Jimmy realized that if he wanted to have a further share in the disposal of the savage pack, he had better be getting busy again. So he up with his rifle, and looked eagerly for some target at which he could fire. There never could be a more exciting affair than that battle with the escaped wolves that Harkness, the herder, had been feeding and keeping for breeding purposes. They were far from tamed by their recent confinement; indeed, Ned could not remember ever having run across a more savage pack in all his experience. Afterwards, in commenting on this strange fact, he came to the conclusion that it was caused by a combination of two things: the animals had not been fed recently, and were almost crazy for food; and then, he learned that Harkness had ever been a cruel despot, using a black-snake whip with a long cutting lash to quiet his pack in their enclosure, whenever their howling annoyed him--always keeping well out of the reach of their fangs when plying the whip, it may be understood; for he had a species of "pulpit" built out far above the pen, in which he was free to swing that instrument of keen torture. It was just slaughter, for the wretched wolves really had no chance at all to retaliate. Ned sickened of the business quickly, but what could they do otherwise? It was a condition that had been forced upon them. They had not invited the attack, and must defend themselves against the pack, no matter at what cost. Before long there were dead and dying wolves lying all around, as "thick as blackberries in the good old summertime," as Jimmy put it. Others that had received wounds, and no longer felt the same furious desire to try conclusions with the enemies perched beyond their reach in the trees, began to slink away. Doubtless, they remembered old lairs in the distant hills to which they might fly; and, in some fashion, supply themselves with the necessary food, without taking such desperate chances. "All gone, it looks like, Ned!" sang out Jack, "and just when I've gone and got the magazine of my gun charged again, too." "Set 'em up in the other alley!" cried Jimmy. "I accounted for some of the victims, you can roll your hoop on that!" "My stars! but that _was_ a warm session!" exclaimed Harry; "and I wonder now if you got any sort of picture, Jack, when you used your flashlight on the scrimmage?" That was just what Jack had done, laid his rifle aside for a minute, and made a good use of his camera, prepared for the occasion. The sudden flare of the cartridge had illuminated the scene as might a flash of lightning; and, possibly, this had been one of the causes that frightened the balance of the pack away, for the attack weakened from that moment. "Dast we get down now?" asked Jimmy. While he was speaking, Amos Adams dropped from his perch, as though he could see no further reason for playing the part of a bird and perching there among the branches.