"Let us fire off one pistol at a time!" cried Dave. "Then we'll always have one ready for use."
Mr. Porter did not answer, for he was aiming at the nearest beast. With the discharge of the pistol the wolf leaped high in the air, turned and came down on its side, and began to kick the snow in its death agony.
"A good shot!" exclaimed Dave.
"You can try your luck," said Mr. Porter. "I will take out that empty shell and reload."
The other wolves had surrounded the one that was dying, and taking aim at the center of the pack Dave let drive. One wolf was hit in the nose and the bullet glanced off and hit another in the jaw. Wild yelps of pain followed, and the two wolves turned and ran for cover with all possible speed.
"We have gotten rid of three of them," said Dave, with much satisfaction. "If we keep this up we'll soon get rid of the rest."
"It is snowing again," announced Mr. Porter.
He was right, and soon the downfall became so heavy that they could see next to nothing beyond the circle of light made by the camp-fire. But that the wolves were still near they knew by the yelps and snarls which occasionally reached their ears.
A quarter of an hour went by, and the snow came down as thickly as ever. A light wind had
