She set about cooking some breakfast, and caught herself singing as she
did so.
After she had eaten she sat down in her shelter to think a way out of
her predicament.
She was in the midst of a reverie when she was brought to her feet by
that most dreaded of sounds--the howl of the timber wolf.
For a moment she stood trembling, trying to think what her best course
would be.
The wolves had smelled the frying bacon from afar, and had been
attracted to it, for the scent had carried far in the clear air.
From another direction came another wolf cry, and presently they seemed
to come from every direction.
They were far away as yet, but the wolves were gathering.
Without trying to reason further, Stella gathered up what food she could
carry, and, grasping her rifle, struck out into the forest in the
direction away from that from which the howls of the wolves came to her.
Suddenly to one side appeared a slinking, gray form, which slunk along,
apparently dodging behind the trees, but following her.
As it came from behind a tree in fair sight, she swung her rifle to her
shoulder and fired.
It was a strike, for the wolf, with a howl of pain sprang in the air,
then rolled over on the snow and lay still.
As the report of the shot reverberated back from the mountains, it was
followed by a perfect crescendo of wolf howls.
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