"Pretty expensive feeder," mused Sandy to himself. "So far thisglutton's meals have cost about thirty dollars in the value of skinsdestroyed. Nothing cheap about him."
The boy trudged along over the snow, the creaking of his shoes as headvanced being the only sound that broke the oppressive stillness of thefrozen wilderness. In spite of himself the boy felt the vast silence andloneliness like a weight laid upon his mind. So far as he knew, he wasthe only human being within miles. It made him feel very tiny, almostant-like, to think of the minute speck his body must make as he toiledonward amidst the white desolation spread all about him.
At noon he paused, and seating himself under a tall "Rampick" thatupreared its gaunt form blackly against the snow, he ate the lunch hehad brought with him. Then he resumed his journey, intending to turnback again and make for camp after about an hour's more travel. Hefigured that this would bring him back to the camp by nightfall.
As he followed up the traps he noticed that beside the ravages of thewolverine other tracks began to appear in the snow, telling of thepresence of animals only less welcome.
Tracks that the boy recognized as the footprints of wolves wereplentiful about the traps devastated by the wolverine, or perhaps by thewolves themselves.
The sight sent a thrill through him in spite of himself. Sandy had nevergotten over his dread of wolves. He would never forget his first sightof the gaunt, gray creatures that he had seen hunting in a pack someweeks before. Even in dreams he could still see their foamy fangs, gauntflanks and lean, active bodies with their sharp, avid heads and blazingyellow eyes.
At the sight of the tracks, which were apparently recent, an uneasyfeeling possessed him. The wolves were abroad, possibly in his immediatevicinity. He glanced around him. About half a mile away, at the summitof a snow-covered rise, was a big pile of rocks heaped up as if they hadbeen some giant's playthings left in jumbled confusion. Beyond lay adark little wood of balsam and fir. Sandy was still looking at thislatter and meditating whether or not to visit the traps he knew were setin under the shadows of the somber-looking trees, when his ear wasarrested by a sudden sound.
It rang through the silence like a clarion. He recognized it instantlyand his nerves thrilled as he heard.
It was the cry of a wolf pack coming from the timber patch. Sandy halfturned, uncertain whether to keep on or make a retreat.
As he hesitated, from the wood there issued several lean-flanked, graycreatures, whose forms he knew only too well.
They were the leaders of the pack. Behind them, helter-skelter, came atumbling, racing-mass of open-fanged creatures.
The leaders spied the boy, halted an instant and then, with fierce,short barks, headed straight for him.
CHAPTER XXIV--THE PACK.
Sandy's first impulse was to run. Then he recalled what he had heard anold woodsman say, that to flee from a wolf pack is to invite almostcertainly pursuit. Yet what other course was there for him to pursue? Hehad his rifle and some cartridges, but the pack was a large one andthere was something in their appearance, even at that distance, that wasstrikingly sinister in its suggestion of unloosed savagery.
Behind the hesitating boy lay stretched a level snowfield without a treeor a rock showing above its surface for some distance. Ahead of him, anda little to his right, was the big rock pile already mentioned. Thewolves were racing diagonally across the snow. If he did not act quicklythe only refuge in sight, the heaped up pile of rocks, would be lost tohim.
Hesitating no longer, Sandy put out every effort that was in him andstarted for the rocks. But as he flew over the snow with his heartbeating as if it would burst his sides, he knew that if he won the raceit would be only by a very narrow margin.
His feet felt leaden. Although he put forth every ounce of strength hepossessed, it appeared to him that he hardly moved. He had experiencedthe same sensation in nightmares, when he seemed to be in the grip ofperil without the power of crying out or moving a limb.
"I must make it! I must!" he kept saying to himself as he pushedforward.
But the space between himself and the wolves, who had seen his move andapparently divined the object of it, was growing terribly small. Racingat an angle to his line of progress, the creatures were swiftly closingup the gap which gave the boy his margin of safety.
The rocks, which he must reach to have even a fighting chance againstthe famished pack, appeared to his bursting eyes to be almost as far offas they had been when he started on his race for life. He saw that theywere immense boulders with big, snow-filled crevasses between them. Ifonly he could reach them he did not doubt but that there wereinnumerable natural fortresses among them from which he could safelydefy the wolves.
But could he make it?
Life and death hinged on that question now, for there could be no doubtremaining but that he was the wolves' quarry, the prey that they soughtwith dripping fangs and eager, blazing eyes.
The thought flashed through Sandy's mind that the hunting must have beenbad for the pack to make them pursue a human being, something which thesavage but cowardly creatures rarely do unless driven to desperation byferocious pangs of appetite. Hunger, as with most animals, will convertwolves, ordinarily despised by the northern woodsman, into beasts asdangerous as tigers.
Sandy had heard tales of the northern wolves when feed is scarce and thesnow lies on the land. He was under no delusions as to his danger. But,strange to say, as he ran onward a sort of fierce pleasure in the racecame over him.
At school Sandy had made some notable records on the track. But neverhad he had such an incentive to speed as now confronted him. He felt asavage determination to beat out those gray-flanked, drip-fangedcreatures, if the life within him held out in the cruel test of speedand staying power.
The rocks loomed larger. He had crossed the line the pack was pursuing.A savage chorus of yelps arose as the leaders saw what had happened andswung their cohorts on a new tack.
And now the haven of refuge he was struggling for loomed up larger andcloser. Only a few feet more and----
A rock concealed under the snow, an outcropping no doubt of the large,castle-like pile, caught Sandy's foot. He plunged headlong into thesnow. As he fell he could hear behind him the yelps of the pack. Theythought that now the race was over beyond a doubt; that in a few secondsmore their teeth would be tearing the helpless boy.
But Sandy, half stunned by the violence of his fall, managed to struggleto his feet in the nick of time. He could almost feel the breath of theleaders of the yapping pack at his neck when he found himself, he hardlyknew how, on his legs once more and struggling with the last remainingounces of his strength to reach the rocky cliffs, which alone held out apromise of safety.
Many things raced through his mind as he drove on. Thoughts of Tom andJack, of his old school fellows and of his parents far away in Scotland,memories of old grudges and repented wrongs. Sandy had read of drowningpeople whose whole lives race before them in a dazzling film of realismin their last moments. He wondered if it was his end that was presagedby the vivid panorama of his career that was mirrored in his mind as heran.
Behind him there arose a savage howl of disappointment. Cheated of theirprey just when it appeared certain that it was within their grasp, thepack was giving vent to its feelings. The big, gaunt leaders gave fortha baying note, the hunting call of the pack.
Sandy set his teeth.
"I'll beat you yet, you gloomeroons!" he muttered savagely.
He stumbled again; recovered his balance; went plunging half blindly on.His mind was now a blank to all but one thought: those rocks in front ofhim. He must reach them, he must, he must.
He stretched out his arms as if to try to grasp with his finger tips therough surface of the foremost of the huge boulders. The wolves' howlssounded more loudly behind him. His strength began to falter at theircries.
But by an effort he rallied his nerve and put forth another burst ofspeed.
The next instant he felt his hand
s touch the rocks in front of him.Almost simultaneously the leader of the wolves, a great, gaunt beast,fully shoulder high among his brethren, leaped at the boy.
But the jump fell short. With a savage snarl of disappointment, thegreat gray wolf fell back, while Sandy, with the strength ofdesperation, clambered upward among the rocks.
The leader of the wolves, a great, gaunt beast, leaped atthe boy.]
CHAPTER XXV--HEMMED IN BY WOLVES.
Panting, almost at the limit of his strength, with torn hands and rentgarments, the lad clambered upward among the rocks. They had seemedlarge at a distance. Now they appeared to be veritable mountains ofboulders. But they were rough and afforded a fair foothold, except wherewindblown snow had obscured their surfaces and made them slippery andtreacherous.
After five minutes of climbing, Sandy rested for a time and paused tolook down below him. The wolves were apparently taken aback by hissuccessful evasion of their fangs. The leaders were seated on theirgaunt haunches gazing hungrily up at him, while behind them the rest ofthe pack moved uneasily about. The boy could see the steam of their hotbreaths as they panted, their red tongues lolling far out and theirsharp, tiger-like teeth exposed.
Their wicked little yellow eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the boy, wholooked down upon them from the shoulder of a great rock. He was safe forthe time being, and Sandy took advantage of the respite to rally hisfaculties.
Although he was temporarily secure from the pack, his position was stillabout as bad as it could be. He was practically marooned on the rockyisland in the snows until the pack should see fit to withdraw, or untilsome other game drew their attention from him.
Without letting his eyes stray from the wolves for more than a second ata time, Sandy took stock. He had his rifle, hunting knife and sometwenty cartridges, besides those in the magazine of his rifle, twelve innumber. Of his lunch there was left some baking powder bread, a smallquantity of cold deer meat and some salt and pepper.
It was little enough for the protracted siege that he might have tostand on the rocky pile, but scanty though the provision was, he wasglad of the foresight that had made him save it for a snack on his wayhome. Besides the articles mentioned, the boy had his matches and acompass, and that was all.
But the next minute he realized that even his matches were gone. In hisfrantic climb, the nickel, water-proof case in which the preciouslucifers were carried had dropped from his pocket. Looking down afterthe discovery of his loss, he saw the glint of the little metal cylinderlying on the snow at the foot of his haven of refuge.
To recover it was out of the question. The wolves grimly stood guardover it as if fully understanding its value to the human creature on therocks. As Sandy looked at the wolves, the great snow rangers staredstraight back at him with an uncanny steadiness. He seemed to read theirmessage in their flaming yellow orbs.
"There is no hurry. We can wait. As well to-morrow as now."
Sandy clambered yet higher. At his first move the leaders, as if byconcerted action, flung themselves tooth and nail at the rockyescarpment confronting them.
The pack, snarling and yapping with chagrin, were hurled back from thestony fortress like waves from a pier. Sandy observed this withsatisfaction. His place of refuge appeared to be impregnable. Thewolves' only chance lay in starving him out. And with a bitter pangSandy realized that unless help arrived or he was able to frighten themoff, the creatures stood a good chance of accomplishing this.
It was odd that the emergency which might have unmanned much strongerminds than Sandy's should not have had the effect of reducing him todespair. But this was not so. The Scotch lad possessed in him a strainof indomitable blood. Like his ancestors, who sought refuge in the rocksand caves of the highlands during the stormy periods of Scotland'shistory, the boy, terrible though his position was and fraught withmenace, yet kept up his sturdy courage.
In fact, the danger of his position appeared to lend him nerve which hemight have lacked under less trying conditions. It is often so. Humannature has a habit of rising to emergencies. Dangers and difficultiesare often the anvils upon which men and boys are tried to see if they beof the true metal.
The wolves, with supernatural patience, resumed their positions ofwaiting, following their futile attack on the rocky wall that facedthem. But Sandy saw that although they appeared indifferent to him, theyyet had an eye to his every movement.
He tried the experiment of raising an arm or swinging a leg as if hewere about to move again. Instantly every sharp-nosed head was raised inan attitude of deep attention. To those wolves there was but oneinteresting object in the whole of that dreary expanse of snow, and thatwas Sandy McTavish.
"I've got to do something," thought Sandy desperately. "Before long itwill be getting dusk."
He couldn't help giving a shudder as he thought of this. The idea ofspending a night in the freezing cold with those silent, tirelesswatchers below him shook his courage badly. He concluded to try theeffect of a few shots among the pack. Possibly, if he could kill theleaders, the rest might become alarmed and leave him.
He raised his rifle and singled out the great, gray wolf that appearedto be commander-in-chief of the creatures. This was a huge animal withbristling hackles who was covered with wounds and scars received nodoubt in defending his title of leader of the pack.
Sandy took careful aim between the wolf's blazing yellow eyes that shonein the gathering dusk like signal lamps. He pulled the trigger and ablaze and a sharp crack followed. Mingled with them was the death cry ofthe big gray wolf.
He leaped fully four feet into the air and came down with a crash.Before the breath was out of his gaunt body the pack was upon him,tearing, rending and fighting. When the mass of struggling,famine-stricken wolves surged apart again, Sandy saw that a fewbloodstains on the snow and some bones in the mouths of the stronger ofthe wolves were all that remained of the leader of the pack.
A king among them when alive, the dead wolf had been to his followersnothing more than so much meat. Their cannibal feast being disposed of,except that here and there a wolf crunched a bone, the animals resumedtheir vigil.
Twice, three times more, did Sandy fire; but each time with the sameresult.
He dared not waste more ammunition. He must conserve what he had leftfor emergencies, in case it came down to a fight for his very life.
For the first time since he had gained a place of comparative safety theboy gave way utterly. He sank his head in his hands and despair rushedover him like a wave.
CHAPTER XXVI--THE BACK TRAIL.
It is now time to return to Tom, Jack and their companion, old JoePicquet. It will be recalled that we left them in a most precarious andstartling situation.
From a man apparently sick unto death, the gray, pitiable figure on thecot had been suddenly changed to a vicious, spiteful enemy, asvindictive and apparently as dangerous as a rattlesnake. The veryswiftness of the change had taken them so utterly by surprise that, asthe rifles of his three followers were trained upon them, our trio offriends were deprived of speech.
Old Joe was the first to recover his faculties. With his eyes blazingfuriously from his weather-beaten face, he emitted a roar of rage.
The vials of his wrath were directed against the small gray man--PeabodyDolittle, as he had called himself.
"Boosh! You beeg ras-cal!" he cried. "You beeg liar as well as teef, eh?What you wan' us do now--eh?"
"Nothing but to give up those skins you took from me and then vamoose,"came the quiet rejoinder from the little gray man, who had lost hisYankee dialect and drawl and who was now on his feet fully dressedexcept for a coat.
"And if we won't?" exclaimed Tom, retaining a firm grip on the black foxskin.
He was resolved to keep it at all hazards.
"Why, then," rejoined the other, with a vindictive snarl, "we shall haveto adopt harsh measures. You may consider yourselves my prisoners."
"Non! Not by a whole lot!"
The
angry, half choked cry was from old Joe Picquet. Beside himself withfury at the thought of the cunning fraud the man had worked upon them,he flung himself forward as if he meant to tear him to pieces.
Tom's arm jerked him back.
"Don't do anything like that, Joe," he counseled; and then to the grayman, "I suppose your sickness was just a dodge to keep us here till yourcompanions could arrive."
"Just what it was, my young friend," amiably agreed the rascal. "As aguesser of motives you are very good--very good, indeed."
One of the new arrivals stepped forward and whispered something to hisleader, who nodded. Then he spoke:
"Of course, I shall have to ask you to give up your weapons," he said.
Old Joe Picquet fumed and fussed, but there was nothing for it but toobey. In the presence of such a force, and with the disadvantage underwhich they labored, there was nothing else to be done. With the bestgrace they could, they gave up their weapons, which the little gray man,with a smile of satisfaction, took into his possession.
"Pity you didn't heed the ghostly warning I gave you," said he to theboys, with a grin, "you'd be in a better position than you are now. Butafter all, it will teach you never again to interfere with the Wolf."
They had nothing to reply to this speech; but at the rascal's next wordstheir anger broke out afresh.
"Are you going to give up those skins, or do we have to take them fromyou?"
As he spoke he did a significant thing. He lightly tapped with hisfinger tips the rifle stock of the man next to him. It was a quiet hint,yet a sufficient one.