He felt all right then, for he knew that when
Westcott pinted that rifle at anything, something had to come. It was
a dangerous piece, that rifle was, 'specially when loaded and Westcott
was at one end of it.
"Mark was not more than fifteen rods from the shore, but that ground
was occupied by the wolves; on the right was the water, into which he
might at any moment be compelled to plunge; while both before and
behind him his advance and retreat was alike cut off. He had noticed
that whenever he stopped, the wolves stopped, as if the time for the
rush had not yet come, and it puzzled him to understand why they
delayed the onset. Seeing Westcott with his rifle, Mark determined to
treat his assailants to a choice lot of profane epithets, and the way
he opened on the cowardly rascals, he said, astonished even
himself. But while he was thus swearing at his enemies, he
discovered, as he thought, the reason why they had not attacked
him sooner. A troop of a dozen or more wolves broke cover
some distance up the lake, and came runnin' down towards where
he stood, for whose presence, no doubt, those around him were
waiting. Just then he saw WESTCOTT'S huntin' cap above the rocks on
the point, and saw his double-barrel poked out in the direction of the
leader of the pack, and he knew that that old grey-back's time had
come.
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