For about ten seconds it looked as if the boys would have a hard time of it. The wolf was wary and took no chances. He was watching for an opportunity to leap at the throat of one or the other. Finally he sprang at Jack, but just then came an unexpected shot from one side. It was so close it caused the wolf to drop almost at the boy’s feet. He gave a yelp, turned over once or twice, and was dead. They looked around and saw Pickles standing there, a smoking shotgun in his hands, and grinning from ear to ear. “Dat’s de time dat wolf got dun up fo’ keeps,” remarked the colored youth. “Good for you, Pickles!” cried Jack, gratefully. “You saved my life!” “Not as much as dat, I rackon,” returned Pickles. “Is dis de las’ ob de tribe?” [Illustration: “Jack wheeled about and took hasty aim.” See page 138.] “I believe so,” returned Harry. “Let us all load up and be on our guard. There may be more of the pack that haven’t yet arrived.” They followed this advice, and then walked back to where Boxy and Andy had been left. They were joined by the others, and then all five of the boys walked around to view their dead enemies. “Six wolves isn’t bad,” observed Jack, grimly. “That’s so,” returned Boxy. “But it isn’t exactly the kind of hunting we are looking for.” “The deep snow drove them out for food,” remarked Harry. “No doubt they followed up the trail of the dead rabbits and squirrels we are carrying.” It was decided to let the dead bodies lay where they were, Pickles cutting off their tails to secure the bounty offered by the authorities for the wolves’ extermination. It was long past daylight when the camp was reached. While the colored youth prepared the animals shot the others got supper ready. “Maybe you don’t know whar I was when dem wolves got after us,” observed Pickles, while they were working. “Where was you?” questioned Andy. “I hid in de stump ob a dead tree. I had my gun ready fo’ de fust wolf dat showed himself, but dat wolf didn’t cum. Da all knowed better dan to monkey wid de end of my old paralyzer.” “Pickles would have pickled him,” remarked Boxy, and then they all laughed. The boys were tired, but not sleepy, and as it was a clear, moonlight night, they sat around the campfire long after supper, talking and singing. Pickles got out his banjo, and made the woods ring with jigs and breakdowns, and the accompaniment to a ditty called “When the Cotton Am a-Bloomin’.” All joined in the chorus of the song, and they kept it up until ten o’clock. “Now, it’s turn in without delay,” ordered Harry. “Remember, we start off early to-morrow.” “If it don’t snow like fury,” put in Andy. “No more snow for a week,” said Boxy. “Just look, the sky is as clear as a bell!” “I wonder how things are at home?” went on Andy, suddenly. “Why, what put that into your head?” questioned Jack, turning to him quickly. “Humph! I was wondering the same thing,” remarked Harry.