But no answering report came back to him. Again and again he fired, but with no better result, and at length he gave up in despair. Then suddenly the silence was broken by a hideous clamour of wolfish howls. Distant though they were, the cries almost froze the blood in Wilson’s veins, so full were they of deadly menace. Louder they grew, and it soon became evident to the engineer that the creatures who uttered them were advancing towards the _Seal._ He was hesitating whether to cast off the mooring-rope or not when, out of the jungle, some three hundred yards from the vessel, burst a number of figures. Straight for the vessel they made, one in advance seeming to be pursued by the others. In a flash comprehension came to Wilson. Snatching up the magazine rifle he had but just laid down, he bounded through the doorway, crossed the deck at a leap, and sprang ashore. As he did so the runner in advance raised his head, and a cry trembled from his lips. “For God’s sake, fire, Wilson!” “Garth!” the engineer cried, then raised his weapon. CHAPTER XI. HOW HILTON ESCAPED FROM THE WOLF-MEN. THE report of the rifle was followed by a piercing death-scream, and one of the pursuers dropped in his tracks. The rest, four in number, raised a hideous howl and came on. As they approached, Wilson got a full view of the creatures, and the devilish horror of the Things paralysed him. “Fire!” cried Garth again, and, stumbling forward almost to the engineer’s feet, he fell headlong, utterly exhausted. His fall roused Wilson from his stupor, and, raising his rifle again, the engineer fired thrice in quick succession. At the reports two more of the creatures fell, either dead or badly wounded, but the remaining two, with a snarling yelp, leapt close in to the attack. One Wilson dropped almost at the muzzle of his rifle; then, ere he could fire again, the knife of the last flashed straight and true for his heart. Quick as thought he leapt aside, but he was too late to escape the blow entirely. With a shock that staggered him, the great blade buried itself in the fleshy part of his arm. The sting of the knife seemed to rouse all the murderous hate in the engineer’s nature, and dropping his rifle, he gripped his fearsome opponent by the throat, and bore him, struggling furiously, to the ground. In vain the creature writhed and twisted; in vain he clawed and tore at the engineer. Try as he would, he could not unloose that vice-like grip. He gnashed his yellow fangs in a paroxysm of impotent fury, but, for the moment, Wilson seemed possessed of the strength of a giant. Letting the murder lust within him have full sway, the lad beat his enemy’s head to a shapeless pulp against the stones of the beach.