To keep warm they slapped their arms across their chests, and hammered their heels against the tree-trunk. In doing this Dave suddenly slipped and fell. “Look out!” cried his cousin, and made a clutch at him. Both went down, one on one side of a limb and one on the other. Henry had Dave by the arm, and there they hung for a moment, with the wolves below, leaping up and snapping as never before. “Don’t let go!” shrieked Dave, who had no desire to fall among those snapping jaws waiting to receive him. Henry clung fast, although it was no easy matter to sustain his cousin in such an unusual position. His wrist was twisted painfully. Then each caught the limb with his free hand, and they both swung up to safety once more. “That was a narrow squeak!” gasped Dave. “I thought the wolves had me sure. I hope you didn’t get hurt, Henry.” “Got my wrist scraped a little, that’s all,” was the reply. “But please don’t slip down again. Where’s your gun?” Dave felt around in dismay. Then he looked below. The strap had broken and the weapon lay in the snow among the wolves. “You’ll not do any more shooting just yet,” went on Henry, grimly. “It’s too bad!” cried Dave. “The strap wasn’t very good, but I thought it would hold for this trip. Look out that yours doesn’t drop, Henry.” “I’ll try to keep it on hand.” Once again there came a period of waiting. So far it had been clear, but now it commenced to cloud over. “We are going to have either snow or rain,” announced Dave. “Well, of the two I hope it is snow,” said Henry. “I don’t want to get wet through in such cold weather as this. It will give us our death of cold.” A little while after that it began to snow. At first the flakes were large and drifted down like so many feathers. But soon they grew smaller and came down so thickly that a large portion of the landscape was blotted out. Then a wind sprung up, making the situation of the young hunters anything but comfortable. “The wolves are leaving!” cried Henry, presently, as an extra blast of wind sent the snow swirling around. “They don’t like this storm. Reckon they are afraid of being snowed in.” “I don’t like the storm myself,” returned his cousin. “See how thickly the snow is coming down now.” Soon the last of the wolves had disappeared and silence reigned in that part of the vast forest. With caution they let themselves down to the ground, and Dave picked up his gun, cleaned it, and put on a new priming. “We’ll have to watch out for those wolves,” he cautioned. “If they come for us, we can climb another tree,” answered Henry. “But I don’t think they will turn back. Their lair may be miles from here, and they will want to get there before they become snowbound.” The falling snow had covered the wolverine trail, and it was with difficulty that they could see the bushes they had broken off while journeying along. It was growing darker and the snow swirled and blew in every direction, almost blinding them.