THE LAST OF THE WOLVES.
It certainly looked as if matters would turn out seriously for the five
boys. The three remaining wolves were close at their heels, and so far
no one but Jack had succeeded in reloading his gun.
The boys thought it odd that the three wolves did not stop to devour
their dead companions. The truth was that every one of the savage
beasts had received a portion of the scattering shot and was so enraged
that it thought only of attack.
As soon as he had his firearm ready for use, Jack wheeled about and
took hasty aim.
Bang! went the gun, and the foremost of the wolves keeled over, shot
through the head.
“Good for you, Jack!” panted his brother. “I wish I could knock another
of them!”
“Sling your guns over your shoulders and jump for the tree limbs!”
called out Boxy, and an instant later he made a leap and drew himself
up into a tree, where he was safe for the time being.
Andy quickly followed his example, and Jack did the same. Harry was
just finishing loading, and kept on running.
The two wolves did not stop running, but went after Harry, snarling and
yelping directly at his heels.
Then, with a lightninglike movement, the brave boy swung around, and,
without bringing his gun to his shoulder, fired almost directly into
the open mouth of the leading beast.
With hardly a sound, the wolf toppled over, knocking his companion down
as he fell.
This gave Harry a moment’s respite, of which the exhausted boy was not
slow to take advantage.
He came to a tree whose branches were scarcely seven feet from the
ground, and, with a jump, landed in several of them. He managed to haul
himself up just as the remaining wolf made an unsuccessful attempt to
bury his gleaming teeth in his leg.
But, alas! as Harry reached the branches in safety, his gun slipped
from his hand, and went down into the snow under the wolf’s feet!
He was now practically defenseless. And the worst of it was every one
of his chums with their guns were at least a hundred feet or more away.
“Here’s a fine mess!” he muttered to himself, as he looked down and
surveyed the situation. “If I had that gun I could easily settle that
fellow, but without it I can do practically nothing.”
“Hullo, Harry! where are you?” sang out the voice of Jack, from a tree
which was out of sight.
“I’m up a tree and I’ve dropped my gun!” was the dismal response.
“How about the wolves?”
“They are all dead but one, and he is sitting under the tree waiting to
make a meal of me.”
“If there’s only one left I’ll soon finish him!” responded Jack,
quickly. “Just wait till I load up again.”
“Look out there!” suddenly shouted Boxy, from another direction. “Here
comes another wolf!”
A yelping from the woods left behind told that he was right. The beast
stopped under the trees Boxy and Andy had climbed for safety.
Presently both boys fired on him, and he was mortally wounded. With a
yelp of pain almost human he dragged himself out of sight through the
brush.
“He’s cooked!” cried Andy.
“Any more coming?” questioned his big brother, anxiously.
“Not that we can hear,” replied Boxy, after a pause. “By the way, where
is Pickles?”
That was a puzzling question. In their excitement all of the members of
the Zero Club had forgotten the negro youth.
But they now had no time to think over the matter. Jack was determined
to kill the wolf under Harry’s tree. He saw to it that his gun was
ready for use, and then dropped down into the snow.
He had hardly gone a dozen steps when the wolf saw him and made a rush
forward. Taking hasty aim, Jack fired.
The shot struck the wolf in the side, wounding him just sufficiently
to make him still more ugly. He flew at Jack with wonderful ferocity,
knocking the boy off his feet and sending him flat on his back.
Through the tree branches Harry saw the disaster and his companion’s
great peril. With a half-suppressed cry of horror he leaped to the
ground and caught up his own gun.
The wolf paused for a moment when he saw that he was to be attacked in
the rear. Then he again turned and flew at Jack’s leg.
But ere he could bury his teeth into the flesh Harry hit him a
resounding crack on the side with the stock of his gun. The blow,
delivered with all strength, knocked the wolf away several feet.
Jack turned over and leaped to his feet. Then the wolf came at both
boys.
For about ten seconds it looked as if the boys would have a hard time
of it. The wolf was wary and took no chances. He was watching for an
opportunity to leap at the throat of one or the other.
Finally he sprang at Jack, but just then came an unexpected shot from
one side. It was so close it caused the wolf to drop almost at the
boy’s feet. He gave a yelp, turned over once or twice, and was dead.
They looked around and saw Pickles standing there, a smoking shotgun in
his hands, and grinning from ear to ear.
“Dat’s de time dat wolf got dun up fo’ keeps,” remarked the colored
youth.
“Good for you, Pickles!” cried Jack, gratefully. “You saved my life!”
“Not as much as dat, I rackon,” returned Pickles. “Is dis de las’ ob de
tribe?”
[Illustration: “Jack wheeled about and took hasty aim.” See page 138.]
“I believe so,” returned Harry. “Let us all load up and be on our
guard. There may be more of the pack that haven’t yet arrived.”
They followed this advice, and then walked back to where Boxy and Andy
had been left. They were joined by the others, and then all five of the
boys walked around to view their dead enemies.
“Six wolves isn’t bad,” observed Jack, grimly.
“That’s so,” returned Boxy. “But it isn’t exactly the kind of hunting
we are looking for.”
“The deep snow drove them out for food,” remarked Harry. “No doubt
they followed up the trail of the dead rabbits and squirrels we are
carrying.”
It was decided to let the dead bodies lay where they were, Pickles
cutting off their tails to secure the bounty offered by the authorities
for the wolves’ extermination.
It was long past daylight when the camp was reached. While the colored
youth prepared the animals shot the others got supper ready.
“Maybe you don’t know whar I was when dem wolves got after us,”
observed Pickles, while they were working.
“Where was you?” questioned Andy.
“I hid in de stump ob a dead tree. I had my gun ready fo’ de fust wolf
dat showed himself, but dat wolf didn’t cum. Da all knowed better dan
to monkey wid de end of my old paralyzer.”
“Pickles would have pickled him,” remarked Boxy, and then they all
laughed.
The boys were tired, but not sleepy, and as it was a clear, moonlight
night, they sat around the campfire long after supper, talking and
singing. Pickles got out his banjo, and made the woods ring with jigs
and breakdowns, and the accompaniment to a ditty called “When the
Cotton Am a-Bloomin’.” All joined in the chorus of the song, and they
kept it up until ten o’clock.
“Now, it’s turn in without delay,” ordered Harry. “Remember, we start
off early to-morrow.”
“If it don’t snow like fury,” put in Andy.
“No more snow for a week,” said Boxy. “Just look, the sky is as clear
as a bell!”
“I wonder how things are at home?” went on Andy, suddenly.
“Why, what put that into your head?” questioned Jack, turning to him
quickly.
“Humph! I was wondering the same thing,” remarked Harry.
“Maybe somebody is getting homesick,” observed Boxy, and although
he meant it for a joke, there was a little truth in the remark
nevertheless, although not one of the boys would have admitted it for
the world. Not that they wished to leave camp, only that they would
like to have seen the family faces, if only for a brief moment.
They soon forgot the idea, however, in the preparations to retire. They
helped Pickles haul a log and some brush to the fire, and then carried
the various traps to the hut.
“Supposing a wolf comes here during the night?” said Boxy, suddenly,
with a slight shudder.
“Not likely,” rejoined Jack. “But you can sleep with one ear open if
you wish.”
“I will,” returned Boxy, and he did.
Quarter of an hour later every one of the boys had sought his corner
and made himself comfortable. Soon all of them but Boxy were asleep.
Boxy tried his best to close his eyes, but in vain. He turned and
twisted, counted a hundred, made himself a dead weight, and did
numerous other things to induce sleep, but without success. He had a
wakeful streak on, and when he dozed off it was not alone with one ear
open, but with one eye also.
Presently he started up and sprang to his feet. Was he mistaken, or had
he heard something moving around outside? He listened intently, but no
sound but the crackling of the fire reached his ears.
“I would be willing to bet anything I heard a strange noise,” he said
to himself. “I’m going to investigate, though, before I wake up the
other fellows.”
And with his blanket still around him, he stepped outside of the hut.
A second later Boxy heard a long, low moan from the other side of the
creek. He looked across in the direction, and then gave a yell of alarm
that brought every one of his companions to his feet with a bound.