“What is that?” asked Monteith, less accustomed to the Maine woods than his companions.

“It is the cry of a wolf,” replied Fred; “I have heard it many times when hunting alone or with father.”

“It isn’t the most cheerful voice of the night,” commented the young Bostonian, who, as yet never dreamed of connecting it with any peril to themselves.  And then he sang: 

  Yes, the war whoop of the Indian may produce a pleasant thrill
  When mellowed by the distance that one feels increasing still;
  And the shrilling of the whistle from the engine’s brazen snout
  May have minor tones of music, though I never found it out.

The verse was hardly finished when the howl was repeated.

“It is hard to tell from what point it comes,” observed Fred, “but I think it is on the right shore as we go back.”

“Do you imagine it is far from the river?” inquired Monteith.

“I think not, but I may be mistaken.”

“I am quite sure Fred is right,” said his sister; “and, more than that, that particular wolf isn’t a great way off.  I wonder whether he has scented our trail?”

Before any comment could be made upon this remark, a second, third, fourth, and fully a half-dozen additional howls rang through the forest arches.  They came from the left shore, and apparently were about as far off as the cry first heard.

“They are answers,” said Fred, in a low voice, in which his companions detected a slight tremor.

It was at this moment that the first fear thrilled all three.  The cries might mean nothing, but more likely they meant a good deal.  The wolf is one of the fiercest of American wild animals when suffering from hunger, though a coward at other times, and a horde of them are capable of attacking the most formidable denizens of the woods.

The fact that they were between the skaters and home, and at no great distance from the course they must follow to reach there, was cause for fear.  It was almost certain that in some way the keen-scented creatures had learned there was game afoot that night for them, and they were signalling to each other to gather for the feast.

Fred and Monteith were not specially frightened on their own account, for, if the worst should come, they could take to the trees and wait for help.  They might make a sturdy fight, and perhaps, with anything like a show, could get away from them without taking to such a refuge.

But it was the presence of Jennie that caused the most misgiving.  True, she was as swift and skilful a skater as either, but that of itself was not likely to save her.

But she was the coolest of all, now that the danger assumed a reality.

The lightness and gayety that had marked the three from the moment of leaving home had gone.  They were thoughtful, the very opposite in their mood to that of a few minutes before.

“I wish I had brought my pistol,” said Fred.