The Wolf Hunters | Page 3

against his own heaving shoulders.
"It's only a little farther, Rod," he urged. "We can make it, and take to a
tree. We ought to have taken to a tree back there, but I didn't know that
you were so far gone; and there was a good chance to make camp, with
three cartridges left for the open lake."
"Only three!"
"That's all, but I ought to make two of them count in this light. Here,
take hold of my shoulders! Quick!"
He doubled himself like a jack-knife in front of his half-prostrate
companion. From behind them there came a sudden chorus of the
wolves, louder and clearer than before.
"They've hit the open and we'll have them on the lake inside of two
minutes," he cried. "Give me your arms, Rod! There! Can you hold the
gun?"
He straightened himself, staggering under the other's weight, and set off
on a half-trot for the distant tamaracks. Every muscle in his powerful
young body was strained to its utmost tension. Even more fully than his
helpless burden did he realize the peril at their backs.
Three minutes, four minutes more, and then--
A terrible picture burned in Wabi's brain, a picture he had carried from
boyhood of another child, torn and mangled before his very eyes by
these outlaws of the North, and he shuddered. Unless he sped those

three remaining bullets true, unless that rim of tamaracks was reached
in time, he knew what their fate would be. There flashed into his mind
one last resource. He might drop his wounded companion and find
safety for himself. But it was a thought that made Wabi smile grimly.
This was not the first time that these two had risked their lives together,
and that very day Roderick had fought valiantly for the other, and had
been the one to suffer. If they died, it would be in company. Wabi made
up his mind to that and clutched the other's arms in a firmer grip. He
was pretty certain that death faced them both. They might escape the
wolves, but the refuge of a tree, with the voracious pack on guard
below, meant only a more painless end by cold. Still, while there was
life there was hope, and he hurried on through the snow, listening for
the wolves behind him and with each moment feeling more keenly that
his own powers of endurance were rapidly reaching an end.
For some reason that Wabi could not explain the hunt-pack had ceased
to give tongue. Not only the allotted two minutes, but five of them,
passed without the appearance of the animals on the lake. Was it
possible that they! had lost the trail? Then it occurred to the Indian that
perhaps he had wounded one of the pursuers, and that the others,
discovering his injury, had set upon him and were now participating in
one of the cannibalistic feasts that had saved them thus far. Hardly had
he thought of this possibility when he was thrilled by a series of long
howls, and looking back he discerned a dozen or more dark objects
moving swiftly over their trail.
Not an eighth of a mile ahead was the tamarack forest. Surely Rod
could travel that distance!
"Run for it, Rod!" he cried. "You're rested now. I'll stay here and stop
'em!"
He loosened the other's arms, and as he did so his rifle fell from the
white boy's nerveless grip and buried itself in the snow. As he relieved
himself of his burden he saw for the first time the deathly pallor and
partly closed eyes of his companion. With a new terror filling his own
faithful heart he knelt beside the form which lay so limp and lifeless,
his blazing eyes traveling from the ghastly face to the oncoming wolves,

his rifle ready in his hands. He could now discern the wolves trailing
out from the spruce forest like ants. A dozen of them were almost
within rifle-shot. Wabi knew that it was with this vanguard of the pack
that he must deal if he succeeded in stopping the scores behind. Nearer
and nearer he allowed them to come, until the first were scarce two
hundred feet away. Then, with a sudden shout, the Indian leaped to his
feet and dashed fearlessly toward them. This unexpected move, as he
had intended, stopped the foremost wolves in a huddled group for an
instant, and in this opportune moment Wabi leveled his gun and fired.
A long howl of pain testified to the effect of the shot. Hardly had it
begun when Wabi fired again, this time with such deadly precision that
one of the wolves, springing high into the air, tumbled back lifeless
among the pack without so much as making a sound.
Running to