It had a baying, howling tone, which made the chills creep over the boy from head to foot.

He had heard the barking and howling of wolves when crossing the prairies, but there was deep, thunderous bass to the one which now struck upon his ear such as he had never before heard, and which gave it a significance that was like a voice from the tomb.
The instant the brute left his station, Fred reached down, seized the muzzle of his gun, and drew it up.

Then he made his way some twenty feet above, where he could feel secure against any daring leap from his foe.
He had scarcely perched himself in this position, when the bay of the wolf was answered from fully a dozen different directions.
He had called to his comrades, and their replies came from every point of the compass--the same rumbling, hoarse, wailing howls that had notified them where a prize awaited them.

A minute later, the brute trotted back to his place, where he sat down until the arrival of reinforcements.
"It isn't one wolf, but a hundred, that going to besiege me!" gasped the terrified boy.
He spoke the truth..