The Fiery Totem

by C. F. Argyll Saxby

  CHAPTER XVI

  A NIGHT'S TERROR

  When Bob reopened his eyes, it was to awake suddenly with the horriblefeeling that he was being watched by some hidden foe.

  He started, and as he did so he was conscious of the sound of manypattering feet--soft, muffled sounds, yet loud enough for him to hear.He even thought, as he turned over and flung out his arm, that his handhad touched something that was warm and furry.

  He sat up and gripped his rifle as he stared around him.

  In the semi-darkness of the rising moon he could see dark figures movingrestlessly all around him, while a score or more of eyes kept twinklinglike stars to indicate how he was being watched.

  Just then a wild, long-drawn wail rent the night air beside him. Theboy's blood seemed to run cold at the sound, for he knew that he wassurrounded by a horde of timber wolves who had thought him dead, andcome too soon.

  Too soon? Yes. But how long would their moment be delayed?

  Bob staggered to his feet and held his rifle in readiness. But theghouls of the night kept at some distance, though he could still seethem stirring here and there, as if they were discussing plans amongthemselves.

  The boy waited--it seemed hours--each moment expecting a dash from theblack spectres. Still they hung back, until Bob actually began to longfor the attack to begin, that the strain of waiting might be broken.

  Then something moved behind him. He wheeled about and swung his riflelike a club, at random. The butt met a soft substance, and a wild howlfollowed, as a wolf that had been creeping upon him from the rear nowsprang back among his lurking comrades. Instantly the forest rang withwails and howls and snarling, as the wolves sprang upon their woundedcomrade (as is the way of many wild animals) and tore him to pieces.

  Yet Arnold dared not leave the spot. If he ran, the wolves would soon beupon him, for a fleeing prey is more closely pressed than one thatstands at bay. Moreover, he was in the centre of a clearing. If he wereto enter the woods, there would be many quarters from which he would beopen to attack and unable to defend himself freely.

  The night wore on, and the moon crept up into the arc of the sky. Hisenemies could be plainly seen now, though the shadows prevented him fromdetermining how great was their number. Probably the uncertain lightdeceived him and multiplied the actual score. One thing--they were insufficient numbers to be a formidable danger, and it would need sharpwatching to ward off the attack effectively.

  So long as there was a remnant of their comrade's flesh to fight andsnarl over, Bob was left in peace. But presently the strife became lessand the noise sank, and by such signs he knew that he had again becomethe object of their unwelcome attentions.

  He stood his guard with every nerve strained to catch the first sightand sound of danger.

  Then he saw two large forms creeping towards him from the front. Theycame slowly, creeping low like dogs stalking game in the grass.

  Bob waited until they drew near. He was reluctant to exhaust a cartridgeunless it was an absolute necessity. His wish was to exercise the forceof his muscle on these as he had done with their predecessor.

  But, as the wolves came within a few yards, they stopped and eyed himcautiously, and in this position the furred enemies and the boy stoodwatching each other, just as wrestlers watch each other's eyes todiscover the vantage moment for a deadly grip.

  The time passed, yet neither side moved. Then, to Bob's dismay, hediscovered that the whole mass of wolves had gathered together, and wereslowly creeping upon him in the wake of these two leaders.

  And with the knowledge, the boy seemed to go mad for the time. He coulddelay the fight no longer. His blood rushed hot to his head. He firedone shot at the foremost wolves. Then he gripped his weapon by themuzzle and sprang straight for the pack.

  "Come on, you brutes!" he yelled, as he laid about him right and left."If it's got to be a fight, the sooner we begin, the sooner it'll beover!"

  Wild with passion, the boy fought with the false strength that is alwaysthe accompaniment of delirium. As the blows told, the wolves howled andshrieked and leapt for him with a rage that was equally frantic to his.Fortunately they kept to one side--that was the side from which the moonshone. They could see him plainer thus. Otherwise the light would be intheir eyes, and he but a black figure that they could not understand.

  How he fought that night!

  Strange to say, all fatigue had left the lad's body. He had theendurance of three normal boys--at least it seemed thus, though we neverknow our real strength, muscular or mental, until we are in the straitsof desperation.

  More than once he received a nasty little snap in the arm. But thesewere unnoticed in the heat of the combat. His eyes were "seeing red," asthe Westerners say. He had no nerves to feel with; only muscles to fightwith. And all the time the impromptu club was in action--sometimesswinging like a flail, at other times being gripped for a no lesseffective thrust with the butt.

  But gradually the attack became perceptibly easier, as the wolves werebeaten back or slain by the ceaseless swing of the rifle. Bob recognisedthe weakening of the assault, and the spirit of the conqueror fired hisblood to renewed energy.

  Baulked of his prey, a great timber dog sprang forward withdetermination to vindicate the honour of his kind.

  Crash went the weapon, a single howl escaped from the savage creature,then he fell back, quivering and lifeless, upon the ground.

  That was the end of the conflict. Their last leader slain, the othersturned tail and fled.

  Arnold stood firm on the defensive. His hair was soaked in sweat, hisclothes were torn in many places, and he could feel the sharp sting of awound in his shoulder. It was some time before he could believe that thefight was indeed over. The change from storm to calm had been sudden;and it was only when he understood that strength was no longer neededthat he began to feel the evidences of fatigue. His limbs began totremble with the reaction as the unnatural strength that had buoyed himso well now commenced to ebb. He looked around him. The signs of hisconquest were visible in the moonlight as dark lumps lying here andthere. Then his keen eyes began to haze and his head to swim. And forthe second time that night he sank to the ground in a state ofunconscious fatigue.

  It was bright daylight when Bob regained his normal faculties. Themorning had considerably advanced while he had lain oblivious to thepassage of time.

  The boy sat up. He was stiff and sore. But he was no puny schoolboy. Hehad a sturdy frame that healthy athletics had trained to meet fatiguewithout injury, and Nature's needed rest had rapidly restored normalstrength, though, as we said, his muscles were not free from certainlittle aches to remind him of late events.

  At first his thought was that the previous adventure had been nothingmore than a bad dream. But as his eyes scanned the surroundings, and hesaw no fewer than seven carcases of timber wolves lying unpleasantlyclose to him, he was quickly convinced that there had been no ill visionbut terrible reality.

  Next he called to mind the quest on which he had started from the camp.

  That thought was sufficient to banish the last sensation of drowsiness,and he immediately rose up and examined his rifle, to see if it hadsuffered from the adventure. The weapon had stood the test well. Beyonda few dents on the butt (which would be so many trophies of the combat)it was otherwise uninjured. The scratches on his own flesh were notserious, though they nipped a little at first movement. So, altogether,Bob was satisfied that he had come through the ordeal in a manner thatdemanded thankfulness to a protecting Providence.

  The next move was towards the bush, where the Saskatoon berries werehanging in inviting clusters like myriad bunches of purple grapes inminiature. These, together with a draught from an adjacent spring, hadto suffice for breakfast. Then he turned once more to take up the tracksthat he had been forced to forego on the previous night.

  It was not long before the boy rediscovered the trail, and with athousand misgivings for the unavoidable delay in going to his chum'sassistance he started on the track at
a rapid pace.

  It was a winding path that he followed; but in order to ride swiftlyRed Fox had been obliged to keep more or less to the open way throughthe woods, relying upon speed more than strategy to outreach pursuit. Hehad a plan in his mind that he meant to carry out when at a safedistance. After that was accomplished, he did not care how soon thesearchers might reach the spot. He would be far away. And the boy--well,they would be welcome to find him then.

  Doggedly determined to find his chum at all costs, Bob pressed on,seldom taking his eyes from the ground, where the imprints showed howheavy hoofs had thrashed the trail.

  What had happened to his chum? Had the savage merely stolen him for somewild purpose--perhaps to await a ransom? Or could the worst havehappened, and Alf be even now---- No, no. Bob could not bear thatthought, and he put it from him, struggling manfully to retain hope aswell as strength.

  And then suddenly--when it was about noon--he came upon the Scotsman'spack-horse quietly grazing beneath the trees, and at a little distanceAlf sitting on the ground with Red Fox prostrate, resting his head onthe lad's lap.