But the moment he left the protection of the fire, the boldest wolf leaped for him, but leaped short.

He saved himself by springing back, the jaws snapping together a scant six inches from his thigh.

The rest of the pack was now up and surging upon him, and a throwing of firebrands right and left was necessary to drive them back to a respectful distance.
Even in the daylight he did not dare leave the fire to chop fresh wood.
Twenty feet away towered a huge dead spruce.

He spent half the day extending his campfire to the tree, at any moment a half dozen burning faggots ready at hand to fling at his enemies.

Once at the tree, he studied the surrounding forest in order to fell the tree in the direction of the most firewood.
The night was a repetition of the night before, save that the need for sleep was becoming overpowering.