hed up his rifle. He was not left long
in doubt as to who the enemy was. The wild wolf-foxes were in force, and
the yelping and howling outside was terrible to listen to.

He fired his rifle several times right into the centre of the pack,
killing many and wounding more. This only made matters worse. The fierce
and hungry beasts dashed themselves at the gate and tried to tear it in
pieces.

Stones were hurled at them, but all in vain. Poor Briton was as anxious
to get out as they were to get in, and had to be kept back by force.

"Go, quick, Frank," shouted Tom, "and stir up the fire; heap more peats
and wood on, and bring lighted torches as soon as you can. I will guard
the gate till you come."

So there Tom stood opposed to the whole awful crowd, with their glaring
eyes, red tongues, and white-flashing teeth, with only a slight gateway
between him and death. When he thrust his rifle between the willow bars
to take a shot, the beasts bit and tore at it, as if they would have
dragged it from his grasp.

Aralia was busy helping Frank, and presently both came running up with
lighted fir-torches, which Tom at once flung over the gate, together with
pieces of burning peat and wood. These did splendid work, and after a
time the terrible pack drew off.

There was no more sleep that night, however, and towards morning the
attack began again. The foxes had dragged off their dead and wounded and
devoured them. In the gray light of morning they rushed to the gate once
more, and the battle raged again in all its fury.

Poor little Pansy was trembling and shaking with fear as she looked up
and saw that high up on the walls of the fort those savage, wild animals
had taken their stand.

It was a terrible morning, and hope seemed at last to fade, for even
brave Tom had grown faint and weary, and could fight but little longer.

CHAPTER IX

"Come along, Professor! Come along, Mate! The children are there
somewhere, over in that strange island. Ha! here is a bridge of rocks!
Thank goodness for that! And look! here, too, are tracks!"

It was Uncle Staysail who spoke, and behind him was 'Fessor Pete himself,
and at least a dozen well-armed sailors.

"Listen!" cried the captain. "What is that?"

"Wolves, I think," said the professor. "And hark! surely that was a
rifle-shot. Pray Heaven we may be in time, Staysail!"

"Hurry up, men! Hurry up!" cried the captain; and the men dashed onwards.

* * *