From afar off, and very faintly, there came to her a subdued cheer. Her
heart leaped with hope. Could it be the boys who were signaling to her?
But now the wolves, even more savage than before, were leaping at her,
their saber teeth snapping within an inch of her, as she fired into
their faces, and laughed as she saw them roll upon the snow in their
death agony.
Again she heard a faint cry in the forest. Oh, if she should be wrong,
and it was not the dear old Moon Valley yell, she would die.
Now the old king of the pack returned to the attack.
He was bigger and stronger than any of the others, and when he snapped
at them with his terrible teeth they made way for him.
He began a succession of leaps at her, and every time she planted a
bullet in his massive and seemingly invulnerable body.
But each leap brought him closer to her perch.
The next jump might be the one by which he would reach her, she thought,
and that surely would be the end, for, if he ever succeeded in getting
his hooked fangs fastened in her clothes, she would be pulled from the
tree in an eye twinkling, and she shuddered as she thought of the
sequel.
The end seemed very near, and she had about given up hope of holding out
until the boys could reach her, when a well-known yell was wafted to her
on the frozen air.
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