CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST DEER.
Hamp escaped death by a display of nerve and coolness that was remarkable in one so young.
The wolf, happily, missed the lad’s throat. Instead, the white teeth snapped shut on the thick, furry collar of his overcoat. For an instant they stuck there, and this gave Hamp his chance.
With one hand he grabbed the wolf’s shaggy breast, and pushed against it; with the other he reached for the long hunting-knife that dangled from his belt. He drew it from the sheath, and plunged it fiercely into the wolf’s body.
Twice, thrice the keen blade cut its way deeply through flesh and skin. A vital part was reached at last. With a gurgling cry the brute relaxed its hold, and slipped to one side.
Hamp rolled away from the quivering carcass, and sprang to his feet. His clothes were thickly smeared with blood, but a scratch or two was his sole injury.
Meanwhile, Jerry had shown equal coolness in an equally trying ordeal. It will be remembered that he stumbled right in the path of the advancing buck.
Doubling himself like a ball, he rolled several feet over the smooth ice. An instant later the spot that he had just vacated was struck by the vicious hoofs and antlers. He rolled still further, and staggered to his feet. His rifle was out of reach, and the shelter of the shore was equally so.
“Help! help!” he shouted. “Somebody shoot.”