ng a tiny stream,
whose course they were now to follow. Their guide called it the
Tukh-loo-ga-ne-lukh-nough, which, after vain attempts to remember, Phil
shortened to "Tough Enough." Jalap Coombs, however, declared that this
was not a "sarcumstance" to the names of certain down-East streams among
which he was born, and to prove his assertion began to talk glibly of
the Misquabenish, the Keejimkoopic, the Kashagawigamog, the
Kahwcambejewagamog, and others of like brevity, until Phil begged him to
take a rest.

That night, while the camp was buried in the profound slumber that
followed a day of unusually hard work, and the fire had burned to a bed
of coals, the single long-drawn howl of a wolf was borne to it with
startling distinctness by the night wind. As though it were a signal, it
was answered from a dozen different directions at once. The alert dogs
sprang from their snowy beds with bristling crests and hurled back a
challenge of fierce barkings; but this, being an incident of nightly
occurrence, failed to arouse the tired sleepers.

Within a few minutes the dread howlings had so increased in volume that
they seemed to issue from scores of savage throats and to completely
encircle the little camp. If was as if all the wolves of the forest,
rendered desperate by famine, had combined for a raid on the supper of
provisions so kindly placed within their reach. Nearer and nearer they
came, until their dark forms could be seen like shadows of evil omen
flitting among the trees and across the open moonlit spaces.

The dogs, at first eager to meet their mortal foes, now huddled
together, terrified by overwhelming numbers. Still the occupants of the
camp slept, unconscious of their danger. Suddenly there came a rush, an
unearthly clamor of savage outcry, and the sleepers were roused to a
fearful wakening by a confused struggle within the very limits of the
camp and over their recumbent forms. They sprang up with yells of
terror, and at the sound of human voices the invaders drew back,
snapping and snarling with rage.

"Timber wolves!" shouted Serge. "Your rifle, Phil! Quick!"

Emboldened by this re-enforcement, the dogs advanced to the edge of the
camp space, but with low growls in place of their former defiant
barkings.

Phil was trembling with excitement; but Serge, steady as a rock, was
throwing the No. 4's from the double-barrel and reloading with buckshot,
at the same time calling to Chitsah to pile wood on the f