CHAPTER XVIII.

CHASED BY WOLVES.

After some discussion it was decided to follow the course of the creek upon which they had pitched their camp.

This would aid them in several ways. It would prevent them from going astray and getting lost, and traveling was easier there than in among the trees and brush. Moreover, Jack was of the opinion that they would find more game along the creek side than elsewhere.

Every one was in excellent spirits, and had it not been for a warning from Harry, Boxy and Pickles would have started to sing and whistle.

“We will never get anything unless you remain quiet,” he said. “It is hard enough to stalk anything without a dog.”

“Oh, I ought to have brought Leo,” burst out Boxy. “But Minnie wouldn’t hear of it. She said it was bad enough for me to go, without taking him.”

“Leo isn’t a hunting dog, is he?” questioned Andy.

“A kind of one. He hasn’t been trained very well.”

“Then he would have been worse than none,” put in Jack. “A dog is no good unless he is thoroughly broken.”

“My ole man’s dun got de dorg,” put in Pickles. “But he would radder gib me his suit of clo’s dan let me take Woppy away. He t’inks moah ob dat dorg dan he does ob me, a heap sight.”

“We’ll get along all right,” replied Jack. “But we must--hullo! here are tracks in the snow!”

“Hist! a rabbit, suah you boarn!” whispered Pickles.

Up came his gun. A tremendous report followed, and the colored youth went over backward in the snow. The heavy charge in the firearm completely demolished the rabbit, which had been close at hand.

“Did--did--I hit him?” gasped Pickles, as he scrambled to his feet with a wild stare in his eyes.

“Oh, no, you didn’t hit him, you simply scattered him,” returned Boxy, doubled up over the sight Pickles had presented as he went over. “You knocked him into six million pieces.”

“Dat so?” Pickles gazed ruefully at the tufts of fur lying about. “By golly! dat was a most terribul shot, wasn’t it?”

“I should say it was,” returned Jack. “What made you load up so heavily?”

Pickles scratched his woolly head.

“I dun racken I loaded dat yere gun twice,” he said, slowly. “I loaded her up yisterday, an’ dis moanin’ I did de same.”

A perfect howl of laughter went up, and it increased instead of diminished when Pickles went around looking for enough of the rabbit to take back to camp. He was unsuccessful.

“Well, you can be thankful that the gun didn’t burst and send you to kingdom come,” commented Harry. “Next time be sure to fire off the gun before you load again.”

“You kin bet I will,” returned Pickles, and he spoke the truth. All of his charges after that were somewhat light.

A little distance farther on they came across several more rabbits. Jack brought down one and his brother another. All the other boys fired and missed.

“We’ll have rabbits if nothing else,” observed Jack. “But I am in hopes we’ll strike bigger game.”

“A bear, for instance,” said Boxy.

“Well, no, not exactly. But a deer wouldn’t go bad.”

“There ought to be deer around here,” said Harry. “Barton Coils said we would find some sure.”

“I suppose they are getting scarcer every year. Maybe we will have to go away back in the mountains for them.”

On and on they trudged, without another sign of a rabbit. But presently Harry drew attention to a squirrel hole, and a halt was made to see what it might contain.

They all loaded up, and then Boxy threw a snowball into the hole. Nothing followed, and then another snowball and a stick of wood were launched at the hole.

Instantly a squirrel’s head appeared; his lordship looked out to see what was the cause of the disturbance.

Jack took quick aim and fired. The head disappeared, but whether the animal had been hit or not they could not tell.

“I’ll climb up and investigate,” said Boxy. “I have an idea there is more than one squirrel in that tree.”

“Yes, it looks hollow,” returned Harry. “Let me give you a boost up.”

“Don’t you shoot me for a squirrel while I’m up there,” laughed Boxy, and up he started.

“Humph! you don’t climb like a squirrel,” commented Andy, as Boxy gripped and twisted to gain the lower branches of the tree.

It was a struggle to gain those lower limbs, but Boxy finally accomplished it, and began to poke into the hole with a stick. Almost instantly a couple of squirrels sprang out and darted past him, and out to where the branches of another tree hung close.

One of the frisky animals made the leap in safety, and darted out of sight before those below could take aim at him.

The second was not so fortunate. He hesitated for an instant, and that proved fatal. Harry’s gun spoke, and down he dropped at the young hunter’s feet.

The shot, scattering through the branches behind him, frightened Boxy, who imagined that he was in danger of being hit, although such was not the case, as Harry was careful of what he was doing. The boy up at the squirrel hole shrunk backward, and then, to the amazement of his companions, disappeared entirely!

“Hullo! what does that mean?” cried Jack.

“Where in de world is dat feller gwine?” questioned Pickles, with his mouth wide open.

“Who?” asked Harry, who had been paying attention solely to the squirrel.

“Boxy has gone into a hole in the tree,” explained Andy. “Hullo, Boxy, crawl out of that!” he shouted.

There was no reply. The boys stared at the tree and each other in wonder.

“Maybe he has gone clear to the bottom,” suggested Jack.

“I’ll climb up and see,” returned Harry. “Give me a leg up, quick! He may be smothering!”

Jack assisted him, and Harry was soon up to where Boxy had been standing. Sure enough, there was a large hole, and Boxy was wedged into it at least seven or eight feet below the opening.

“Help me!” gasped the unfortunate boy, in a thick voice.

“Throw up a rope or a strap,” shouted Harry, to those below. “He is way down, and can’t help himself.”

Several skate-straps, buckled together, were at once thrown up. Winding one end around his hand, Harry lowered the other.

“Got it tight?” he asked.

“Yes,” returned Boxy. “But I’m afraid you can’t haul me up--I’m wedged in that firm!”

“I’ll see.”

Bracing himself as best he could, Harry hauled away on the strap. The leather cut his hand a good deal, but to this he paid small attention.

At first Boxy did not budge. Then, with a groan, he came up a few inches. A tearing sound, as of clothing, followed, and finally he was raised so that he could get his hands on the edge of the hole. Then he helped himself; and soon both he and Harry were down among the others again.

Boxy’s coat was torn in half-a-dozen places, but he gave scant attention to that. He was very thankful that he had been pulled out of the tree-trunk alive.

“Supposing I’d been alone when that happened?” he shuddered. “I was worse off than Jack in that pit on the other side of the lake.”

“That shows the wisdom of keeping together,” said Jack. “After this we will make it a point to go out together, or, at least; in pairs--never alone.”

The journey up the creek was resumed, and they kept on until at least a mile and a half had been covered.

“Now I move we go back,” said Jack. “It is getting late. To-morrow we can start out early, for there will be nothing to do around the camp after breakfast, which we ought to have by seven o’clock.”

The others were tired and readily agreed. They had not seen any deer, but had found a run, and they were certain that, sooner or later, they would strike one or more of the much-prized beasts.

About a quarter of the distance to camp was covered, when, without warning, a doleful sound reached their ears, coming from directly in front of them.

“What’s that?” asked Andy, as he came to a halt.

“Wolves!” cried Jack. “I did not think there were any in this section!”

“The heavy snow has driven them out to look for food,” put in Harry. “We may have trouble with them.”

“We can shoot them,” said Boxy. “And they--here they come now!”

Boxy had hardly uttered the words when from a thicket rushed five lean and savage-looking wolves, snapping and snarling as they came toward the boys.

All fired their guns, and two of the wolves went down, mortally wounded. The others kept on, yelping and barking with increased savageness.

“Run for it!” yelled Jack. “They will tear us to pieces if they once get at us!”

And run they did, trying to load their firearms as they went.

Soon the wolves were close at their heels!