With a nervous start, Blake grabbed his rifle.

The wolves had scented them.
Turning his back to the light, he spent some minutes gazing fixedly at the glistening white patches among the straggling trees, but he could make out none of the stealthy, flitting shapes he had half expected to see.

It was encouraging that the wolves had not overcome their timidity of the fire.

Keen hunger would have driven them to an attack; and Blake had no illusions about the result of that.

However, the fierce brutes were not starving; they must have found something to eat; and what a wolf could eat would feed men who were by no means fastidious.
Seeing nothing that alarmed him, Blake resumed his musing.