The Essential Edward Stratemeyer Collection. Stratemeyer Edward

and the sudden movement aroused his father. Both listened to a yelping and a growling at a distance. The yelping grew louder and louder, while the growling grew fainter.

      "I know what it is!" cried Dave, at length. "Some wolves have gotten on the trail of those wounded bears. Now there will be a battle royal!"

      "You must be right, Dave. Hark! The wolves must number a dozen or more."

      "Sounds like about half a hundred to me, father."

      The battle took place at the far end of the forest of firs and gradually grew fainter and fainter. Mr. Porter shook his head doubtfully.

      "I don't like this, Dave."

      "What, aren't you glad that the bears have been attacked? I am."

      "It isn't that. If those wolves want more meat they'll follow up that bloody trail--and it leads directly over here."

      "Phew! I never thought of that. I'll stir up the fire--that will help to keep them at a distance." Dave set to work with avidity, piling on nearly all of the brushwood that was left. He had just completed the task when he chanced to look beyond into the waste of snow. He saw a pair of gleaming eyes--then another pair and still another.

      "The wolves are coming, father!" he cried, in consternation.

      "I see them, Dave, and we are going to have the fight of our lives to keep them off," answered Mr. Porter.

      CHAPTER XXX

      HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION

      In a few minutes the wolves had come up and were glaring at Mr. Porter and Dave as they crouched close to the camp-fire. There were fourteen of the beasts, all large, lean, and hungry-looking. They sniffed the air and set up yelps and mournful howls. Two found the spot where one of the bears had been wounded and pawed at the blood which had saturated the snow.

      "Oh, for a brace of good shotguns!" sighed Dave. "We could scatter them in short order."

      "When we shoot we must make every shot tell," said his father. "And keep the cartridges where we can get at them quickly. How many left, Dave?"

      The youth counted the contents of the box he carried.

      "Seventeen."

      "Hardly enough for fourteen wolves. Yes, we must be very careful. If they---- They are coming closer!"

      "Let us fire off one pistol at a time!" cried Dave. "Then we'll always have one ready for use."

      Mr. Porter did not answer, for he was aiming at the nearest beast. With the discharge of the pistol the wolf leaped high in the air, turned and came down on its side, and began to kick the snow in its death agony.

      "A good shot!" exclaimed Dave.

      "You can try your luck," said Mr. Porter. "I will take out that empty shell and reload."

      The other wolves had surrounded the one that was dying, and taking aim at the center of the pack Dave let drive. One wolf was hit in the nose and the bullet glanced off and hit another in the jaw. Wild yelps of pain followed, and the two wolves turned and ran for cover with all possible speed.

      "We have gotten rid of three of them," said Dave, with much satisfaction. "If we keep this up we'll soon get rid of the rest."

      "It is snowing again," announced Mr. Porter.

      He was right, and soon the downfall became so heavy that they could see next to nothing beyond the circle of light made by the camp-fire. But that the wolves were still near they knew by the yelps and snarls which occasionally reached their ears.

      A quarter of an hour went by, and the snow came down as thickly as ever. A light wind had sprung up, and this sent the flakes directly into the hollow under the cliff. Mr. Porter heaved a sigh.

      "More bad luck," he observed. "By morning, if this keeps on, we'll be snowed in."

      "Look," said Dave. "I believe the wolves are getting ready to rush us!"

      Both strained their eyes and soon saw seven or eight of the beasts sneaking softly up through the snow. The light from the camp-fire shone in their eyes and on their white fangs. They were growing desperate, and hoped by sheer force of numbers to lay their human prey low.

      "Fire three shots, Dave, and I will do the same," said Mr. Porter, in a low tone. "Aim as carefully as you can, my boy."

      The various shots rang out in rapid succession. How much damage was done they could not tell, although they saw two wolves go down and lie still. The others retreated, some limping, and the entire pack went back to the shelter of the brushwood.

      They had now only a few cartridges left, and these they divided between them. Then Dave stirred up the fire a little and placed the burning sticks so they would last as long as possible. Father and son looked at each other and suddenly stepped closer and embraced.

      "God grant, now we have found each other, that we get from this spot in safety," murmured Mr. Porter, fervently.

      "Oh, we must get away!" added Dave, impulsively.

      "All we can do is to fight to the last, Dave."

      "Yes."

      Both knew only too well what to expect should the wolves get the better of the contest. "As cruel as a wolf" is a true saying. They would be torn limb from limb and only their bones would be left to tell to some later traveler the story of their fate. They decided, with set faces and shut teeth, to fight to the very last.

      Another quarter of an hour went by, and soon they heard the wolves coming back. Neither said a word, but both looked at each other.

      "Take those on the left,--I will take those on the right," whispered Mr. Porter. "But be careful--every shot means so much!"

      "I'll shoot my very best," answered Dave.

      After that not a word was spoken. Silently the beasts came closer and closer. Dave's heart began to beat rapidly. Then, when he could wait no longer, he aimed at the nearest animal on the left and pulled the trigger.

      Two shots, one from the son and the other from the father, rang out almost simultaneously, and down went two wolves mortally wounded. Crack! went Dave's weapon a second time, and now a wolf was hit in the neck. Then Mr. Porter fired, sending a bullet into a breast that was presented to view. With four of their number out of the fight, the other wolves turned and fled into the brushwood and then toward the forest of firs.

      The battle had been of short duration, but the excitement had been intense, and Dave found himself bathed in a cold perspiration from head to foot. His father, too, was weak, and now sank on the rocks, breathing heavily.

      Only one small branch of a tree remained for the fire, and this Dave set up, so that it might burn as a torch. When that was gone they would be in utter darkness--and then? The youth shivered as he asked himself the question. He knew that wild animals love the darkness and are braver in it than in the light.

      "Hello! hello! hello!"

      Loud and clear from above the cliff the cry rang out a dozen times or more. At first Dave thought he must be dreaming, then he roused up and so did his parent.

      "What was that?" demanded Mr. Porter.

      "Somebody calling, I think." Dave ran out of the hollow and looked upward through the falling snow. "Who calls?" he yelled, at the top of his lungs.

      "It is I, Granbury Lapham, and I have my brother and the others with me. Is that you, Porter?"

      "Yes."

      "Have you found your father?"

      "Yes."

      "How