"The fire is out, and the wolves are coming!" Paul's physical senses were less acute and delicate than Henry's, and he did not understand at once.

He was still dazed, and groping with his hands in the dusk, but Henry gave him no time.
"It's our lives, Paul!" he cried.

"Another enemy as bad as the fire is after us!" Not twenty feet away grew a giant beech, spreading out low and mighty boughs, and Henry leaped for it, dragging Paul after him.
"Up you go!" he cried, and Paul, not yet fully awake, instinctively obeyed the fierce command.

Then Henry leaped lightly after him and as they climbed higher among the boughs the ferocious whine burst into a long terrible howl, and the dusky forms, running low, gaunt and ghostly in the shadow, shot from the forest, and hurled themselves at the beech tree.
Henry, despite all his courage, shuddered, and while he clutched a bough tightly with one hand put the other upon his comrade to see that he did not fall.

He could feel Paul trembling in his grasp.
The two looked down upon the inflamed red eyes, the cruelly sharp, white teeth and slavering mouths, and, still panting from their climb, each breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness.