short time ago," answered Robson. "The weather looks pretty threatening, doesn't it? Well, we concluded that it would be best to get in as much game as possible."
"Do you think it's going to be as bad as all that?" asked Tom Clifton, anxiously.
"It's hard to say; after all, it may be nothing worse than an ordinary snow-storm. But we got caught once, and don't propose to let such a thing happen again. I expected the whole crowd of you," he added, with a questioning glance.