Dave Porter in the Far North Part 45

"I must get you out of this soon," he said. "You need regular medical attention."

"I shan't mind it, Dave, if only I can keep warm."

"Maybe I can get that brushwood now, father."

"No, do not attempt it."

There was a spell of silence after that, and then Dave raised his pistol.

"Do you know what I am going to do?" he said. "I am going to discharge four shots at the bears. Even at this distance I ought to be able to do some damage."

"Well, you can try it, Dave. But I don't think you'll accomplish a great deal. Their hide is too tough."

Dave brushed the snow from the rocks in front of him, knelt down, and rested his arm with care. Then he took careful aim at the bear that had first appeared. Crack! went the pistol four times in rapid succession.

The bear gave a leap, clawed at its face several times, and then, with a grunt of agony, turned and fled among the firs and out of sight.

"Hurrah! that did some damage!" cried the youth, as he started to reload. "Now I'll see if I can hit the other bear---- h.e.l.lo, he's gone, too!"

The boy was right, the larger beast was also lumbering off, evidently frightened by the way its mate had been treated. Soon it, too, had disappeared from view. Mr. Porter and Dave watched for a long time, but neither animal came back.

"They may possibly return, but I doubt it," said Dave. "Anyway, I don't think they'll come back right away, and that will give us a chance to escape."

"Not if we must go back through that patch of timber, my son."

"Let us try to get away by walking along the base of the cliff. We are bound to strike some sort of a mountain trail sooner or later. But, pshaw, I forgot that you can't walk. Well, maybe I can carry you."

"No, it will be too much of a load, Dave. We had better wait awhile."

And so they sat down and waited, after Dave had brought in the brushwood he had previously broken off. A roaring fire cheered them greatly, and once more each related his experiences. Mr. Porter told how he had traveled in many parts of the world, and said that Dave must some day do the same. He asked the youth about his education, and when Dave related how he had won the medal of honor at Oak Hall his face beamed with pleasure.

"I certainly owe Professor Potts and Mr. Wadsworth a good deal," he said. "And I shall not forget them. You could not have fallen among better friends."

"I believe that," answered Dave, warmly. "Professor Potts and all of the Wadsworths have been just as good as they could be to me."

Almost before they knew it darkness came on. Dave brought in more of the brushwood and even dragged over some limbs of a fallen fir. Luckily he had brought along enough provisions for several meals, and they proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as possible in the hollow of the cliff. They ate slowly, talking the while and each smiling warmly into the face of the other.

"It seems almost too good to be true," said Mr. Porter, not once but several times.

"And, oh, I am so thankful!" responded Dave.

Mr. Porter was so weak he needed sleep, so Dave told his parent to lie down on some of the brushwood, which he spread out as a couch next to the rocky wall.

"But what will you do, my son?" asked Mr. Porter.

"I'll remain on guard--so those bears don't get a chance to surprise us."

"But aren't you sleepy?"

"No--I'm so happy I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a week."

Mr. Porter lay down and closed his eyes, but it was a good hour before he dropped into a doze. Dave sat by the fire, where he could look at his father's face. It seemed as if he would never get done gazing at those features, so like his Uncle Dunston's.

"Found at last!" he murmured. "Found at last, and thank G.o.d for it!"

Two hours pa.s.sed, and still Dave sat in the same position, thinking of the past and speculating on the future. He thought of his sister Laura and wondered how soon they would meet, and if she and Jessie would become friends.

"What's that?"

The boy leaped to his feet, 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 x.x.x

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."