There could not have been fewer than fifty wolves round him; and they had just concluded another of many futile attacks when the hunters came up, for they were ranged in a circle round their huge adversary--some lying down, some sitting on their haunches to rest, and others sneaking about, lolling out their red tongues and licking their chops as if impatient to renew the combat.

The poor buffalo was nearly spent, and it was clear that a few hours more would see him torn to shreds and his bones picked clean.
"Ugh! de brutes," ejaculated Henri.
"They don't seem to mind us a bit," remarked Dick, as they rode up to within pistol shot.
"It'll be merciful to give the old fellow a shot," said Joe.

"Them varmints are sure to finish him at last." Joe raised his rifle as he spoke, and fired.

The old bull gave his last groan and fell, while the wolves, alarmed by the shot, fled in all directions; but they did not run far.

They knew well that some portion, at least, of the carcass would fall to their share; so they sat down at various distances all round, to wait as patiently as they might for the hunters to retire.