So sudden was the attack that the besieged lads were taken by complete surprise.
“We’ll be torn to pieces,” cried Brick. “They’ll be through the door in a minute.”
“No they won’t,” yelled. Jerry.
He hurled himself against the sled, which had actually begun to move.
“Keep cool, boys,” he added. “It’s our only chance. Fire away, and make every shot tell.”
Then he poked his rifle under the doorway, and pulled the trigger. The report was followed by a yelp of agony. The wolves fell back a little. They had a wholesome fear of firearms.
Jerry reloaded his rifle, and jammed shells into his double-barreled shotgun.
“I’ll guard this end,” he yelled, hoarsely. “You fellows must take care of that.”
“It’s an ugly outlook,” replied Hamp. “Here are your two guns, Brick. Keep them loaded. We’ve got four between us—six with Jerry’s. But where’s the ammunition?”
“Here,” and Brick tapped the cartridge belt that was strapped about his waist. “Help yourself, Hamp. Do you think we can pull through?”