THE CIRCLE OF DEATH
Toma had cut a huge stack of wood, and it was well he did, for the
moment the fire died down the wolves drew closer. In fact they seemed to
taunt the boys into using the last of their ammunition in firing at the
difficult targets they made.
The one dog was whimpering with fear and cowering under the legs of his
masters in abject fear. Sometimes, however, a low whine sounded among
the wolves, at which the husky pricked up his ears and did not seem so
frightened. Toma tied the dog to the sled with a thong of moose-hide.
As the night wore away, Dick and Sandy risked shot after shot at the
wolves, and now and again they dropped a skulking shadow. But usually
they missed, since Toma objected to giving up his rifle, and they were
forced to use the corporal’s revolver.
“How long do you suppose we can hold out?” Sandy asked in a strained
voice.
“I see no reason why we can’t hold out until they leave,” Dick replied
with more confidence than he felt. “We’ve plenty of firewood. As long as
we have fire to fight with we’re safe.”
“How do we know they’ll leave?” Sandy wanted to know.
Dick shuddered a little, and did not answer. He saw a gray shape loom up
at the edge of the firelight, and raising the revolver, fired quickly.
He gave a cry of satisfaction as he saw the gaunt beast leap into the
air and fall, kicking its last.
There followed a rush of hungry wolves for their fallen companion.
Horrified, the boys watched the dead wolf torn to pieces by the pack.
Dick emptied his revolver into the writhing mass. He could not help but
hit, and he killed another wolf, wounding two others, which the pack
finished.
Sandy began throwing burning brands at the wolves, and they drew off
once more into the darkness, where they paced nervously back and forth,
growling and snarling.
The boys decided that one of them should try to sleep while the other
two watched. Dick arranged three twigs in one hand for Sandy and Toma to
draw from. The one with the shortest twig, after the draw, was to be the
lucky one. Sandy drew the shortest. But after a half hour of futile
tossing about, he gave it up.
“No use,” Sandy joined the haggard watchers at the fire. “One of you
fellows try it. I couldn’t sleep in a million years with those devils
out there waiting to gobble me up.”
“I don’t think I can either,” said Dick. “Toma, you’d better try it. One
of us had better get some rest.”
The guide grunted assent, and rolled into his sleeping bag, which once
had been his brother’s. In a few minutes Toma was breathing steadily in
sound slumber. His calmness gave the boys courage.
“If he can sleep I guess we hadn’t ought to feel so nervous,” Sandy
observed.
“I’ve heard old sourdoughs say an Indian never lets the nearness of
death trouble him when he can’t get away from it,” Dick related, trying
to get his own mind and Sandy’s off their perilous predicament.
“Well, I wish I was an Indian then,” Sandy sighed, “—for the present
anyway.”
The renewed and increased restlessness of their dog attracted their
attention then, and they watched him straining at the moosehide leash.
Dick caught the dog trying to chew through the thong and spoke sharply.
“Funny why he wants to get away,” Dick mused aloud. “One would think the
dog would realize his danger and want to stay near the fire.”
Corporal Richardson’s voice sounded from his blankets. The officer had
awakened and had overheard Dick’s remark.
“There’s a female wolf out there—several of them,” the veteran
northerner answered Dick. “She’s calling to the dog. It’s the mate call
of the wolf and the dog understands it. But only the wisest of
she-wolves understand how to use the call to lure meat for their
stomachs. That dog wouldn’t last three minutes once he left the fire.”
“How do you feel now?” Dick asked, going to the wounded man’s side.
“Much better,” answered the officer, “but my side is stiff and mighty
sore. I’ll be flat on my back for a couple of weeks yet. Couldn’t be
worse luck now that the Inspector needs every man of us.”
“Then you really think we have a good chance escaping from the wolf
pack?” Dick eagerly seized at a grain of encouragement.
The corporal did not answer immediately. “You’d have a lot bigger chance
if you left me here in the morning,” said the corporal steadily.
“Leave you here!” Dick exclaimed. “What do you think we are—cowards?”
“I should say not, Dick Kent,” replied the policeman. “But that doesn’t
make me any less a burden. With this wolf pack surrounding you you’ll do
well to get away from camp at all, say nothing of hauling me along.”
“But we’re with you anyway,” Dick concluded decisively.
“Oh, well,” the officer turned a little, stifling a groan at the
movement, “the wolves may scare up moose or caribou before morning. If
they do they’ll soon leave us alone.”
The conversation had weakened the corporal, and Dick soon left him to
rest, joining Sandy. The boys discussed the situation, listening to the
fearful howls of the wolves, hoping against hope that as Corporal
Richardson had said, they might find other game before morning.
After two hours of sound slumber, Toma quietly arose and joined the two
at the fireside. He said little, but set to work cutting down more wood,
and breaking it up into firewood lengths.
Morning dawned, cold and gray. Dick and Sandy were worn from loss of
sleep. Silently they waited for the wolves to depart. But with the sun
an hour high the pack still circled the camp, tongues lolling, jaws
slavering.
“Will they never leave!” Sandy’s voice faltered.
“Wolf much hungry!” Toma grunted. “Maybe um leave, we start. Sometime
they do.” He looked at Dick to see what he thought.
Dick surveyed the menacing circle of wolves. They had grown bolder as
their hunger increased. Could they hitch up the dog and break out of
that circle of death?
“If you think we have a chance to get out of here, Toma, we’ll try it,”
Dick grimly returned a moment later. “Anything but this suspense suits
me.”
As the boys packed up the wolves grew more uneasy and shifted closer.
Toma scarcely could manage the husky as he hitched it to the sled. The
young guide held his rifle in one hand, working at a disadvantage so
that he might be prepared to shoot at a moment’s notice. Toma’s was the
only rifle left in which there was ammunition, and Dick had shot away
all the revolver cartridges during the night.
It was with many misgivings that a few minutes later they took their
places for the dash through the wolves.
Toma took the lead, with the rifle, Sandy held the dog, while Dick took
up the rear, swinging the camp axe.
Slowly, in grim silence, they pulled away from the fire.
A hundred feet away they discovered they never would get through the
circle. For, instead of retreating, the wolves dashed this way and that,
then rushed them in a body. Sandy’s cry of terror was drowned by the
crack of Toma’s rifle and Dick’s hoarse shout:
“Back to the fire! We can’t make it!”
Then Toma’s rifle was empty, and with clubbed rifle and axe they were
left to fight their way back to the campfire. Slashing with razor fangs,
the wolves leaped in and out. Dick wrought havoc with the axe, and Toma
ploughed his way through the snarling, writhing mass like a Hercules.
When the guide broke through he ran to the fire and commenced throwing
coals and burning sticks with his mittens, until the air was filled with
flying embers. Howls of pain followed as the hot coals burned the
wolves. The scent of singed hair and burning flesh arose.
At last the wolves drew off reluctantly, leaving behind them a trail of
wounded and dying. In the repulsion of the attack the boys had slain
nine wolves and wounded seven. They could see the hairy bodies of the
dead lying scattered all the way from where the fight had begun.
“Wood not last much longer,” Toma’s voice startled Dick.
Dick hastily inspected the patch of wood in which they had camped. As
Toma had said, they soon would be out of firewood. And the nearest wood
was three hundred yards away—outside the circle of death.
Dick and Sandy shuddered; Corporal Richardson stirred and moaned; Toma
began quietly gathering the chips and twigs; half buried in the snow.