A HUNGRY PACK
Scarcely had they cut loose the fallen dog when the rifle sounded again
and the lead dog dropped to his haunches, failing to rise again. Dick
put the dog out of misery with a shot from his rifle, then turned to
Toma and Sandy.
“We’ve got to get that fellow out of his nest. He’s playing with us. As
soon as he finishes with the dogs he’ll start in on us. We might as well
die fighting. Follow me.” Dick wheeled and started up the hill, firing
his rifle as he went, Sandy and Toma not far behind.
The man on the rim of the ravine seemed taken by surprise. His shots
went wild. Only one came close, and that tore through Sandy’s mackinaw.
Shouting at the top of their voices, the boys reached the top of the
ravine. A running figure was just disappearing over a knoll ahead of
them. Dick paused a moment, levelled his rifle and fired quickly. The
figure, some hundred yards distant, leaped high, as if hit, and ran on
limping. Toma and Sandy also fired, but did not hit. They ran on after
the man a little way, then fearing to leave the wounded officer too long
alone, they hurried back, certain they had routed the sharpshooter.
“We’re lucky,” Dick said, as they trotted down the slope of the ravine,
“—not a scratch and he was sure shooting close.”
“I kind of wish I was in Corporal Richardson’s place when I think of
going on with one dog,” Sandy changed the subject, making light of his
narrow escape. “Means we’ve got to buckle into the harness again.”
Toma paused as they reached the sled. They could see him looking up at
the sky.
“Heap snow come soon,” the imperturbable weather prophet announced.
“Make um wolves hungry.”
Dick and Sandy did not think seriously of Toma’s prophecy, for they were
intent on the hard work ahead, and already were stepping into the places
vacated by the dead dogs.
Again they toiled out on the trail to Fort Dunwoody, hauling the wounded
man, who was muttering to himself now in a delirious state brought on by
rising fever.
In an hour it had begun to snow, but the boys kept on. Thicker and
thicker fell the soft, white flakes, until they could see no more than
twenty feet ahead. It was a wet snow, and made pulling the sled harder
than ever. The runners seemed to drag like lead upon the aching
shoulders of the three. They were glad when darkness fell and they were
forced to camp.
“We’re in for an all-night snow storm, I guess,” Dick observed, as the
fire he was trying to start went out for a third time, and he had to
enlist the aid of Toma.
“I’d like to sleep for a week,” said Sandy, from where he was trying to
make the wounded officer more comfortable. “That falling snow is just
like a bedtime story that really does put a fellow to sleep.”
They rolled into their sleeping bags as soon as they had appeased their
appetites, not troubling to keep watch. All night the snow fell, and in
the morning they awakened almost smothered with the wet drifts. The
world was all fresh and white like a new blanket, but they had not taken
ten steps before they knew they would make little progress that day.
“If a crust would only freeze over the snow we could get along faster,”
Dick bewailed.
Corporal Richardson seemed a little better after the night’s rest. His
fever had gone down and an examination of the wound showed it to be
coming along as well as could be expected. He was very weak, however,
from loss of blood.
“Where are we?” the officer asked Dick.
“About fifty miles north of Fort Dunwoody with only one dog,” Dick
replied. “You were unconscious yesterday during the scrap we had with
the same fellow who hit you.”
“Yes, I seemed to have had delirium,” replied the corporal. “I imagined
I heard shooting.”
“Well, you didn’t need your imagination to hear that yesterday,” Dick
assured him.
“It’ll be a wonder if you get through,” the officer said, “better leave
me along the trail somewhere. There’s an abandoned cabin a few miles
this side of Badge Lake. You’ll strike it if you follow the long ridge.
Put me off there with some grub and then have Inspector Dawson send a
man out after me.”
“No, we couldn’t do anything like that,” Dick returned firmly. “In your
condition you need medical care as soon as you can get it. As long as we
can stand you’re going to stay on this sled.”
As if to bear out Dick’s words, the officer fainted dead away.
Alarmed, Dick put a cup of melted snow to the pale lips. The corporal
had just aroused enough to drink when a sound from across the snow
startled Dick so that he spilled the water.
“Listen to that!” ejaculated Sandy.
“I heard it,” Dick replied.
Long, weird, mournful, the howl of a wolf rose and fell in the distance.
It was the hunger cry of the most savage denizen of the northland wilds.
Deep snow had made hunting hard for the wolves, and they were beginning
to take notice of the man prey of the land.
“Him hungry,” grunted Toma.
They set off on the trail once more. A half mile they struggled along
with the sled, when another wolf howled from a different quarter. This
time the cry was answered.
“Wolves come together for big hunt,” Toma explained, with his usual
absence of emotion.
“Here’s hoping they don’t pick on us,” Sandy remarked.
Dick was silent. His face was haggard. The troubles of the trail were
weighing heavily on his sturdy shoulders, and this new danger of the
northland taxed his courage to the utmost. Yet he did not falter.
Instead, his words were cheerful, though they came from drawn lips.
“I guess we have a few shots left in our rifles,” said Dick meaningly.
“Those wolves better not come too close.”
“Few shots is right,” Sandy came back dishearteningly. “Dick, do you
know we have only about ten shots left for each of the rifles? And we
had the hard luck to unload Corporal Richardson’s ammunition when we put
him on the sled. All he has is a belt full of revolver cartridges.”
Dick’s hands clenched on the strap with which he was helping pull the
sled. “Makes no difference, Sandy. After we’ve escaped all these human
wolves that have been after us, I guess we can handle the animals all
right.” But he was not quite so sure as he tried to make Sandy believe.
“Wolves eat um dead dogs back trail,” Toma called from the rear of the
sled, where he was following up after a stiff job of breaking trail.
All afternoon the cries of the gathering pack could be heard, now near,
now far. Once it seemed they were all around them. Then the boys
redoubled their efforts on the heavy sled.
“We ought to pull into that cabin the corporal mentioned before long,”
Dick said worriedly, as he changed places with Sandy.
“I don’t know about that,” Sandy replied. “The corporal was probably
estimating the distance if we made time with a good dog team—but we
haven’t gone more than five miles today.”
They made no stop for a mid-day meal, chewing raw bacon while toiling on
the trail. The fear of the wolves had entered their hearts yet they
would not let one another feel that fear by any spoken word.
Near nightfall they were certain the wolves were trailing them, and they
could not hide it from one another. Far in the rear they could hear the
hunting cry of the pack, and it was blood-curdling.
While the sun still shone over the western skyline, the first of the
wolf pack appeared behind, and the boys knew that they were in for
trouble.
The leader of the wolves was old and wise. For a time he held the pack
of nearly thirty gaunt, gray wolves out of rifle range, waiting for
dark. But hunger could not be denied. The less wise of the pack forged
ahead, and the rifles of the three boys spoke with deadly effect.
Dick’s toll was three wolves before he emptied his magazine. Sandy shot
one and thought he had killed another, but the animal seemed only
stunned, and after a minute leaped up and came on again at a swinging
lope, to be dropped by a shot from Dick, who had reloaded.
Toma did not fire, however. Instead, without any orders from Dick or
Sandy, he made camp in a patch of scrub pine and spruce, where there was
plenty of dead wood. Speedily he made a fire. When Dick and Sandy had
exhausted their ammunition, and had gone for Corporal Richardson’s
revolver, a huge fire was roaring and crackling before the upturned
sled, in whose shelter rested the corporal.
The wolves had drawn off out of gunshot now. Some of them were devouring
their comrades that had fallen. When darkness crept over the little camp
the wolves had completely surrounded it.
“We’ve got to save our cartridges,” Dick said at last. “Toma, how many
have you left?”
“Just gun full up,” replied Toma, which meant he had the magazine of his
repeater full—eight shots.
Dick was fingering Corporal Richardson’s revolver. He was unaccustomed
to handling a revolver and comprehended he could do little real damage
with the small arm, having always used a rifle. Sandy was no better than
he, and when Dick asked Toma if he could shoot with a revolver with
accuracy, the guide shook his head.
“They’re slinking around us in a circle now,” Sandy reported fearfully,
as the shadows deepened.
As he had said, now and again a dark, sinister form glided across the
snow from shrub to shrub, skirting the firelight. Here and there, one of
the pack sat on his haunches, his beady eyes fixed on the camp, while
his mouth slavered. Frequently one of the number raised his nose to the
sky and sounded the hunger howl.
The wolves feared the campfire, and Toma explained that as long as they
could keep the fire going they need not fear any very dangerous attack.
And even if the wolves did rush them they could be repelled by fire
brands.
“I’m going to see what they do when I throw fire,” Dick said presently.
He picked out the nearest shadowy form, and drawing a flaming stick from
the fire, threw it at the wolf. His aim was good and the animal snarled
horribly as the fire fell within a few feet of its feet.
It was close to midnight when Toma confided to Dick and Sandy what they
both feared. The wolves were gaining in number as wanderers joined the
pack surrounding them. The places of those they had killed earlier in
the day, and the few they had managed to pick off after dark were being
filled by other ravenous beasts.
There would be no sleep in the camp that night.