“That’s me, all right, Thad; I’ll have a spark going the quickest ever, if that old wind only holds up a bit. Here’s aplenty of loose stuff, to begin with, that I can kick together. Wait till I stick my torch in this crotch of the tree. Just as well to have some light to work by,” and as he kept up this running fire of talk, Step Hen was busying himself right swiftly.

For the moment he forgot all his aches and pains, and worked like a Trojan; indeed, no defender of ancient Troy ever had more urgent reason for getting things going than Step Hen thought he did just at that minute.

He used his feet and hands to gather the loose pine needles in a heap; and when he thought he had things fixed to suit him, the next business that engaged his attention was getting the pile to take fire. After that Step Hen said he would be “on Easy Street.”

All this while the night wind had been moaning and whistling through the tops of the tall pines, making a mournful kind of music, calculated to add to the uneasiness caused by the savage howls of the hungry wolves from the north. But Step Hen had learned a lesson while lighting his torch, and knew that the wind came in gusts, with short intervals between. By waiting a few seconds after it had started to blow at quite a lively rate, he was able to find a lull; and making the most of his opportunity, he hastily struck his match, and applied it to the dry stuff he had made sure to keep underneath.

But after all he came very near spoiling it; for just at that very second there was a loud howl, so close at hand that Step Hen was impelled to look over his shoulder, under the impression that the wolf pack was even then about to overwhelm him while he bent down, almost defenseless, above the pile of dry stuff.

“It’s all right; don’t worry!” exclaimed Thad, who was standing guard, with his faithful Marlin gripped tight in his hands; and any wolf that attempted to try conclusions with that reliable little gun would surely regret his temerity.

The flame managed to catch before the wind could come back again to blow it out; and once the connection had been made, the draught only served to make the fire burn the better.

“There, that’s done; and now what?” asked Step Hen, whirling around to pick up his own weapon, under the belief that he would feel easier in his mind if in a position to defend himself.

“We’ve got to extend the fire belt, and make several more like the one you’ve got going,” replied Thad, laying his gun down, so that he might busy himself. “Here are plenty of branches, and all sorts of good burning stuff. If only Giraffe were with us now, wouldn’t he be in his glory, though?”

“Well,” said Step Hen, slowly; “he might; and again, perhaps Giraffe don’t like wolves any better than I do. And he gets so rattled too, whenever he’s nervous. I try to take things as cool as anything. What’s the use getting excited, when it ain’t agoin’ to help a single bit. And I know you’ll say the same, eh, Thad?”

“You never spoke truer words, Step Hen,” replied the scoutmaster, gravely; and yet secretly he was shaking with laughter, because everybody knew that Step Hen was the worst offender in that line the patrol boasted; so that it seemed almost as “good as a circus,” Thad afterwards declared, to hear him talk in this way.

They worked diligently, and soon managed to not only extend the fire so as to take in three more points, and thus completely surround the spot where they had dumped the packs of venison; but to secure quite a supply of fuel besides, with which to feed the flames from time to time.

“Now what?” again demanded Step Hen, when he saw that his companion meant to call a halt upon these proceedings.

“Supper is the next thing on the programme,” observed Thad. “I feel just like enjoying some of that same venison. It will not only make us feel stronger, but considerably lighten our loads when we take a notion to go on again.”

“Count me in on that deal; because, honest Injun now, I’m that empty my stomach feels like it wanted to shake hands with my backbone. Say, this must be a real hunter’s feast, Thad. I never went through such an experience as this before. And just listen to the nerve of them rascals, ahowlin’ themselves hoarse, just because we object to sharing our grub pile with ’em. D’ye suppose, now, we’ll have to knock over a few of the pesky varmints, as old Eli calls ’em.”

“I wouldn’t be one bit surprised,” replied Thad; and the other noticed that he did not move in the least without making sure that his gun was within reach; from which it was evident that Thad had no intention of being caught unprepared, should the hungry wolves make a sudden dash.

Of course Step Hen was next to totally ignorant as to how to cook meat without the frying-pan to which he had been accustomed. And he watched just how Thad did it, closely imitating him.

Taking a stout and fairly long sliver of wood, a small piece of the meat was secured to one end, after which the other point was thrust into the ground in such a position that the meat came pretty near a place where the embers burned red, and glowed invitingly. Presently the heat began to make the meat sizzle, and then it slowly cooked, turning a delightful brown color, and sending out odors that made the boys fairly shiver with eagerness to start eating.

When one piece was considered done, it was quickly eaten by a hungry hunter, and its place taken with a fresh supply.

So the good work went on. Both boys were ravenously hungry, and only small bits could be cooked this way at a time, so that it was pretty much a whole hour before they had fully satisfied their clamorous appetites. And although the meal had been eaten under the strangest conditions of any which he could remember, Step Hen was ready to declare he had enjoyed it immensely.

“But they’re gettin’ madder and madder all the while, just because we didn’t send ’em an invite to our little feast!” declared Step Hen. “Just listen to the critters yawp, would you, Thad? They’re buttin’ in closer and closer, a foot at a time. And honest now, I reckon there must be all the way from half a dozen to ten thousand of ’em around us.”

“That’s a pretty good and safe range,” laughed the patrol leader; “and I guess you’ve covered the ground, all right. There are surely half a dozen of ’em, and how many more I wouldn’t like to say, because I don’t know just how much noise one old wolf can kick up. But don’t they sing sweetly, though? Shall we be generous, and throw them out the balance of the venison, to show them how we like their song?”

“Well, I should say, not any,” returned Step Hen, after giving his companion a quick glance, as if to see whether he really meant it, or was only joking. “We had too much hard work getting our supply to throw it to the dogs. Let the lazy curs run along, and find some for themselves. Besides, it’s too good to think of wasting it. I want the rest of the fellers to taste our venison. Mine went glimmering, and I hope it half choked that villainous crowd. Anyway you vowed it was a whole lot tougher than this haunch; and there’s that comfort.”

But it was evident that if the hungry animals around heard this decision they refused to pay any attention to it; for instead of decreasing, the howls actually became louder and more insistent, until finally Thad picked up his gun.

“I begin to see that we’re going to have a little target practice after all, Step Hen,” he remarked, quietly. “When things get so bad that you can see the skulking beasts creeping about your camp, and even catch the glitter of their yellow eyes, it’s nearly time to begin to bowl a few of them over, so as to inform the rest that we’ve got a dead line marked around here.”

“You don’t say?” answered Step Hen, in an awed tone; “show me one, Thad, please. I’d just like to say I’d seen a wolf, really and truly, for once in my life, outside of a menagerie or a circus.”

“All right, then,” replied the other; “just follow the line of my finger, and I give you my word that skulking thing in the shadows is a real genuine, Canada wolf. I’m going to prove it to you in a minute or two, by taking a crack at him.”

“Oh! now there’s two of ’em, Thad, crossing each other’s trail. And see there, if that ain’t a third, and even a fourth. Why, I believe the woods are full of ’em!”

“You’re about right,” replied the patrol leader, more seriously than before, the alarmed Step Hen thought. “Here, let’s throw a few blazing brands around, to scare ’em off some, while we lift the bundles up among the branches of this tree. Then, if anything should force us to take refuge there, at any rate we wouldn’t have to listen to the plaguey things chewing at our grub.”

This was accordingly done. When the burning bits of wood were hurled out toward them, the wolves temporarily retreated; but Thad knew full well they would soon crowd back, drawn by the scent of the fresh meat; and besides, he did not like to take the chances of setting the woods afire; just after he, and the balance of the Silver Fox Patrol, had accepted this new test of their abilities in the line of doing a good act as fire wardens.

The two packages of venison were easily hoisted into the tree, Step Hen readily climbing up himself in order to lift them still higher; so that by no possibility could a leaping wolf manage to get his teeth in either bundle.

Step Hen came down again a little unwillingly, Thad saw. It must have seemed good and safe up there, so far removed from the fangs of the encircling wolves; but after the fires had burned completely out, it would prove a pretty cold perch; and for one the young scoutmaster did not yearn to try it, unless every other resort failed them.

“Now watch what happens!” remarked Thad, as the other joined him again, gun in hand; “and remember, only shoot if you have to. I’ll hold one barrel in reserve all the time. After I shoot you’ll see me get a new shell in the chamber as quick as I can work it. Be ready, now; and watch sharp!”

No need to tell Step Hen that. He was already keyed up to top-notch condition by the excitement that caused his nerves to quiver, and his breath to come in gasps. And yet, if any one had accused the boy of being afraid, he would have at once indignantly denied the imputation. Perhaps he was holding himself sternly in hand; Thad hoped as much; but then some persons have a queer way of showing that they are cool and collected. Step Hen was one, for instance; but if all of us could realize just how we look to our neighbors, we might not feel quite so proud.

Thad had his gun ready for quick work. He only waited until he could glimpse one of those skulking, shadowy forms on the outside border of the light cast by the fire circle. Then he glanced along the barrels of his gun, though instinct enabled him to cover the target better than all this aiming; after which his finger pressed the trigger.

The boom of the gun was instantly succeeded by a series of alarming howls; and then Step Hen was heard shouting exultantly:

“You got him then, Thad! I saw him turn a back somersault. He’s a dead one, all right, I tell you, whoop!”