"I'll stand 'em off. When I fire, you start to climb."
"Oh, no!" returned Hackett, quickly; "my repeating rifle is worth half a dozen of your guns. Be ready to move fast. In a second you'll hear a fierce racket. Here goes—one—two—three."
Hackett fired, then quickly followed with two more shots.
Bob Somers had slung his gun over his shoulder, and taking advantage of the opportunity, grasped a projecting rock, and began to scale the steep side of the cliff. Footholds were numerous, and, as little snow had found lodgment, he managed to reach a ledge well out of reach of their foes.
Hackett's shots and the cries of their wounded companions had sent the wolves quickly retreating, to spread out in a half-circle.
"Now's your time, Hackett," yelled Bob. "Quick!"
Hackett hastily turned, and began to scramble upward.
As he did so, a gray form shot out from amidst its fellows and made a dash straight for him.