"Was that you who fired just now, John?" said Martin.

"Yes," replied John.

"What did you fire at?" said Alfred.

"A wolf," replied John.

"A wolf! where?" said Mr. Campbell.

"At the cow-lodge," replied John.

"The cow-lodge!" said his father.

"Yes; killed Sancho!"

"Killed Sancho! why, Sancho was with your cousins!"

"Yes," replied John.

"Then, where did you leave them?"

"With the wolf," replied John, wiping his rifle very coolly.

"Merciful Heaven!" cried Mr. Campbell, as Mrs. Campbell turned pale; and
Alfred, Captain Sinclair, Martin, and Henry, seizing their rifles,
darted out from the house, and ran with all speed in the direction of
the cow-house.

"My poor girls!" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell.

"Wolf's dead, father," said John.

"Dead! Why didn't you say so, you naughty boy!" cried Mrs. Campbell.

"I wasn't asked," replied John.

In the meantime the other party had gained the cow-house; and, to their
horror, beheld the wolf and dog dead, and the two young women lying on
the snow, close to the two animals; for Mary had fainted away shortly
after John had walked off. They rushed toward the bodies of the two
girls, and soon discovered that they were not hurt. In a short time they
were recovered, and were supported by the young men to the house.

As soon as they arrived, Mrs. Campbell took them into their room, that
they might rally their spirits, and in a quarter of an hour returned to
the party outside, who eagerly inquired how they were.

"They are much more composed," replied Mrs. Campbell; "and Emma has
begun to laugh again; but her laugh is rather hysterical and forced;
they will come out at dinner-time. It appears they are indebted to John
for their preservation, for they say the wolf was about to spring upon
them when he came to their assistance. We ought to be very grateful to
Heaven for their preservation. I had no idea, after what Martin said
about the wolves, that they were so dangerous."

"Why, ma'am, it is I that am most to blame, and that's the fact,"
replied Martin. "When we killed the bullock I threw the offal on the
heap of snow close to the cow-lodge, meaning that the wolves and other
animals might eat it at night, but it seems this animal was hungry, and
had not left his meal when the dog attacked him, and that made the beast
so _rily_ and savage."

"Yes; it was the fault of Martin and me," replied Alfred. "Thank Heaven
it's no worse!"

"So far from it being a subject