n and closed his eyes, but it was a good hour before
he dropped into a doze. Dave sat by the fire, where he could look at his
father's face. It seemed as if he would never get done gazing at those
features, so like his Uncle Dunston's.

"Found at last!" he murmured. "Found at last, and thank God for it!"

Two hours passed, and still Dave sat in the same position, thinking of
the past and speculating on the future. He thought of his sister Laura
and wondered how soon they would meet, and if she and Jessie would
become friends.

"What's that?"

The boy leaped to his feet, and the sudden movement aroused his father.
Both listened to a yelping and a growling at a distance. The yelping
grew louder and louder, while the growling grew fainter.

"I know what it is!" cried Dave, at length. "Some wolves have gotten on
the trail of those wounded bears. Now there will be a battle royal!"

"You must be right, Dave. Hark! The wolves must number a dozen or more."

"Sounds like about half a hundred to me, father."

The battle took place at the far end of the forest of firs and gradually
grew fainter and fainter. Mr. Porter shook his head doubtfully.

"I don't like this, Dave."

"What, aren't you glad that the bears have been attacked? I am."

"It isn't that. If those wolves want more meat they'll follow up that
bloody trail--and it leads directly over here."

"Phew! I never thought of that. I'll stir up the fire--that will help to
keep them at a distance." Dave set to work with avidity, piling on
nearly all of the brushwood that was left. He had just completed the
task when he chanced to look beyond into the waste of snow. He saw a
pair of gleaming eyes--then another pair and still another.

"The wolves are coming, father!" he cried, in consternation.

"I see them, Dave, and we are going to have the fight of our lives to
keep them off," answered Mr. Porter.

CHAPTER XXX

HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION

In a few minutes the wolves had come up and were glaring at Mr. Porter
and Dave as they crouched close to the camp-fire. There were fourteen of
the beasts, all large, lean, and hungry-looking. They sniffed the air
and set up yelps and mournful howls. Two found the spot where one of the
bears had been wounded and pawed at the blood which had saturated the
snow.

"Oh, for a brace of good shotguns!" sighed Dave. "We could scatter them
in short order."

"When we shoot we must make every shot tell," said his father. "An