“I’m shot!” gasped Jasper Grinder, and almost fell from his perch.  But he managed to save himself, and hung in a crotch, weak and almost helpless, the blood flowing freely and dripping to the ground, where the wolves licked it up eagerly.  A few had retreated at the report of the gun, but now all came back, snarling and yelping more wildly than ever.

It must be confessed that Jasper Grinder’s position was truly unfortunate.  The loss of blood was fast rendering him unconscious, and he was in mortal terror of dropping down and being devoured.

“Help!” he called feebly.  “Help!  For the love of Heaven, help me!”

Just as his senses were leaving him he heard a distant cry, and looking in that direction, saw John Barrow and Dick approaching, followed by Tom and Sam.

“The wolves have Grinder treed,” cried the guide.  “I’ll give ’em something to remember us by!”

He had a double-barreled shotgun, and he let drive twice in quick succession, firing into two groups of the beasts, and killing two and wounding several others.  Then Dick fired, bringing down another.  Tom and Sam also discharged their pieces, and added three others to the dead or dying.

This slaughter was too much for the remaining wolves, hungry as they were, and in a twinkle they ran off into the timber, howling dismally.

“They won’t come back,” was John Barrow’s comment.  “They have learned to respect us.”  And he was right, the wolves bothered them no more.

While the guide was busy finishing the beast which had been too much hurt to retreat, the boys turned their attention to Jasper Grinder.  They saw he had fainted, and noticed the, blood dripping from his shoulder.  His body was slowly leaving the tree crotch where it had rested.

“He’s coming!  Catch him!” cried Sam, and as the unconscious man came down they did what they could to break his fall.  Fortunately he landed in the deep snow, so the fall proved of small consequence.

“He’s shot, that’s what’s the matter with him,” said Dick, after an examination.  “Who fired at him?  I’m certain none of us did.”

The question could not be answered.  Bringing out a blanket, they placed Jasper Grinder upon it, close to the fire, and John Barrow made an examination of the wound, picking out a couple of the loose buckshot.

“He was probably shot from his own gun,” said the guide.  “More than likely he dropped the piece from the tree, and it went off when it struck the ground.”

They bound up the wound carefully, and did all they could for the sufferer.  Then, while Dick watched over Jasper Grinder, the others got rid of the wolves’ carcasses by dragging them into the timber, and then set to work to prepare the midday meal.

It was fully an hour before Jasper Grinder was able to speak, and then he could say but little.  But he explained how it was that he had been shot.  He wanted to know if the wolves had been driven off, and begged that they would not leave him alone again.