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It got dark around five, but we wanted to make this good campsite Tom
knew about, and with the full moon, there was plenty of light, so we kept
traveling for a while.
Then all of a sudden the dogs just stopped. They acted like they were
listening to something and kind of whined, then one or two of them howled a
little.
While we were trying to quiet them, I heard it a pitiful-sounding moaning
and crying coming from up on ahead. "What would you say that was, Tom?"
I asked. "An animal or a man?"
"Animal and a man," Tom told me, and it turned out he was right.
The three of us left the sled behind and snuck up the trail on foot.
We didn't even have to follow the tracks to find them. Up ahead about a
hundred yards there were two things moving. One was Purdy, shinnied so
far up a little birch it was bowed right back onto the trail. Right below him,
snapping at his hindside, was as big and ugly a wolf as it has ever been my
privilege to brag about having seen and having lived afterward to talk about.
Its ruff must have stood out, oh, gee, a good foot all the way around and up
its back like porky-pine needles. It kept up that whiney-howl like a train on a
downhill run with the brakes on all the way. It was bound and determined to
shake its dinner down out of that tree.
And Purdy, of course, was just as determined it wasn't going to. When he
saw us, he called, "Get his attention, boys, while I finish him off. No goldarn
(except he didn't say 'goldarn') overgrown sheepdog is going to pick Alonso
Purdy from its teeth."
That wolf howled right back up at him just like it understood. It still didn't
pay us any mind. It was after him specifically, like there was no greater wolf
delicacy in this whole world than Purdy tail.
It took an extra high leap, and he slipped and screeched and swore
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something terrible. We made it there just as they tangled. Tom got off to one
side trying to draw a bead on the critter while I waded in, thinking I might
be able to pull it off with my hook and give Tom a good shot.
Well, I hooked the critter okay, but once I got ahold of it, I didn't know what
to do with it. It was bigger than I expected, and heavy. Up close it was more
like the size of a pony than an ordinary wolf, and it was fast. And smart. I
caught it too far back and just barely hooked through its hide, the fur was so
thick. It turned back on me and bit into my wooden arm. One of the few
times I've ever been glad it was wood. The wolf was too mad to notice the
difference, and it chewed and snarled, getting more frustrated all the time
because it wasn't drawing blood. Finally, the straps that hold it on my
shoulder broke. When the wolf saw what it had there, it gave me a look of
pure disgust and turned back on Tom.
The wolf jumped just as Tom fired, knocking the gun down, and the bullet
went clean through Tom's leg. Jack dived in to try to pull the wolf off Tom
and get the gun, but the wolf stood with its back legs on Tom's face and chest
and attacked Jack with its front end. I picked up what was left of my wooden
arm and started beating the wolf with the hook.
It turned and snapped at me, but it had three men down already and it just
didn't seem to take me serious. Jack made use of the distraction to roll away
from the wolfs reach, but he rolled so hard he rolled right into a tree and
knocked himself out. Tom moaned and dodged and I kept beating.
But while all this was going on, I got to studying on that wolf, Pelagia. It was
not acting natural. A lone wolf away from the pack might attack one man,
but let a bunch come up and it has sense enough to make itself scarce, if it's
able to. And then I thought, well, maybe it's rabid. It was slavering and
slobbering so that it might as well have been. But there was something real
deliberate about it. It seemed pretty sure it could take us all on, but it didn't
want to just wound anybody. It wanted to knock the wind out of us and tear
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out something necessary. Wasn't going to mess around with maiming us.
Now that is not a real wolfy way of looking at things, any way you stack it.
But about the time I realized that, the wolf seemed to realize that I didn't
have my total attention on beating the daylights out of it. I mostly was
managing to irritate it, keeping it away from Tom's neck and leg. But the
smell of the bloody leg was driving it crazy. Crazier. Finally, it decided it
would have to go through me to get to Tom's drumstick. It sprang at my
good shoulder and knocked me down. Stunned me. My hand went numb and
I remember thinking, 'oboy, I farmed and raised a family for sixteen years
with one arm, but I'll be darned if I can figure out how to work a gold claim
without any.' You can see right there what an optimist I am. I was still
figuring I'd be alive to worry over how many parts I was going to have to
work with.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Purdy slink back into the woods and try to
circle round toward Tom's gun, which would have been encouraging except
that Purdy was slinking way over there and here was this wolf dripping wolf
slobber down my chin whiskers and daring me to do something about it. The
wolfs claws ripped clear through my parka. Seeing them claws up close like
that gave me a good idea why the wolf was so sure it could finish us off.
I never have felt so out of luck and ideas all at the same time. I couldn't even
reach up and cover my throat since my hand was under my rear end and the
wolf was standing on my shoulder, so I just kept hunkering my chin down
into my collar like some kind of a darn turtle.
Then Purdy tripped and swore and the wolf looked up and snarled at him,
and I yelled and tried to shake it off me. The shaking didn't do me a bit of
good, but the yelling did. All of a sudden, before that wolf could turn its head
back and bite off my nose, its own nose was full of flying fur and plucking
claws and about twenty pounds of angry tomcat.
That cat of mine was all over that wolf, and they spun around and around.
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