Chapter XX: A Night Attack

It must have been instinct that roused Louis and set him to shaving kindlings from the last stick of wood, for there was no change in the darkness of the hole to indicate that morning had come. The smoke no longer found a way out through the hide cover. Though the wood was dry and the blaze small, Walter was half choked and his eyes were smarting by the time the tea and pemmican were ready.

“We are covered with snow,” said Louis as, in changing his position, he struck his head against the sagging roof. “But I think the storm is over.”

He was right. When the three crawled out from under the hide and burrowed their way through the drift that covered all but the wind-swept peak of their shelter, they found that the flakes had ceased to fall. The wind still blew, though not so hard, and swept the dry, fallen snow up the wave-like drifts, but the sky was clear and flushed with the red of sunrise. It was a world of sky and snow, for the swirling clouds of fine, icy particles blotted out the distance.

The boys did not stand gazing about them for long. The morning was too bitterly cold for inaction, and they wanted to be on their way. Floundering through the drifts, they found the dogs buried in the snow, and pulled them, whining piteously, out of their warm nests. Each animal bolted his frozen fish, then burrowed for another nap.

Dismantling the almost buried shelter, digging out the toboggan and loading it took some time. To fasten the cover over the load, Neil had to take off his fur mittens to handle the stiffened lacings, and frosted four fingers. He was, as he said, “ready to howl” with the pain when the blood began to circulate in them. In the meantime Louis and Walter had dug out the whining dogs. Once in the harness, they ceased their protests. At the crack of the whip and their master’s shout of “_Marche, marche_,” they were off willingly enough.

“I hope you know where we are and where we’re going, Louis,” said Neil as he fell into line. “I don’t.”

“I think that must be the river over there where those trees are,” Louis replied. “We cross it and go on to the west and cross it again. It makes a great bend to the north.”

The dogs were headed for the line of woods, dimly visible through the blowing snow. The trees proved to be on the bank of the Pembina, which was crossed without difficulty. The ice was thick and solid beneath its snow blanket. Beyond the river was open prairie again, a succession of snow waves, up and down, across and through which, boys and dogs made their way westward. Both Louis and Neil went ahead to break the track. Askimé, the intelligent leader of the team, seemed to sense his responsibility and kept close behind the snowshoes.

Walter brought up the rear. His ankles were lame, the muscles of his calves strained and sore from the snowshoeing of yesterday. He found the going quite hard enough, even in the trail made by two pairs of rackets, three dogs, and a loaded sled. The sky was clear blue overhead, the blowing snow particles glittered in the sunlight, but the sun seemed to give out no warmth. The north wind was piercingly cold. The strenuous exercise kept body and limbs warm, but in spite of his capote hood Walter had to rub and slap his face frequently. His hands grew numb in his fur mittens.

Only one stop was made, about mid afternoon, when they reached an _île des bois_, or wood island. The thick clump of leafless small trees and bushes, though broken and trampled by buffalo, furnished plenty of fuel and some protection from the wind. The boys kindled a fire, not a tiny flame but a big blaze that threw out real heat. Close around it they crouched to drink hot tea and eat a little pemmican.

Heartened by food and drink, they smothered their fire with snow that there might be no danger of its destroying the little grove, and resumed their march. Higher land came into view through the blowing drift, and Louis scanned it eagerly. He admitted that he did not know just where he was.

“We should have crossed the river again before this,” he said. “Without knowing it we have edged away from the cold wind and gone too far south. I fear we cannot find the old cabin to-night.”

“We must find fuel and shelter,” was Neil’s emphatic reply.

It was after sunset when the cold and tired travelers reached an abrupt rise of wooded ground. Skirting the base of this tree-clad cliff, they came to a steep-sided gully, where a small stream, now frozen over and snow covered, broke through. The narrow cut was lined with boulders, but trees and bushes bordered the stream and grew wherever they could find foothold on the abrupt sides among the stones. The gully was drifted with snow, but it would provide protection from the bitter wind.

Leaving his comrades with the sled, Louis explored until he found a suitable spot, where the almost perpendicular north slope cut off the wind. A huge boulder, partly embedded in the bank, would serve as the east wall of the shelter. He shouted to his companions, who joined him with sled and dogs.

“We will dig out the snow behind this big stone,” he explained, “and pile it up to make a wall on the other two sides. When we have put the toboggan and the hide cover over the top, we shall have a good warm lodge.”

The three set to work at once, Walter almost forgetting his lameness and weariness in his eagerness to complete the queer hut. When it was all done but the roof, Neil left the others to unload the sled, while he took the ax and climbed the bank to cut firewood.

Before the shelter was finished, darkness had come, and the howling of wolves echoed from the hills above. On the narrow strip of frozen, sandy ground that had been uncovered, a robe was spread. The fire was kindled against the big boulder, which reflected the heat. To the cold and tired boys, the hut seemed very snug. Wrapped in blankets, they huddled before the blaze, warm and comfortable, even though the heat did not carry far enough to make much impression on the two snow walls.

By the time Walter had eaten his portion of melted pemmican and drunk two cups of hot tea, he was so sleepy he could not keep his eyes open. Neil too was nodding, and Louis was not much wider awake. They replenished the fire, and stretched out side by side, feet to the blaze, and heads wrapped in their capote hoods.

An excited barking and howling waked Walter suddenly. How could three dogs make such an unearthly racket? With a sharp exclamation, Louis freed himself from his blanket. In a flash Walter realized that the dogs were not guilty of all that noise.

Louis was gone, Neil was following. Walter sprang up, felt for his gun, and could not find it. The fire was still smouldering. Remembering that wild animals were supposed to be afraid of fire, he seized a stick that was alight at one end. As he crawled from the shelter, he knew from the sounds that the wolves were attacking the dogs.

The loud report of a gun drowned out for an instant the snarls and growls. The dark forms of the beasts could be seen against the white snow, but the light was too dim down in the gully to show friends from foes. Louis had fired into the air.

Before the echoes of the shot had died away, Walter flung his blazing firebrand, with sure aim. It landed among the dark shapes. There was a sharp snarl, a quick backward leap of a long, thin body. Neil risked a shot. The snarling creature made a convulsive plunge forward, and fell in a heap. Black figures, three or four of them, were moving swiftly up the gully.

Louis fired again, then called commandingly, “Askimé, back!”

The brave husky had started in pursuit of the wolves. At his master’s command, he paused, hesitated, turned. Louis ran forward to seize the dog.

Askimé had been hurt, but not seriously. One of the wolves had got him by the throat, but the Eskimo’s heavy hair had protected him and the skin was only slightly torn. The other dogs were uninjured. The actual attack had but just begun, when Walter flung his firebrand. The blazing stick had struck Askimé’s attacker on the head, and had made him loose his hold. It had frightened the rest of the beasts. Then Neil’s quick and lucky shot had killed the one wolf almost instantly. The dead animal proved,—as the voices of the pack had already betrayed,—that the attackers were not the small, cowardly prairie beasts, but big, gray timber wolves.

“It was you, Walter, who saved Askimé’s life,” Louis exclaimed gratefully. “I didn’t dare take aim. I couldn’t tell which was wolf and which dog. I fired over their heads, hoping to frighten the wicked brutes. But you saved Askimé. Come, brave fellow,” he said to the dog. “You shall sleep in the lodge with me the rest of the night.”

“Will the wolves come back, do you think?” asked Walter.

“If they do, the dogs will warn us. But I think they will not trouble us again. They have lost their leader, and they are well frightened.”

The boys were so thoroughly aroused that it was some time before they could go to sleep again. But they heard no more of the wolves, and finally dropped off, first Neil, then Louis, and finally Walter. Between his two companions, Walter slept more warmly than on the night before, though he woke several times when the fire had to be replenished.