r
opening. If I could get hold of it, I might use it to chop a hole
through my prison wall.

"But to burrow down was clearly impossible. Nevertheless, I knelt to
feel the punky stuff under my feet. The absurdity of trying to work
down a hole without having, like a squirrel, any place to throw out
the material, was plain.

"But something more cheerful occurred to me. As I knelt, an object at
my back touched my heels. It was the brass point of my hunting-knife
sheath. Instantly I sprang to my feet, thrust my revolver back into
its case, drew the stout knife, and drove the blade into the shell of
pine.

"In two minutes I had scooped the blade through. In five minutes I had
my face at a small hole that gave me fresh air. In half an hour I had
hacked out a space big enough to put my shoulders through.

"The wolves, when they saw me again, were delighted. As for me, I was
much pleased to see them, and said so. At the compliment they licked
their jaws. They thought I was coming down, but I had something
important to do first.

"I drew my pistol. It was a big old-fashioned Colt's revolver. With
the first round of seven shots I killed three, and wounded another
badly."

"Then the rest jumped on them and ate them all up, didn't they,
grandpapa?"

"No, Jimmy, I'm glad to say they didn't. Wolves in Russian stories
do, but American wolves are not cannibalistic; for this is a civilized
country, you know.

"These wolves didn't even notice their fallen friends. They devoted
their attention wholly to me, and I assure you, chickens, that I was
much gratified at that.

"I loaded again. It was a good deal of trouble in those days, when
revolvers wore caps. I aimed very carefully, and killed four more. The
other ten then ran away--at least some did; three could drag
themselves but slowly.

"After loading again I dropped down, and started for camp. Next
morning we came back and got ten skins, after looking up the three
wounded."

"And you got only eighty dollars, instead of one hundred and
thirty-six, grandpapa," said Jimmy, ruefully.

"Well, Jimmy, that was better than furnishing the pack with raw boy
for supper."

"Is that all, grandpapa?"

"Yes, Jenny, dear."

"Do tell us another story."

"Not to-night, chickens. Not to-night. Grandpapa is old and sleepy.
Good night, dears; and if you begin to dream of wolves, be sure you
change the subject."

Grandpapa walked slowly up stairs.

"Can _you_ make different dream