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Grit A-Plenty : A Tale of the Labrador Wild They hurried a little now, though pausing frequently to peer into the forest gloom behind them. Twilight was thickening. The thing, whatever it was, that followed them was growing bolder and less careful to conceal its movements. With little effort they could quite plainly hear the tread of soft footfalls on places where the snow was covered by an icy crust. It was not, however, until the stovepipe of the tilt, standing in black silhouette above a great snowdrift that nearly covered the little log building, had risen into view, that Andy, looking back, exclaimed: “There ’tis, now! There ’tis! Wolves!” David stopped, and turning about beheld five great fearsome gray creatures. It was at least a relief to know what manner of beast stalked them. There is attached to a hidden, skulking enemy a mystery that accentuates the sense of peril. But now the danger was real enough. When the boys stopped, the wolves stopped also, and in full view sat upon their haunches, with lolling red tongues, greedily observing their intended victims. They were not above fifty yards distant, and a cold chill ran up the lads’ spines as they beheld them. “Shoot now!” said Andy, tensely, after a moment’s silence. Dropping the hauling rope of the toboggan from his shoulders, David without a word slipped his rifle from the loose sealskin case in which he carried it, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. “Snap!” went the hammer, but there was no explosion. A wolf sprang to his feet, and baring his ugly white fangs emitted a snarl that sent a fresh tingle down the boys’ spines. “The firing pin is froze!” exclaimed David, again cocking the rifle and aiming. Again there was a snap but no explosion. Again he tried, and again the cartridge failed to explode. “Pick up th’ gun case, Andy, and walk ahead,” directed David, in a voice tense with excitement, as he readjusted the hauling ropes upon his shoulders. “Don’t run, now, b’y, and don’t hurry. Pop says never run from wolves. If you do, they’re like t’ close in on us.” “We’re most to th’ tilt,” said Andy nervously, as he obeyed David’s instructions and set forward, with David in the rear, at their usual pace. When David and Andy moved the wolves followed. With every step they gradually but perceptibly drew a little closer. When the outline of the tilt appeared through the thickening twilight the animals were not ten yards behind the nervous, frightened boys. David, glancing back, could see the bristling hair above the powerful shoulders, and the ugly red lolling muzzles of the beasts. “Get in quick and light th’ candle, Andy!” he directed when at last they reached the door. “Hurry, now! They’re like t’ rush any minute!” Snow had drifted against the door and clogged it, and it seemed to David that Andy would never get it open. The wolves were edging closer—closer—closer. They were not twenty feet away when at last the doorway was cleared and Andy sprang into the tilt, shouting to David to hurry, while he nervously lighted the candle.