THE FLIGHT OVER THE ICE.
The same minute that Monteith Sterry saw the new peril which
threatened them all he darted out beside the brother and sister, who
had slackened their pace at sight of the wolves in front.
"What shall we do?" asked Fred; "we cannot push on; let's go up
stream."
"You cannot do that," replied Jennie, "for they are gathering behind
us."
A glance in that direction showed that she spoke the truth. It looked
as if a few minutes would bring as many there as in advance.
"We shall have to take to the woods," said Fred, "and there's little
hope there."
"It won't do," added the sister, who seemed to be thinking faster than
either of her companions. "The instant we start for the shore they
will be at our heels. Make as if we were going to run in close to the
right bank, so as to draw them after us; then turn and dash through
them."
The manoeuvre was a repetition of the one she and her brother had
executed a few minutes before, and was their only hope.
"I will take the lead with my pistol," said Monteith, "while you keep
as close to me as you can."
Every second was beyond value. The wolves were not the creatures to
remain idle while a conference was under way. At sight of the three
figures near the middle of the course they rent the air with howls,
and came trotting toward them with that light, springy movement shown
by a gaunt hound, to whom the gait is as easy as a walk.
Monteith Sterry shot forward on his right foot, his revolver, with its
two precious charges, tightly gripped in his naked hand.
This was to be called into play only in the last extremity. The
killing of a couple of wolves from such a horde could produce no
effect upon the rest, unless perhaps to furnish some of them a lunch,
for one of the curious traits of the _lupus_ species is that they are
cannibals, so to speak.
His hope was that the flash and report of the weapon would frighten
the animals into opening a path for a moment, through which the
skaters could dart into the clear space below.
Having started, Monteith did not glance behind him. Fred and his
sister must look out for themselves. He had his hands more than full.
With a swift, sweeping curve he shot toward the bank, the brutes
immediately converging to head him off. The slight, familiar scraping
on the ice told him that Fred and Jennie were at his heels. He kept on
with slackening speed until close to the shore, and it would not do to
go any further. An overhanging limb brushed his face.
But his eye was on the wolves further out in the stream. The place was
one of the few ones where the course was such that no shadow was along
either bank. The moment most of the creatures were drawn well over
toward the right shore, Sterry did as his friends did awhile before,
skimming abruptly to the left and almost back over his own trail, and
then darting around the pack. The line was that of a semicircle, whose
extreme rim on the left was several rods beyond the last of the wolves
swarming to the right.
"Now!" called Sterry at the moment of turning with all the speed at
his command.
Critical as was the moment, he flung one glance behind him. Fred and
Jennie were almost nigh enough to touch him with outstretched hand. No
need of shouting any commands to them, for they understood what he was
doing, or rather trying to do.
Young Sterry, as I have said, had cleared the horde of wolves, making
the turn so quickly that they slid a rod or more over the ice before
able to check themselves and change their own course.
The stratagem seemed as successful as the other, but it was too soon
to congratulate themselves. At the moment when everything promised
well, the most enormous wolf he had ever seen bounded from under the
trees on the left bank and galloped directly for him.
He was so far in advance that the only way of dodging him was by
another sharp turn in his course. To do this, however, would bring him
so near the other brutes that they were almost certain to leap upon
every one of the party.
"Use your revolver!" called Fred from the rear.
Monteith had already decided that this was an exigency demanding one
of the remaining charges, and he partly raised the weapon in front of
him.
Meanwhile, the huge wolf had stopped on seeing that the procession was
coming in a straight line for him. The youth moderated his speed still
more, that he might perfect his aim.
He was in the act of levelling his pistol, when the animal advanced
quickly a couple of steps and made a tremendous leap at his throat.
The act was unexpected, but at the instant of his leaving the ice
Monteith let fly with one chamber at him.
The success was better than he had a right to expect, for the leaden
pellet bored its way through the skull of the wolf, who, with a
rasping yelp, made a sidelong plunge, as if diving off a bank into the
water, and, striking on the side of his head, rolled over on his back,
with his legs vaguely kicking at the moon, and as powerless to do harm
as a log of wood.
Brief as was the halt, it had given the leading brutes of the main
body time to come up. They were fearfully near, when the scent of
blood and the sight of their fallen comrade suggested to the foremost
that a meal was at their disposal. They flew at the huge fellow and
rended him to shreds and fragments in a twinkling.
The only way of escape was still in front, and, with the utmost
energy, power, and skill at his command, Monteith Sterry darted ahead.
His crouching body, the head well in advance, somewhat after the
manner of a racing bicyclist on the home-stretch, his compressed lips,
his flashing eyes, with every muscle tense, were proof that he knew it
had now become a struggle of life and death.
If he allowed one of those wolves to approach nigh enough to leap upon
him, he would be borne to the earth like a flash and share the fate
of the victim of his pistol. They were near, for he could hear that
multitudinous pattering on the ice, when the din of their cries
permitted it, and they were running fast.
But, he reasoned, if they were so close to him they must be still
closer to the brother and sister, whose peril, therefore, was
correspondingly greater. He looked around. He was farther from the
horde than he supposed, but Fred and Jennie were not directly behind
him, as he had thought.
At the moment an awful thrill shot through him; he caught a glimpse
of Fred close in shore and going like the wind. The couple were still
preserved from the fangs of the wolves, but only heaven knew how long
it would last.
A short distance ahead an opening showed where a creek put in from the
woods and hills. Monteith gave it only a glance when he skimmed past
at the same furious pace as before. It looked as if there was hope at
last, for the brutes first seen were all at the rear. If new danger
came, it would be from others that ran out on the ice in front.
"It seems to me that all the wolves in Maine are on this little
river," was his thought, "but there may be a few left that will try to
get into our path."
A wild cry came from his friends and he glanced toward them. Not only
that, but believing his help was needed, he sheered over to them as
quickly as he could.
The course of the river had changed, so that a ribbon of shadow
extended along that bank, partially obscuring the form of Fred
Whitney, who seemed to cling to it as if therein lay his safety.
The brutes were now so far to the rear that there was little to be
feared from them, though they still kept up the pursuit, and while
able to follow in a straight line were doing so with more speed than
would be expected.
It struck Sterry that his friend was not skating with his utmost
skill. He was alarmed.
"What's the matter, Fred?" he called, drawing quickly near him.
"O, Jennie! Jennie! What will become of her?"
Fred Whitney, it was now apparent, was alone.
Forgetful of the savage brutes, Monteith Sterry slackened his pace,
and in a scared voice demanded:
"What has become of her? Where is she?"
"She darted into the mouth of that creek."
"Why didn't you follow?"
"I could not; it was done in a flash; she called to me to keep on and
said something else which I could not catch."
"But," continued the wondering Monteith, "how could she do it when she
was at your side?"
"She fell a little to the rear and made a lightning turn. I attempted
to follow, but it seemed half the pack were in my path, and it was
certain death. I was frantic for the moment, and even now do not
understand what it all meant."
"What a woeful mistake!" wailed Monteith; "the chances are a thousand
to one that she is lost."
"I think," said the brother, half beside himself, "that it may have
been a good thing, but--"
A peculiar cry behind them caused Monteith to turn his head. The
wolves had gained so fast during the last few minutes that one of them
was in the act of springing on Fred Whitney.
"Stoop, quick!" shouted his companion.
Fred bent low in the nick of time, and the gaunt, lank body shot over
his head, landing on the ice in front. Before he could gather himself
a bullet from the revolver was driven into his vitals and he rolled
over and over, snapping and yelping in his death-throes.
The skaters swerved aside enough to avoid him, and the next instant
were skimming over the ice at their utmost speed.
It was not a moment too soon, for the halt was well-nigh fatal; but
they could travel faster than the animals, and steadily drew away from
them until, ere long, they were safe, so far as those creatures were
concerned. They continued the pursuit, however, being a number of rods
to the rear and in plain sight of the fugitives, who looked back,
while speeding forward with undiminished swiftness.
But the couple could not continue their flight, knowing nothing of the
missing one. The wolves were between them and her, and Monteith Sterry
had fired the last shot in his revolver.
"How far back does that tributary reach?" he asked.
"I never learned, but probably a good way."
"Its breadth is not half of this."
"No; nothing like it."
"What has become of her?"
"Alas! alas! What shall I answer?"
"But, Fred, she is not without hope; she can skate faster than either
of us, and I am sure none of them was in front of her on the creek or
she would not have made the turn she did."
"If the creek extends for several miles, that is with enough width to
give her room, she will outspeed them; but how is she to get back?"
"What need that she should? When they are thrown behind she can take
off her skates and continue homeward through the woods, or she may
find her way back to the river and rejoin us."
"God grant that you are right; but some of the wolves may appear in
front of her, and then--"
"Don't speak of it! We would have heard their cries if any of them had
overtaken her."
No situation could be more trying than that of the two youths, who
felt that every rod toward home took them that distance farther from
the beloved one whose fate was involved in awful uncertainty.
"This won't do," added Monteith, after they had skated some distance
farther; "we are now so far from the animals that they cannot trouble
us again; we are deserting her in the most cowardly manner."
"But what shall we do? What _can_ we do?"
"You know something of this part of the country; let's take off our
skates and cut across the creek; she may have taken refuge in the limb
of a tree and is awaiting us."
"Isn't some one coming up stream?" asked Fred, peering forward, where
the straight stretch was so extensive that the vision permitted them
to see unusually far.
"It may be another wolf."
"No; it is a person. Perhaps Quance has been drawn from his home by
the racket. He is a great hunter. I hope it is he, for he can give us
help in hunting for Jennie--"
Monteith suddenly gripped the arm of his friend.
"It is not a man! It is a woman!"
"Who can it be? Not Jennie, surely--"
"Hurry along! You are no skaters at all!"
It was she! That was her voice, and it was her slight, girlish figure
skimming like a swallow toward them.
Within the following minute Fred Whitney clasped his beloved sister in
his arms, both shedding tears of joy and gratitude.
Jennie had had a marvellous experience, indeed. Controlled by an
intuition or instinct which often surpasses reason, she was led to
dart aside into the smaller stream at the critical moment when the
fierce wolves were so near that escape seemed impossible. She had
fallen slightly to the rear, and a single terrified glance showed her
a beast in the act of leaping at her. Her dart to the left was only
the effort to elude him for that instant, and she was not aware of the
mouth of the creek until she had entered it. Then, seeing that it was
altogether too late to rejoin her brother, she had no course left but
to continue the flight which, until then, she had not intended.
The words which she called to Fred, that were not understood by him,
were to the effect that she would try to rejoin him farther down the
stream, with whose many turnings she was more familiar than he.
She ascended the tributary with all the wonderful skill at her
command. Not only the brute that was on the point of leaping at her,
but three others, turned as soon as they could poise themselves and
went after her at their utmost bent.
But her change of direction was a most fortunate action. As in the
case of the abrupt darting aside, when on the surface of the larger
stream, it placed her considerably in advance of the nearest pursuers.
Add to this her power of outspeeding them when the chance was equal,
and it will be seen that her only danger was from the front.
The creek was so narrow that if any of the wolves appeared before
her she would be lost, for there was not room to manoeuvre as on the
larger stream.
But she met none. The first signals had drawn them to the river, and
if there were any near, they and she were mutually unaware of it.
As her brother had said, she was more acquainted with this section
than he. She knew at what points the river and its tributary curved so
as to bring them near each other. Reaching that place, she buried the
heels of her skate-runners in the ice, sending the particles about
her in a misty shower, and quickly came to a halt. Then, standing
motionless, she listened.
In the distance sounded the howling of the animals so repeatedly
disappointed of their prey, but none was nigh enough to cause her
misgiving.
"I hope no harm has come to Fred or Monteith," she murmured. "Both can
skate fast enough to leave the wolves behind; they would have done so
at once if they had not been bothered by having me with them. Now they
ought to be able to take care of themselves."
She sat down on the bank and removed her skates. The slight layer of
snow on the leaves caused no inconvenience, for she was well shod, and
the walk was not far. Her fear was that some of the wolves might sneak
up unseen. Often she stopped and listened, but when half the distance
was passed, without any alarm from that source, she believed nothing
was to be feared. A little farther and she reached the main stream,
the distance passed being so much less than was necessary for her
escorts that she knew that she was in advance of them, even if they
had continued their flight without interruption.
Her club skates were securely refastened, and then she listened again.
The cries of the brutes were few and distant and could not cause
alarm.
Hark! A familiar sound reached her. She recognized it as made by
skates gliding over the ice. Rising to her feet, she remarked, with a
smile:
"I think I will give them a surprise." And she did. The meeting was a
happy one, and before the stroke of midnight all three were at home,
where they found the mother anxiously awaiting their return and
greatly relieved to learn that despite their stirring experience no
harm had befallen any member of the little party.