When Bob reopened his eyes, it was to awake suddenly with the horrible feeling that he was being watched by some hidden foe.

He started, and as he did so he was conscious of the sound of many pattering feet—soft, muffled sounds, yet loud enough for him to hear. He even thought, as he turned over and flung out his arm, that his hand had touched something that was warm and furry.

He sat up and gripped his rifle as he stared around him.

In the semi-darkness of the rising moon he could see dark figures moving restlessly all around him, while a score or more of eyes kept twinkling like stars to indicate how he was being watched.

Just then a wild, long-drawn wail rent the[Pg 172] night air beside him. The boy's blood seemed to run cold at the sound, for he knew that he was surrounded by a horde of timber wolves who had thought him dead, and come too soon.

Too soon? Yes. But how long would their moment be delayed?

Bob staggered to his feet and held his rifle in readiness. But the ghouls of the night kept at some distance, though he could still see them stirring here and there, as if they were discussing plans among themselves.

The boy waited—it seemed hours—each moment expecting a dash from the black spectres. Still they hung back, until Bob actually began to long for the attack to begin, that the strain of waiting might be broken.

Then something moved behind him. He wheeled about and swung his rifle like a club, at random. The butt met a soft substance, and a wild howl followed, as a wolf that had been creeping upon him from the rear now sprang back among his lurking comrades. Instantly the forest rang with wails and howls and snarling, as the wolves sprang upon their wounded comrade (as is the way of many wild animals) and tore him to pieces.[Pg 173]

Yet Arnold dared not leave the spot. If he ran, the wolves would soon be upon him, for a fleeing prey is more closely pressed than one that stands at bay. Moreover, he was in the centre of a clearing. If he were to enter the woods, there would be many quarters from which he would be open to attack and unable to defend himself freely.

The night wore on, and the moon crept up into the arc of the sky. His enemies could be plainly seen now, though the shadows prevented him from determining how great was their number. Probably the uncertain light deceived him and multiplied the actual score. One thing—they were in sufficient numbers to be a formidable danger, and it would need sharp watching to ward off the attack effectively.

So long as there was a remnant of their comrade's flesh to fight and snarl over, Bob was left in peace. But presently the strife became less and the noise sank, and by such signs he knew that he had again become the object of their unwelcome attentions.

He stood his guard with every nerve strained to catch the first sight and sound of danger.

Then he saw two large forms creeping towards[Pg 174] him from the front. They came slowly, creeping low like dogs stalking game in the grass.

Bob waited until they drew near. He was reluctant to exhaust a cartridge unless it was an absolute necessity. His wish was to exercise the force of his muscle on these as he had done with their predecessor.

But, as the wolves came within a few yards, they stopped and eyed him cautiously, and in this position the furred enemies and the boy stood watching each other, just as wrestlers watch each other's eyes to discover the vantage moment for a deadly grip.

The time passed, yet neither side moved. Then, to Bob's dismay, he discovered that the whole mass of wolves had gathered together, and were slowly creeping upon him in the wake of these two leaders.

And with the knowledge, the boy seemed to go mad for the time. He could delay the fight no longer. His blood rushed hot to his head. He fired one shot at the foremost wolves. Then he gripped his weapon by the muzzle and sprang straight for the pack.

"Come on, you brutes!" he yelled, as he laid about him right and left. "If it's got to be a[Pg 175] fight, the sooner we begin, the sooner it'll be over!"

Wild with passion, the boy fought with the false strength that is always the accompaniment of delirium. As the blows told, the wolves howled and shrieked and leapt for him with a rage that was equally frantic to his. Fortunately they kept to one side—that was the side from which the moon shone. They could see him plainer thus. Otherwise the light would be in their eyes, and he but a black figure that they could not understand.

How he fought that night!

Strange to say, all fatigue had left the lad's body. He had the endurance of three normal boys—at least it seemed thus, though we never know our real strength, muscular or mental, until we are in the straits of desperation.

More than on............