As the night wore away, Dick and Sandy risked shot after shot at the wolves, and now and again they dropped a skulking shadow. But usually they missed, since Toma objected to giving up his rifle, and they were forced to use the corporal’s revolver.
“How long do you suppose we can hold out?” Sandy asked in a strained voice.
“I see no reason why we can’t hold out until they leave,” Dick replied with more confidence than he felt. “We’ve plenty of firewood. As long as we have fire to fight with we’re safe.”
“How do we know they’ll leave?” Sandy wanted to know.
Dick shuddered a little, and did not answer. He saw a gray shape loom up at the edge of the firelight, and raising the revolver, fired quickly. He gave a cry of satisfaction as he saw the gaunt beast leap into the air and fall, kicking its last.
There followed a rush of hungry wolves for their fallen companion. Horrified, the boys watched the dead wolf torn to pieces by the pack. Dick emptied his revolver into the writhing mass. He could not help but hit, and he killed another wolf, wounding two others, which the pack finished.
Sandy began throwing burning brands at the wolves, and they drew off once more into the darkness, where they paced nervously back and forth, growling and snarling.
The boys decided that one of them should try to sleep while the other two watched. Dick arranged three twigs in one hand for Sandy and Toma to draw from. The one with the shortest twig, after the draw, was to be the lucky one. Sandy drew the shortest. But after a half hour of futile tossing about, he gave it up.
“No use,” Sandy joined the haggard watchers at the fire. “One of you fellows try it. I couldn’t sleep in a million years with those devils out there waiting to gobble me up.”
“I don’t think I can either,” said Dick. “Toma, you’d better try it. One of us had better get some rest.”
The guide grunted assent, and rolled into his sleeping bag, which once had been his brother’s. In a few minutes Toma was breathing steadily in sound slumber. His calmness gave the boys courage.
“If he can sleep I guess we hadn’t ought to feel so nervous,” Sandy observed.
“I’ve heard old sourdoughs say an Indian never lets the nearness of death trouble him when he can’t get away from it,” Dick related, trying to get his own mind and Sandy’s off their perilous predicament.