John Hackett's snow-shoe had caught upon a projecting log, and sent him sprawling. In his descent, his head brought up sharply against a low-hanging branch, and for a moment he lay stunned.
"Great Cæsar!" cried Bob. He stooped over and placed his hand upon Hackett's shoulder. "Hurt, Hacky?" he asked, anxiously.
"I hit my head an awful whack," replied Hackett, faintly.
Aided by his companion, he slowly rose to a sitting posture, but the blow had dazed him to such an extent that he remained almost motionless, while Bob Somers rubbed his forehead with snow.
"Feeling better now?"
"Yes—a little. My eye! I saw about fifty-six stars. It took all the strength out of me. Is there any mark, Somers?"
"A red spot—that's all."
"Wonder it didn't make a dent an inch deep."
Hackett accepted Bob's hand, struggled to his feet, and leaned heavily against a tree.
"I'm awfully sorry, Hacky," said Bob, compassionately.
"I'll have to take a few minutes' rest. Where are the other fellows, Somers?"
"They can't be far ahead."
"Better be going now, or we may get separated," said Hackett, presently. "Can you see the tracks still?"
"Yes, but they are very faint."
Hackett rubbed his forehead. "I'm getting all right, now; sail ahead."
"Bother the snow," said Bob. "It's so thick a fellow can't see more than a few feet."
"My eye! I don't like this," declared Hackett, nervously; "Yardsley is the only one who can find his way back to camp in this storm."
"And I can scarcely make out the trail any more."
A few rods further, and Bob stopped short. Then he walked back slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the surface of the snow.
"Have you lost it?" queried Hackett, bending over.
"No—thought I had. It's pretty faint, though. Come on."
Slowly they pushed ahead, now losing the trail, then finding it again. Drifts had settled over it in places, while generally it was becoming so faint as to be almost obliterated.
"I say, Somers," shouted Hackett, at length, as he turned his back to an unusually fierce blast, "unless some one has taken the trouble to look back, it means that we are left away behind."
"That's so! Yardsley was going at a pretty fast clip, while we've just poked along."
Hackett's face began to wear an angry expression. "Did you ever hear of such fierce luck?" he shouted, scarcely able to make himself heard above the roar of the storm.
"What chumps we were not to yell for them in the first place."
Hackett started ahead, shouting with all the strength of his lungs. "Hello, Sam—hello!" he called.
"No answer, eh?" said Bob. "Whew! This is a nice fix to be in. We'd better fire our guns."
Two reports rang out in quick succession.
"They ought to hear that," exclaimed Bob.
Straining their ears, the boys listened intently, but there was no sound of an answering shot.
"Try it again," suggested Hackett, with an anxious look.
Quickly reloading, Bob Somers and Hackett repeated their signal, but with no better success.
This was due to a combination of unfortunate circumstances. Not only was the storm raging with a violence which greatly lessened the range of the sound, but the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. Then, too, the trapper and the boys accompanying him had found it necessary to keep their ears well protected. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that the shots passed unheard.
"Now we're in a pretty mess!" exclaimed Hackett, blankly. "Lost, as sure as guns. And the storm is getting worse all the time."
The possible seriousness of their situation came upon the boys with full force, and they looked at each other in dismay.
"We can tell what direction to go by the wind," said Bob, presently.
But this proved to be impossible. Due partially to the formation of the land, which was hilly and rugged, they were surrounded by so many eddying swirls that the wind afforded almost no guide.
In silence, with all senses alert, they kept on, amidst a thick group of evergreens, whose rich green boughs drooped beneath the weight of snow.
"No use," panted Hackett, at length. "Not a ghost of a show, Somers. Let's try and make a break for camp."
"Which way do you think it is?"
"Don't know, I'm sure. Bad as finding a pin in a ton of snow. But we have to keep on moving, and might as well go in the direction it seems to be."
But the boys' ideas on this important point did not agree, and both finally concluded that at the very first sheltered place it would be wiser to call a halt.
"My eye!" cried Hackett, suddenly. "What's that?" He stopped short and grasped his companion by the arm.
Above the roar of the wind came a crashing sound, which grew louder and louder.
"Look!" shouted Bob, pointing toward the right.
Dimly, through the driving snow, they saw a pine crashing downward. Gathering speed, it snapped off limbs and branches from the surrounding trees, and struck the ground about twenty feet away with a sullen thud. Several rabbits suddenly appeared, leaping wildly over the snow.
Almost mechanically, Bob Somers raised his gun, and taking quick aim, fired both barrels. At the second report, one of the animals fell back in the snow.
"Glad I borrowed Tom Clifton's gun," said Bob. "With a rifle might have missed him." Then he added, as he walked over and picked up the rabbit, "It's blowing hard to carry down a tree like that."
"Another danger we have to look out for," yelled Hackett. "My eye! Suppose we had been in the way!"
Bob glanced apprehensively at the swaying trees, from which now and then a branch would snap off, to come hurtling through the air.
"I'm nearly frozen," growled Hackett, "and can hardly see." He struggled slowly ahead, occasionally forced to turn his back to the icy blasts. "We are in a bad fix, Somers," he went on. "What are we going to do?"
"Keep a stiff upper lip. It might be a great deal worse."
"I don't see it. Just as likely, we are going directly away from camp, and we can't stay out all night."
The boys slowed up and looked anxiously around, in an effort to make out their surroundings.
"We'll have to trust to luck, Somers, and keep moving," said Hackett.
"Right you are!" replied Bob, with an effort at cheerfulness. "Don't get scared, and—"
"Who said I was scared?" cried Hackett, bristling up.
The thought of his courage being questioned seemed to put new life into him, and he moved ahead again with more spirit.
Before them was a level stretch, which they soon discovered was bordered by rugged hills. Here the full force of the storm was escaped, and, at length, to their great joy, beneath a sullen, beetling cliff, a spot was found partially free from snow and sheltered from the wind. Strewn about, not far from the nearest snow-drifts, were numerous limbs and branches carried there by the heavy gusts.
"My eye! But this is a find!" cried Hackett. "It's great to get away from that wind. If we can only start a fire—got any matches, Somers?"
"Of course!" replied Bob, in a tone of great relief. "Whew! I don't believe I could have stood it out there much longer."
He shook the snow from his clothing and swung his arms. Then after a moment's rest, took out his hatchet and began chopping away on a branch. Hackett, too, set to work, and within a quarter of an hour, a fire was started.
Beyond the shelter of the crag, the blizzard continued with unabated force. The wind howled and whistled, while scarcely anything could be seen through the mass of falling flakes.
"We certainly were lucky to get such a place as this, Hacky," commented Bob.
"And to crack that rabbit, too," said Hackett. "If we only had a little salt and pepper—"
"What do you say to this?" And Bob triumphantly brought forth a small can of each.
"My eye! Are you a walking grocery store?"
Bob laughed. "Wasn't a bad idea, eh?"
"You're right! Let's get to work."
Bob soon had the rabbit skinned and dressed. Then he scraped aside a pile of glowing coals.
A sharpened stick was used as a spit, and this being laid across two short logs, the rabbit began to broil.
"I could eat almost anything," said Bob.
"Just let me get a chance at it," observed Hackett.
"Hope the other fellows are all right," said Bob, anxiously.
"They have Yardsley with 'em. If anybody had to get lost, it was a good thing we did," continued Hackett. "Dick and Sam—well, they're not up in the woods game like we are. It kind of comes natural to me, and you ain't bad at it, either."
Bob laughed. "Thanks, Hacky, old man," he said.
The snow sifted down from above, but not enough to cause any great discomfort. Seated on a log, the boys began to grow cheerful again. Their aching limbs had eased considerably, and but for the dismal prospect of spending the night without shelter, neither would have minded the experience.
At length, the rabbit was cooked, or at least sufficiently cooked, for they could wait no longer.
"It's half burnt, scorched and raw in spots, but it tastes good just the same," commented Bob.
"You're right it does," replied Hackett. Then, after a pause, he added, "Somers, I believe it's letting up a little."
"It can't stop too soon for me. Hello—what's that sound?"
A series of doleful barks rose faintly above the roar of the wind.
"Wolves! I'll bet a hat on it!" cried Hackett, in a tone of alarm; "and sounds like a regular pack of 'em."
"I believe you're right."
Straining their ears, the boys again heard the cries, now growing louder, then lost in the moaning of the wind.
"Wolves, sure enough, Somers," repeated Hackett excitedly. He seized his gun, and peered anxiously around, while Bob began to feed the fire until great tongues of flame shot upward.
For some moments, there was no repetition of the cries, and both began to hope that they might be unmolested.
But suddenly a dismal medley of yelps and snarls, close at hand, filled the air. Several shadowy forms darted into view, circled around, approached, retreated, then, emboldened, came forward again, while the boys, with their hearts thumping painfully, held their guns ready for instant use.
"We are in for a fight, that's sure," said Bob, in a low voice. "Don't waste a shot."
The animals, probably half famished, circled nearer and nearer, snapping and snarling, and occasionally uniting their voices in a volume of howls which made the two boys shiver. Now their gleaming teeth could be seen. Their jaws seemed to snap, as if in anticipation of a feast.
"More than a dozen of 'em, Somers!" exclaimed Hackett, in a strained, tense voice. "Did you ever see such ugly beasts?"
"Keep cool, and we'll be all right."
Hackett started to add more fuel to the fire, then stopped short and uttered an exclamation of dismay. He realized that their supply would soon be exhausted.
"Somers," he said, "Somers—what do you think of this? The fire won't last much longer!"
"And a fellow can't chop wood with those beasts around. They are getting bolder every moment."
All the fuel within reach was piled on the fire, and, keeping it between themselves and the savage, hungry animals, the boys awaited the outcome of the siege with nerves set at the keenest tension.
The gray, gaunt creatures scurried around, sometimes approaching so near that the two were on the point of firing, then, with dismal snarls, retreating until their courage reasserted itself.
"No use to shoot until we are certain," observed Bob. "If we happened to wound one without disabling it, I'll bet the beast would pounce right down on us."
"With the rest following at its heels," added Hackett.
Once or twice the slim boy raised his rifle, only to lower it. The indistinct forms, darting hither and thither amidst the driving snow, were difficult to aim at.
Meanwhile, the fire began to die down.
"We're in for it now," said Bob. "Look lively, and don't waste a shot."
A few minutes passed. Then, like a flash, one of the wolves darted toward them.
Bob Somers, with arms that trembled for an instant, raised his gun. He saw the wide-open, savage mouth, the glaring eyes—then he pulled the trigger.
A howl of agony followed the report. The animal rose on its hind legs and pitched forward in the snow.
"Hurrah! and with only one charge!" cried Bob, his eyes bright with excitement.
The loud report and flash of fire from the gun sent the other wolves back a few paces, but it was only for a moment.
"There's but one thing to be done, and that mighty quickly!" exclaimed Bob. "Wonder we didn't think of it before."
"What's that?"
"Climb the cliff. Once out of their reach, it will be easy to pick them off."
"Guess you are right. But they won't give us much chance to get up. If a fellow should slip—" Hackett shuddered.
"I'll stand 'em off. When I fire, you start to climb."
"Oh, no!" returned Hackett, quickly; "my repeating rifle is worth half a dozen of your guns. Be ready to move fast. In a second you'll hear a fierce racket. Here goes—one—two—three."
Hackett fired, then quickly followed with two more shots.
Bob Somers had slung his gun over his shoulder, and taking advantage of the opportunity, grasped a projecting rock, and began to scale the steep side of the cliff. Footholds were numerous, and, as little snow had found lodgment, he managed to reach a ledge well out of reach of their foes.
Hackett's shots and the cries of their wounded companions had sent the wolves quickly retreating, to spread out in a half-circle.
"Now's your time, Hackett," yelled Bob. "Quick!"
Hackett hastily turned, and began to scramble upward.
As he did so, a gray form shot out from amidst its fellows and made a dash straight for him.
