ply, close to his ear. "Hank said there was
about five of the brood. Hold your fire, Bob. Pick out the mother wolf
first."

"That's what I want to do; but how can I make sure?" demanded the
Kentucky lad, trying his best to keep his hands from trembling with
excitement.

He had sunk down upon one knee. This allowed him to rest his elbow on
the knee that was in position, always a favorite attitude with Bob when
using a rifle.

"Take the eyes that are above all the rest, and which seem so much
larger and fiercer. Are you on, Bob?" continued the other, who was also
handling his gun with all the eagerness of a sportsman.

"Yes," came the firm reply.

"Then let her go!"

The last word was drowned in a terrific roar, for when a gun is fired
in confined space the din is tremendous. Even as he pulled the trigger
Bob knew that luck was against him; for the animal had moved at a time
when he could not delay the pressure of his finger.

He heard a second report close beside him. Frank had also fired,
realizing what had occurred, and that in all probability the first
bullet would only wound the savage beast, without putting an end to her
activities.

The torch went sputtering to the floor of the cave, having been knocked
from the hand of Hank when the wolf struck him heavily. He could be
heard trying to rescue it before it went completely out, all the while
letting off a volley of whoops and directions.

Fortunately Frank had kept his wits about him. And his rifle was still
gripped firmly in his hands, he having instantly pumped a new cartridge
into the chamber after firing. The half grown cubs showed an inclination
to follow their mother in her headlong attack on the human invaders of
the den; for the numerous gleaming pairs of eyes were undoubtedly
advancing when Frank turned his gun loose on them.

The din was simply terrific. Bob was more concerned with the possibility
of an attack from the ferocious mother wolf then anything else. He had
lost track of her after that first furious rush, and crouching there,
was trying the best he knew how to locate the creature again.

Meanwhile Old Hank had succeeded in picking up the torch, which, being
held in an upright position, began to shed a fair amount of light once
more.

Not seeing anything else at which he could fire, Bob now started in to
assist his chum get rid of the ugly whelps that were advancing,
growling, snarling, and in various other ways proving how they had