"Wolves!" cried Henry.

"You are right," answered the old frontiersman. "Reckon they have come back
to finish their work."

"Let us drive them off," put in Dave, with a shudder. "If there is anything
left of the man, we ought to give him a decent burial."

"Yes, lad, I agree; but there ain't much left but bones."

All pushed forward and soon reached the spot where Sam Barringford had made
his strange discovery. Five wolves were close by, sniffing eagerly through
the snow, and more were in the rear.

"I've my shot-gun," said Dave. "Shall I give 'em a dose?"

"Yes," answered Barringford, and taking aim at two of the foremost wolves,
the youth pulled the trigger of his weapon. The report was followed by a
mad yelp of pain, and both wolves went down, one dead and the other badly
wounded. The other wolves then ran off with all possible speed.

[Illustration: The report was followed by a mad yelp of pain]

"A fair shot, Dave!" cried the old frontiersman, and striding forward he
dispatched the wounded wolf with his hunting knife. "Doin' almost as well
as Henry now, ain't ye?"

"Not quite as well as that," was Dave's modest answer.

The new fall of snow had covered all traces of the tragedy recently enacted