The Wolf Pack
One evening not long after their arrival at the camp the three friends,
wearied after a day of strenuous activity, were whiling away the time in
reminiscences of some of their past adventures. Mr. Melton, who made one
of the little group, listened in an interested fashion, and seemed little
disposed to interrupt the draught of "memories' mellow vine."
After a while they ceased talking, and a short silence ensued, which was
abruptly broken by Bert.
"Look here, fellows," he exclaimed, "here we are monopolizing the
conversation, when we might be listening to some really interesting story
from Mr. Melton. I vote we petition the boss of this outfit to spin us a
yarn."
"Second the motion," shouted Tom and Dick, and the vote was carried.
"You fellows seem to think I have a story on tap all the time," he said
with an indulgent smile, "but the fact is I've told you about all the
exciting things that ever happened to me, or that I ever heard of. My
memory is squeezed as dry as a lemon."
"Just the same, I'll bet if you think real hard you can think of
something worth telling," said Bert; "try to, anyway, won't you?"
At first their host made no reply to this entreaty, but gazed
ruminatively off into space. At last he spoke.
"I suppose you boys think," he said, "that this country is pretty wild
and uncivilized. But take my word for it, it is so tame now that it eats
out of your hand compared to what it once was. Why, now it's the rarest
thing in the world that you ever see a wolf--that is, a real wolf," as
Tom started to interrupt. "What I'm thinking of is a real timber wolf,
not one of the slinking coyotes you see every once in a while. There is
no animal I'd go farther out of my way to avoid than a hungry timber
wolf, and anybody else who knows anything at all about them will tell you
the same thing.
"They are half as big again as a coyote, and twice as strong. Why, a
full-grown timber wolf will throw a running steer. Man is the only thing
in the world they're afraid of, and they're not afraid of him when
they're very hungry or running in packs. When driven to it they'll tackle
almost anything.
"I remember one time when I had occasion to go to Belford, a little
trading station some twenty or thirty miles from our camp, to secure some
much-needed supplies. It was the middle of winter, and an exceptionally
cold and severe winter at that. Fresh meat was naturally very scarce, and
the wolves were becoming bolder and more fearless every day. At night
they used to prowl close about the camp, and howl until we got up and
plugged one or two of their number, after which they generally dispersed
for a time.
"Well, as I have said, it became necessary for me to take the journey for
supplies, so one winter's morning I hitched up the team to a rude sort
of home-made sled I had made and started off for Belford. The snow was
quite deep and, needless to say, there had not been enough travel along
the trail to pack it down. The horses made heavy going of it, but we got
there at last, and glad enough I was to get inside the shack that served
as the general store and warm my half frozen hands and feet at the red
hot stove.
"After I was comfortable once more I made my purchases, and after loading
them into the sleigh said good-by to the boys and started out on the
return journey.
"It was a mighty long trip for the horses, but they were a young team,
full of fire and life, and I thought we could make back the same day
without much trouble. And likely enough we would have, with time to
spare, if it hadn't started to snow; lightly at first, but getting
thicker all the time. The horses had started out toward home at a brisk
trot, but they gradually slowed down to a walk, and once or twice I had
to stop them altogether to let them gather fresh strength.
"What with the slow going and the stops, dusk overtook us while we were
still some eight or ten miles from the camp. It couldn't have been later
than four o'clock, but the short winter's day was even at that time
drawing to a close, and the falling snow made it darker still.
"But no thought of danger entered my head, and I merely swore a little
at the prospect of a late supper, for I was cold and hungry. Suddenly,
however, the danger of my position was brought home to me in a very
sudden manner. Away in the distance I heard the long drawn wolf-howl,
than which I firmly believe there is no more blood-curdling sound in
existence. The horses pricked up their ears nervously and hastened their
lagging pace, and I myself felt a thrill go up my spine. It was not many
seconds before the first howl was answered by a second, and then a third.
"'A little faster, my beauties,' I said to the horses, 'we're not so far
from home now, and it's up to us to get there pretty pronto.'
"The faithful beasts seemed to understand my words, and strained forward
in the harness. The snow had stopped by this time, but was pretty deep,
and the sleigh was heavy. After trotting forward at a brisk pace for a
way they dropped back into a walk again.
"By now the howls had merged into a general chorus, and looking back over
the great expanse of open country over which we were traveling I could
see numerous black specks traveling swiftly toward us, becoming larger
every second.
"I saw that I was in a mighty tight place, so got out my Winchester
repeater and made sure that it was loaded. Then I stationed myself in
the back of the sleigh and waited for the enemy to approach.
"On they came, loping swiftly along, silent now that their quarry was in
plain sight. I took careful aim at the foremost brute, and pulled the
trigger. My shot took effect, for with an unearthly scream the animal
dropped, and for a few brief seconds his comrades stopped in order to
devour him. At the sound of the rifle shot and the scream of the stricken
wolf the horses plunged forward, all thought of fatigue gone in their
overwhelming terror. The wolves were not easily to be outdistanced,
though, and were soon after us again. They gained on us as though we were
standing still, and were soon close to the back of the sleigh. I pumped
bullets into them as fast as I could work my repeater, but by this time
they were so numerous that it seemed to have little effect. The horses
were slowing down again, even their fear of death unable to force them
onward. I saw it was a case of lighten the sleigh or go under, so I
commenced throwing our precious supplies out of the sled. Bags of flour
and sides of bacon flew through the air, and the wolves were momentarily
checked while fighting over the prizes.
"I knew that presently they would be up with us again, however, and then,
with every resource gone, it looked as though my chances would be slim,
indeed. But suddenly an inspiration shot through my mind.
"I drew up the trembling horses, and with a few slashes of my hunting
knife cut the harness that held them to the sleigh. Then, with my rifle
in one hand, I swung onto the back of the larger of the two horses, and
let the other go. He was off like a streak, with my mount a close second.
"I glanced back over my shoulder, hoping that we could gain a little
ground before the wolves quit their wrangling over the supplies I had
thrown out to them, but was disappointed. They were after us again in
full cry, and my heart sank.
"I turned in the saddle and sent shot after shot into the racing pack,
and succeeded in checking them a little, but not much. The horse was
galloping at a good clip now, though, and I knew that if we could keep
ahead for a short time longer we would reach the camp.
"The wolves overtook us without seeming effort, however, and were soon
snapping about the horse's heels. My rifle was of little use now, and
I drew my revolvers and blazed away at short range. Every shot took
effect, but the wolves were nothing daunted. As I told you before, when
the timber wolf gets his blood up he is absolutely fearless. No sooner
did one of the great gray brutes drop than another leaped into his place,
his green eyes glowing balefully and his jaws snapping.
"When both my revolves were empty I clubbed my rifle, and lashed away at
the long-pointed heads that were so close to me. Once or twice one would
catch the butt of the gun in his teeth, and the marks are in the wood to
this day.
"Well, I was so busy fighting off the wolves that I had no time to notice
how near we were to camp. But suddenly my heart gave a great leap as I
heard a yell in front of me and recognized the voice of my partner.
"I looked ahead and saw that I had almost reached our shack. My partner
was standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, and even as I looked came
running out toward me. In a few seconds the faithful horse had carried me
almost to the shack, and I leaped to the ground. My partner took up a
stand alongside me, and as the wolves came on we cleared a space about us
with the clubbed rifles. We realized we couldn't keep that up long,
though, so we retreated to the cabin. We backed in, but were unable to
shut the door before one big gray brute squeezed inside. He was nothing
dismayed at being separated from his companions, but leaped straight for
us. I fetched him a stunning blow with the butt of my rifle, and before
he could recover we both fell upon him and despatched him with our
hunting knives. That was about as close a shave as I ever had," and as he
finished his story Mr. Melton shook his head.
"I should think it must have been," said Bert, drawing a long breath,
"but what did the rest of the wolves do when they found themselves shut
out?"
"Oh, my partner and I shot at them from the window until we had killed
over a dozen, and the rest, finding that they could not get at us, took
themselves off."
"Did they kill the horses?" asked Tom.
"No," replied Mr. Melton, "for some reason they didn't chase them. The
next morning we found them both outside the shack none the worse for
their adventure. And a mighty lucky thing for us it was, because the loss
of our horses then would have meant the failure of all our plans."
"I suppose you went back and got the sled the next day, didn't you?"
inquired Dick.
"Oh, yes," replied his host, "we recovered it all right, but then we had
to go back to the settlement for more grub, of course. But I was so happy
at having escaped with my life that I didn't mind a little thing like
that."
The three boys laughingly voted Mr. Melton's story a "curly wolf," and
then, as it was getting late, trooped off to bed.