Page:History of Oregon Literature.djvu/427

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FIVE PERSONAL ESSAYISTS
387

pistols, and plenty of ammunition. The wolves may attack us. They are very hungry or they would not be so bold."

Mart had managed to save most of the whisky in emptying the barrel. The cooking vessels were all filled, including the frying pan and coffee pot; and last, but by no means least, a pair of Mart's huge boots did good service in holding a couple of gallons of the fiery liquid.

When all was ready, they pushed the raft ahead of them on the ice until they came to the channel. . . . The barrels were tightly corked, and proved quite buoyant enough to bear the two men. . . .

The wolves paid but little attention to them. They had renewed the fight with greater vigor than ever and were pressing old Buckskin closer and closer. ... In his battles he had developed a kind of science of fighting. He kept near the bank, never allowing his foes to get behind him. . . . Both guns rang out with one report, and two of old Buck's foes fell. Then with pistols the battle was opened in earnest. Crack! Crack! Crack! The wolves scampered off, leaving four of their number dead on the field. . . .

Buckskin was nearly as much surprised at his deliverance as were the wolves at their defeat. . . .

They led him out on the ice, but he, who had fought so bravely, was reluctant to try a bath in the cold waters of the swift river. He was coaxed and pushed into the channel, led across behind the raft, and pulled out on the ice, on the other shore. The next morning his two friends helped him to break a trail through the snow to the hills, where the wind had blown the grass bare, and left him with plenty of food at his feet. Soon after the snow disappeared and spring invited the wolves back to their native haunts in the mountains. When the flowers came again Buckskin was fat and sleek, coming every few days to the ferry to see his friends, and to look for company of his own kind. He was quite a handsome pony, but through his shining, glossy coat could be seen the scars of his many wounds, mute witness of the terrible conflict through which he passed.