On the Trail of Pontiac Part 30

In the meantime the wolves had ranged themselves in a semicircle before him, continuing to howl as dismally as ever. One especially large beast came a little forward, showing his fangs viciously.

"Get back there!" cried Henry, and the leader of the wolves retreated for the moment. But then he came closer than ever, and the others followed.

Picking up one of the bushes, Henry threw it at the pack and all set up a wild yelping. Away they sped into the darkness, and he fancied they were gone. But this did not last. They came back howling with additional loudness, and drew closer and closer, until it looked as if the largest would certainly leap for the young hunter's throat.

Henry waited no longer, but, raising his musket, fired at the leader of the wolves. With a snarl the beast sprang into the air and whirled over and over in his death agonies. The struggle carried him further away from where Henry stood, and without loss of time the youth reloaded his weapon, so that he might be prepared for another attack.

The sudden fall of the leader disconcerted the other wolves for the time being, and it was fully five minutes before they came forward as before.

Henry half expected them to eat the dead wolf, but they did not touch the body.

"Reckon they mean business," thought the young hunter, setting his teeth hard. "They want either the buffalo or me! And they shan't have either--if I can help it!"

He yelled once more at the beasts, but this time they merely halted, showing that the sound of his voice did not alarm them as it had previously done. Then, like a flash, one leaped for Henry's throat.

Crack! went the rifle again, and this wolf also fell, shot through the throat. The wound was serious, but not fatal, and with gleaming teeth and eyes that blazed with fury the beast gathered himself for another spring.

On he came, but Henry knew enough to leap to one side. Not wishing to use his pistol, excepting as a last resort, he drew his hunting-knife, and, watching his chance, plunged it into the wolf's shoulder. Down went the beast, and a second stroke of the blade finished the creature.

Scarcely was the second wolf down when all the others appeared to come forward in a bunch. Bang! went Henry's pistol, and a third wolf was struck in the breast. Then the youth caught up a bush and whirled it into the beasts' faces. But some got behind him, and one snapped at his hunting-shirt and another at his leather leggings. It looked as if in another minute he would be down and killed.

CHAPTER XXVI

STRANGE INDIAN MAGIC

"Well, where in the world can Henry have ridden to?"

It was Dave who asked the question. He sat on his horse, peering forth in all directions through the storm and the oncoming darkness. Beside him was Barringford, equally anxious to learn what had become of their companion.

Killing the first buffalo had not proved easy, and they had spent more time over the game than they had antic.i.p.ated. But a bullet from Dave's pistol had finished the big creature, and then the pair had looked around for Henry, to find that he had vanished.

A hunt had followed in first one direction and then another. As the storm came up Dave's horse was unfortunate enough to run into a mud reach close to the river, and it proved no light task to save the steed from being drowned.

With the coming of night, Barringford had proposed that they go into camp, but Dave was too worried to do this, and urged that the search be continued.

"For all we know, those buffaloes may have turned and charged on Henry," he said. "I shan't rest until I know the truth."

"If they turned an' charged, I'm afeered it's all up with Henry." returned the old frontiersman. "A mad buffalo can make short work o' a hunter. He's wuss nor a mad bull."

They moved off slowly after this in something of a semicircle. Occasionally one or the other would raise a yell, but to these cries no answer was returned.

"Might as well give it up, Dave, onless ye want to ride around all night,"

said Barringford at last.

He had hardly spoken when Dave drew up his horse.

"Hark, Sam! what is that?"

The old frontiersman listened attentively for several minutes.

"Wolves, onless I miss my guess," he replied presently.

"They appear to be heading toward us."

"No, they are off in that direction, Dave." Barringford pointed with his hand. "They are after something."

"Not our buffalo meat, I hope."

"No, they are heading the other way. It's something else."

"Let us follow. They may be after another buffalo, or after Henry."

"That is so."

On they went once more. Soon they could no longer hear the wolves, and drew up in perplexity. While they were consulting together, they heard a distant gun shot.

"Somebuddy is a-firin' on 'em!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Barringford. "Perhaps it's Henry. Come!" And he set off at a gallop, with Dave beside him. As they rode on they heard another gun shot, and a moment later the report of a pistol.

"It must be Henry, and, if so, he is having a fearful fight with the wolves!" cried Dave. "Oh, Sam, we must help him!"

"I see him!" shouted Barringford, and in less than half a minute later he was blazing away at the wolves. Dave also fired his gun and his pistol, and four wolves were put out of the fight in almost the time it takes to tell of the deed.

"Save me!" came faintly from Henry. "Save me!"

"I will!" answered Barringford, and leaped from his horse, hunting-knife in hand. The blade was plunged deeply into a wolf that had Henry by the left arm. Dave used his musket as a club, and another of the beasts was sent staggering back with a broken jaw.

What few remained of the beasts were scared by the new arrivals, and now they made off at top speed. It was high time, for Henry had suffered much, and as soon as the living wolves had disappeared he plunged forward and fainted in Barringford's arms.

"He has had a lough time of it, poor fellow," murmured the old frontiersman. "If we hadn't 'a' come up as we did, he would have been done for."

"Is he seriously hurt?" questioned Dave anxiously.

"Don't think he is, Dave. It's his wind as has given out."

Barringford was right, and it was not long before Henry revived. His arm was slightly pierced in three places and on his left leg were two long, irregular scratches. These were washed and bound up by Dave, and during the time consumed Barringford managed to start up a tiny fire in spite of the dampness.

"Where in the world have you been?" asked Henry. "I watched and watched for you."

"And we've been hunting for you until we were about ready to give it up,"

answered his cousin. "The wolves put us on the track."

Sitting around the fire, which Barringford coaxed into a respectable blaze, each party told what had happened since the separation.

"Reckon as how you've had your fill o' buffalo huntin' jest for the present," said Barringford, when the narratives were concluded. "Buffaloes an' wolves is a terribul bad combination."

"Where is your game?" questioned Henry.