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
