Scrambling desperately, John Hackett strove to pull himself beyond the reach of the wolf.
Bob Somers, standing upon an insecure ledge above, and at imminent risk of taking a tumble, fired point-blank. The animal, with a howl of mingled fury and pain, stopped—then went limping away, while Hackett, with another strenuous effort, managed to gain a position of safety.
"Thanks, Somers, old man," he managed to exclaim. "He came pretty near giving me a good snip. My eye! We'll attend to those ugly brutes now. Just look at 'em."
"We were lucky to get up here, eh?"
"Yes, and that concert is going to stop—mighty quick, too."
Hackett slipped a round of cartridges into his rifle, and taking a firm stand, raised it to his shoulder.
His aim was true. Without a cry, one of the beasts toppled over in a heap.
"Hurrah! Maybe 'Mushroom' could do better than that!" cried the slim boy, exultingly. "Watch me again, Somers—wow!" Hackett, in his eagerness, almost slipped from his position.
"Gracious, Hacky—thought you were going down, sure."
"It was a close call. Fine, to be plumped right in among 'em," and Hackett gave a perceptible shiver.
Awaiting favorable opportunities, both kept on firing, and with each report, came yelps of rage and pain. The baffled animals scurried away, then slowly returned to the base of the cliff, where they trotted around, looking upward, their glistening teeth and red tongues giving them a most ferocious aspect.
"Only a few more left, now, Somers. Here goes another," and Hackett proved his assertion by a skilful shot. The blood-curdling screech that followed seemed to carry consternation into the hearts of the others. Hastily falling back, they circled around for a moment, then, dismally howling, leaped over the snow and disappeared from view behind the veil of falling flakes.
"My eye! That's great! We have done ourselves proud!" exclaimed Hackett. "Five of 'em! What will old Yardsley say to this, eh, Somers?"
"That we know how to look out for ourselves. Talk about being stiff and cold—my position is so cramped—"
"Let's get down, then."
"That's what I'm going to do just as soon as we're sure those beasts are not coming back."
After a considerable wait, when there was nothing to indicate that their savage foes were near, Bob Somers eased himself down, and, with a sigh of relief, stretched his aching limbs. By swinging his arms vigorously and dancing a jig, the circulation was quickly restored. Hackett followed his example.
"Gracious, what ugly looking beasts," exclaimed Bob as his eyes rested on their late besiegers.
"We'll take the tails along, to show the fellows," said Hackett. "There's a bounty for 'em, too. I knew I could do the trick. Made some pretty good shots, eh, Somers?" and Hackett smiled complacently.
"Yes, you did," returned Bob, with a faint grin. "But better let's pitch in, now, and get a pile of wood ready for the night. The wolves may take it into their heads to come back."
"To think of having to spend hours and hours in this gloomy place," grumbled Hackett. "It's fierce luck—nothing to eat, either. Say, we, too, have an account to settle with the fellows who stole old Yardsley's furs. I'd like to run across 'em. Wonder if he had any luck?"
"Not likely. The trail was 'most lost when we got separated."
No sign of the remaining wolves being seen, they boldly set to work, and in spite of their tired condition, kept at it until a great pile of fuel was gathered. Then the bodies of the dead wolves were tossed unceremoniously to one side.
The smouldering fire soon quickened into life, and by this time, darkness had settled over the scene, a pitchy darkness, which the fire lighted up for a short distance with a fantastic glare.
Conversation lagged. They gazed moodily at the crumbling logs sending up showers of sparks, at the ever-changing forms, so suggestive to imaginative minds of hobgoblins and elves, dancing and twisting into every conceivable shape, but nothing could make them forget their hunger.
Time wearily dragged on—hours and hours passed—then tired nature asserted itself.
"No use of two keeping watch, Hacky. Let's take turns on guard, or if you want to take a nap—"
"I'm not any more tired than you are. I can stand about as much as any fellow I know of."
"Certainly you can," laughed Bob. "We can settle it by drawing lots. If I win, you can bet I'll take a nap."
When the daylight began to show itself through a dull sky, patched with blue, the snow had stopped falling.
A flock of crows passed noisily overhead. Soon the frostwork in the forest was sparkling like diamonds, as the sun burst through a rift in the grayish clouds.
Bob jumped to his feet. "Morning, and a fine one, too," he exclaimed.
"You're right, Somers. Are you ready to skip?"
"You bet! Say, but I'm sore and stiff; and I'll starve, too, if I don't get something to eat pretty soon."
Snow-shoes were strapped on, and after cutting off the wolves' tails, a start was made.
"Which direction do you think the camp is, Somers?"
"About southeast. We ought not to have much trouble in striking Lake Wolverine, with the sun to help us."
"Guess you are right. It might be a good idea to climb a tree. I'll do that on top of the next hill."
Everywhere were evidences of the storm's ravages. Branches and limbs lay on all sides and occasionally small trees were found lying prostrate on the snow.
Through a heavily timbered section the boys forced their way, often confronted by huge snow-drifts.
On reaching the summit of a high hill, Hackett looked about him.
"There's a tree that will do, Somers," he said, pointing to one close at hand. "When I get my snow-shoes off, give me a boost."
In spite of little food and a very hard night, Hackett had not lost his agility. From branch to branch he climbed aloft, until a dizzy height was reached.
"I can see the upper end of the lake, Somers," he called, "but it's a good way off. We are headed all right, though," he added, beginning to descend.
"A couple of hours ought to see us at the camp," declared Hackett, when he stood on the ground once more.
"How far is the lake?"
"About three miles. Let's hustle."
Down the steep slope they went, and at the bottom found themselves in a forest of evergreens. The air was crisp and invigorating and the fragrant odor of the pines delightful.
The ground was again rising gently. A few paces further, Bob Somers suddenly seized Hackett by the arm. "Gracious alive—a deer," he whispered. "Don't make a sound."
"Where?" asked his companion, eagerly.
"Straight ahead," said Bob.
They had reached the top of a slight elevation. Below, with its back turned toward them, was a deer browsing upon cedar boughs.
"Sure enough! If this isn't the greatest piece of luck I ever heard of; and the wind is blowing in the right direction, too." Hackett's voice trembled with excitement. "Mind your eye, Somers," he continued, "and we'll get it. Let's circle around, and—" he paused, for the deer swung its head to one side, and both boys expected to see it dash off on the instant.
But, to their intense relief, the animal continued browsing, and, with the utmost caution, they moved along, eagerly peering between the masses of underbrush.
"It's still there," said Hackett, in scarcely audible tones. "A minute more, and I'm going to take a chance."
"Don't utter even a whisper," interrupted Bob, warningly.
In silence, the eager hunters, bending low, circled around.
A moment later, coming in full view of the deer between wide openings in the trees, Hackett raised his rifle, conquered the strange tremor which had seized him, and fired.
It was a thrilling moment. A wreath of bluish smoke slowly drifted upward, then the excited boys saw the animal plunge forward, and sink to its knees.
A hearty shout came from Hackett. "Knew I couldn't miss!" he cried, exultingly, as he dashed ahead.
The deer recovered its feet, and floundered through the snow. But the slim boy rapidly gained on the wounded animal, and, waiting until he was within easy range, fired again.
This time, the doe, struck in a vital part, dropped in her tracks and rolled heavily in the snow.
Hackett rushed forward in the greatest excitement. A cry of triumph came from his lips. The only great achievement of the trip had been his—already, he saw himself looked upon as a mighty hunter by the Kingswood boys.
But as he approached the body of the doe, a plaintive cry attracted his attention, so soft and faint as to almost pass unheard.
"What's that, I wonder?" muttered Hackett, in astonishment.
Looking quickly around, he saw a pair of large, pleading eyes, gazing into his own. Partially hidden by a mass of underbrush stood a young fawn.
The little creature seemed to be on the point of leaping off, but, as Hackett remained perfectly still, it apparently took courage, then gazed at the doe with such a mournful expression that the young hunter felt touched.
"Hang it all, Somers," he exclaimed, regretfully, "I wish I hadn't made such a corking good shot. I do—and no mistake."
"A fawn, by George! I thought I saw something moving along back of that bush," cried Bob Somers. "Come here," he said, coaxingly, holding out his hand.
But the small creature leaped lightly aside.
"My eye! I'll take him back with me," declared Hackett. "You bet I will."
"Catch him first," laughed Bob.
"I think we can manage it. See, he hasn't gone far. Leave it to me, Somers. It will be sporting up and down my father's lawn yet."
With an assortment of strange sounds, Hackett stepped forward. But as long as he was in motion the fawn kept moving away, showing no disposition, however, to go very far from the slain doe.
Hackett displayed a great deal of patience, and finally the fawn, apparently realizing that no harm was intended, allowed him to approach.
In the meantime, Bob Somers had made a noose out of a piece of cord, and when the slim boy finally succeeded in coaxing the animal to his side, they managed, by careful work, to slip it over the fawn's neck, and it was then a prisoner.