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a few minutes the wolves had come up and were glaring at Mr. Porter and Dave as they crouched close to the camp-fire. There were fourteen of the beasts, all large, lean, and hungry-looking. They sniffed the air and set up yelps and mournful howls. Two found the spot where one of the bears had been wounded and pawed at the blood which had saturated the snow.

"Oh, for a brace of good shotguns!" sighed Dave. "We could scatter them in short order."

"When we shoot we must make every shot tell," said his father. "And keep the cartridges where we can get at them quickly. How many left, Dave?"

The youth counted the contents of the box he carried.

"Seventeen."

"Hardly enough for fourteen wolves. Yes, we must be very careful. If they They are coming closer!"