<h2 id="c6"><span class="small">CHAPTER VI</span> <br/>THE BATTLE CRY</h2>
<p>Even hampered as he was by the chain attached
to his collar, the faithful old watchdog
was more than a match for his lighter opponent.
Over and over they tumbled. Twice the chain,
tangling about the wolf’s legs, seemed about to
make him prisoner. At last with a savage onslaught
Major leaped clean at the enemy’s
throat. There followed a gurgling cough. For
a second the end seemed at hand. But the next
instant, Major’s teeth lost their grip. The wolf,
feeling himself free, and having had quite
enough, slunk away into the shadows.</p>
<p>“Might as well let him go,” was the boy’s
mental comment. “He’s well licked. He’ll not
want to come back. Save my shots for those
who mix in next.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</div>
<p>In this, perhaps he made a mistake. Bleeding
from many wounds, the wolf carried a rank
scent of battle and blood back to his companions,
a scent more maddening than was that of the
frozen meat upon the sled. Hardly had he
disappeared into the darkness than there arose
from out that darkness a war song such as
Joe had never before given ear to, a song that
made his blood run cold.</p>
<p>“Not a second to lose,” he exclaimed as he
snapped the receiver over his head, threw on
the switch and pressed his lips to the transmitter.</p>
<p>He was talking on 200. “Hello! Hello!
Curlie, you hear? Wolves. Six miles from
Indian’s shack. Sled broken. Must fight for
life. Got four shots. Bring rifles. Come
quick.”</p>
<p>Eagerly he pressed the receivers to his ears.
Wildly his heart beat. It was a tense moment.
Would Curlie be listening in on 200? Would
the message carry? Would he respond?</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</div>
<p>After a moment had elapsed, with the gleam
of eyes coming ever closer, he repeated his
message. Again he pressed the receivers to
his ears.</p>
<p>“He won’t hear,” he muttered half in despair.
“Have to make a dash for it. Meat
might save us—might satisfy them. But
they’re mad with the smell of fresh food.
They’re—”</p>
<p>A voice boomed in his ear. It was Curlie.</p>
<p>“Coming,” he roared. “Hold fast.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” Joe breathed as he snatched the receiver
from his head and clutched at his rifle,
“that’s better!”</p>
<p>Even as he said it, a flash from his electric
torch caught a huge fellow, the leader of the
pack, all but upon them. Like the other, he
doubled up and leaped away, but this only
made the boy understand that his position was
still perilous. Curlie had not told him how far
he was away.</p>
<p>“Must be at least five miles,” he groaned.
“Take him a half hour. Major, old boy, do
you think we can hold them?” The answer
from the dog was a low, rumbling growl.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</div>
<p>There was a deal of comfort to be obtained
from that growl. Heretofore Joe had thought
of these sled-dogs as mere beasts of burden;
thought of them as he might have thought of
horses or mules on the flat, sleepy, safe prairies
of the Mississippi valley. Now he found himself
regarding them as friends, as fellow warriors
engaged in a common business, the business
of protecting their lives against the onrush of
the enemy.</p>
<p>“Some dogs you are,” he murmured gratefully.
“You not only pull a fellow’s load for
him, but in time of danger you turn in and
fight for him.”</p>
<p>He knew that if he came out of this combat
alive he would always cherish a feeling of loyal
friendship for these five companions in combat.</p>
<p>It was a tense moment. They were in a
tight place. A chill raced up his spine and his
knees trembled as he caught the gleam of new
pairs of eyes burning holes into the darkness.
Others had heard the blood-curdling war song
and had come to join in the battle.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</div>
<p>The flash of the torch held the beasts at bay
for a time, but at last it only maddened them
as they pressed closer in.</p>
<p>Joe was in despair. Should he loose the
dogs? He scarcely dared. They would rush
out at those burning eyes and be destroyed.
Then he would be alone. And yet, if worse
came to worst, if the enemy rushed in, there
would not be time to loose them, and chained
as they were, the dogs would fight at a disadvantage.</p>
<p>In the meantime, Curlie Carson was bounding
over the trail. Now he had covered a mile, now
two, now three. There were three miles more.
Panting, perspiring, staggering forward, now
tripping over a snow-covered bush, and now
falling over a log, he struggled on.</p>
<p>“He—he can’t make it!” Joe all but sobbed
as he counted the moments! “Ah, here they
come!”</p>
<p>There was time only to loose the chain of
Major before three gray streaks leaped at
them.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</div>
<p>Major met one and downed him. Ginger,
the hound leader, chained as he was, grappled
with a second. The third leaped at the boy’s
throat. Just in time he threw up the rifle
barrel. Gripped in both his hands, it stopped
the beast. Kicking out with his right foot,
he sent him sprawling. The next instant the
rifle cracked. One shot gone, but an enemy
accounted for.</p>
<p>A fourth wolf sprang upon the gentle, inoffensive
Sport and bore him to the snow.</p>
<p>Leaping upon the sled, Joe stood ready to
sell his life as dearly as he might. Catching
the ki-yi of Pete, the huskie, he reached over
and unsnapped his chain, to see him leap at
the throat of the nearest enemy. “They’re
coming, coming!” Joe sang out.</p>
<p>All fear had left him now. He was in the
midst of a battle. That they would win that
battle he did not dream. Curlie could never
reach them in time. But, like Custer’s men,
they would die game.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</div>
<p>Sport was down. Major was strangling the
life from a clawing wolf. Ginger was engaged
in an unfinished battle. Two wolves leaped at
the sled, one from either side. The rifle cracked.
A wolf leaped high and fell. The second sprang.
He was instantly met and borne to the snow
by Bones, the second “wheel-horse.”</p>
<p>But now they came in a drove, five, six,
seven, gaunt gray beasts with chop-chopping
jaws.</p>
<p>With deliberate aim the boy dropped the foremost,
then the second. Then, calmly clubbing
his rifle, he waited.</p>
<p>The foremost wolf was not two yards from
the sled, when Joe was startled to hear a rifle
crack and see the wolf leap high in air. He
was astonished. Curlie could not possibly have
reached his objective in this time. Who was
this man, his deliverer? Leaning far forward,
he tried to peer into the darkness, as the rifle
cracked again and yet again.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</div>
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