White Fang Page #3

								


"He might have lived to a ripe old age if he'd stayed at home," Henry agreed.

Bill opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind.  Instead, he pointed towards the wall of darkness that pressed about them from every side.  There was no suggestion of form in the utter blackness; only could be seen a pair of eyes gleaming like live coals.  Henry indicated with his head a second pair, and a third.  A circle of the gleaming eyes had drawn about their camp.  Now and again a pair of eyes moved, or disappeared to appear again a moment later.

The unrest of the dogs had been increasing, and they stampeded, in a surge of sudden fear, to the near side of the fire, cringing and crawling about the legs of the men.  In the scramble one of the dogs had been overturned on the edge of the fire, and it had yelped with pain and fright as the smell of its singed coat possessed the air.  The commotion caused the circle of eyes to shift restlessly for a moment and even to withdraw a bit, but it settled down again as the dogs became quiet.

"Henry, it's a blame misfortune to be out of ammunition."

Bill had finished his pipe and was helping his companion to spread the bed of fur and blanket upon the spruce boughs which he had laid over the snow before supper.  Henry grunted, and began unlacing his moccasins.

"How many cartridges did you say you had left?" he asked.

"Three," came the answer.  "An' I wisht 'twas three hundred.  Then I'd show 'em what for, damn 'em!"

He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and began securely to prop his moccasins before the fire.

"An' I wisht this cold snap'd break," he went on.  "It's ben fifty below for two weeks now.  An' I wisht I'd never started on this trip, Henry.  I don't like the looks of it.  I don't feel right, somehow.  An' while I'm wishin', I wisht the trip was over an' done with, an' you an' me a-sittin' by the fire in Fort McGurry just about now an' playing cribbage--that's what I wisht."

Henry grunted and crawled into bed.  As he dozed off he was aroused by his comrade's voice.

"Say, Henry, that other one that come in an' got a fish--why didn't the dogs pitch into it?  That's what's botherin' me."

"You're botherin' too much, Bill," came the sleepy response.  "You was never like this before.  You jes' shut up now, an' go to sleep, an' you'll be all hunkydory in the mornin'.  Your stomach's sour, that's what's botherin' you."

The men slept, breathing heavily, side by side, under the one covering. The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer the circle they had flung about the camp.  The dogs clustered together in fear, now and again snarling menacingly as a pair of eyes drew close.  Once their uproar became so loud that Bill woke up.  He got out of bed carefully, so as not to disturb the sleep of his comrade, and threw more wood on the fire.  As it began to flame up, the circle of eyes drew farther back.  He glanced casually at the huddling dogs.  He rubbed his eyes and looked at them more sharply.  Then he crawled back into the blankets.
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