"The wolves!"
"They are gone," I said. "They are all gone--and I've got a gun."
"Oh! Oh!" she cried: "Keep them away! Keep them away!"
She kept saying this over and over, sitting on the ground and staring
out into the darkness, starting at every rustle of the wind, afraid of
everything. It was a long time before she uttered a word except
exclamations of terror, and every once in a while she broke down in
convulsive sobbings. I thought there was something familiar in her
voice; but I could not see well enough to recognize her features, though
it was plain that she was a young girl.
"The wolves are gone," I said; "I have scared them off."
"Don't let them come back," she sobbed. "Don't let them come back!"
"I've got a little camp-fire over yonder," I said; "and if we go to it,
I'll build it up bright, and that will scare them most to death. They're
cowards, the wolves--camp-fire will make 'em run. Let's go to the fire."
She made an effort to get up, but fell back to the ground in a heap. I
was just at that age when every boy is afraid of girls; and while I had
had my dreams of rescuing damsels from danger and serving them in other
heroic ways as all boys do, when the pinch came I did not know what to
do; she put up her hand, though, and I took it and helped her to her
feet; but she could not walk. Summoning up my courage I picked her up
and carried her toward the fire. She said nothing, except, of course,
that she was too heavy for me to carry; but she clung to me
convulsively.
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