The dreary solitude of the way made no impression on the mind of Uncle Dick.  He was anxiously hurrying on to reach the scene of operation, having spent a little too much time in polishing his gilt buttons.

On he dashed, heedless of the black shadows and hideous night cries of the deep forest.  Wolves were howling around him; but he paid no attention to sounds so common, thinking only of the feet that were waiting his arrival to be set in motion.

Soon, however, the howling began to approach nearer than was agreeable, The wolves continued to become more and more noisy, till, to his indescribable horror, he heard them on each side of the crackling bushes.

Very soon the woods seemed to the old man to be alive with the yelling pack.  Wolves are cautious about attacking human beings; they usually require some little time to work themselves up to the point.  Every few moments a dark object would brush past poor old Dick’s legs with a snapping sound like that of a steel trap, while the yelling and crackling increased with terrible rapidity.

Dick new that to run would mean instant death, as the cowardly pack would all rush on him the moment he showed fear.  His only chance of safety consisted in preserving the utmost coolness.  A short distance before him lay some open ground; and he hoped that on reaching this they would leave him, as they do not like to make an attack in such a place.

He remembered, too, that in the middle of the open space there stood an old cabin, in which he might be able to find refuge.  But now the wolves rushed at him more and more boldly, snapping in closer and closer proximity to his legs.

Snap!  Snap!  Nearer and nearer!  Instinctively he thrust out his fiddle at them.  The jarring of the strings made than leap back.  Hope returned.  He drew his hand violently across the strings—­twang, twang!  Instantly the wolves sprang back as if he had fired a gun among them.

He was now at the edge of the open space.  He twanged his fiddle—­the wolves recoiled.  Dick rushed toward the hut with all his speed, raking the strings more violently at every jump, till they rang again.

The astonished wolves paused for a moment on the edge of the open ground, with tails between their legs.  But the sight of his flying form renewed their savage instincts.  With a loud burst of yells they darted after him at full speed.  He reached the hut just as the jaws of the foremost wolf opened to seize him.

He rushed in, and the closing door dashed against the nose of the nearest beast.  The door was too rickety to keep the enemy out; but Dick had time to push himself through the broken roof and get on top of the cabin.  The wolves were now furious.  Rushing into the hut, they jumped and snapped at him, so that Dick almost felt their teeth.  It required the greatest activity to keep his legs out of their reach.

Notwithstanding his agonizing terror, he still clung to his fiffle.  Now, in desperation, as he was kicking his feet in the air to avoid their steel like fangs, he drew his bow shrieking across the strings.  The yells instantly ceased.  Dick continued to make the most frightful spasms of sound, but the wolves could not long endure bad fiddling.  As soon as the first surprise was over the attack was renewed more furiously than ever.