CHAPTER XXII
THE FAWN
Scrambling desperately, John Hackett strove to pull himself beyond the reach of the wolf.
Bob Somers, standing upon an insecure ledge above, and at imminent risk of taking a tumble, fired point-blank. The animal, with a howl of mingled fury and pain, stopped—then went limping away, while Hackett, with another strenuous effort, managed to gain a position of safety.
"Thanks, Somers, old man," he managed to exclaim. "He came pretty near giving me a good snip. My eye! We'll attend to those ugly brutes now. Just look at 'em."
"We were lucky to get up here, eh?"
"Yes, and that concert is going to stop—mighty quick, too."
Hackett slipped a round of cartridges into his rifle, and taking a firm stand, raised it to his shoulder.
His aim was true. Without a cry, one of the beasts toppled over in a heap.