by Olivia Weill.
One crisp winter day in 1621, Peter Browne and John Goodman decided to go hunting with their two hunting dogs, Salty and Calvin. Salty was a large gray mastiff, and Calvin was a spaniel. Peter Browne and John Goodman took up their guns and headed into the forest. The wind whipped through the trees, giving a loud screeching sound. Luckily, John and Peter were wearing thick coats and hats.
"It sure is frigid out here!" yelled John over the noise of the wind.
"I sure feel glad I have this," said Peter, patting the buttons on his black coat.
GRRRR! Peter and John whirled around and came face to face with a hungry pack of wolves, There were twelve very hungry gray wolves, with dirty, matted coats. They had sparking red eyes. Their growls were menacing and low.
"Ahhh!" screamed John. All Peter did was keel over. Then he popped back up like a man coming alive from the dead.
"Cover!" he shouted. As fast as lightening, Peter was up a big maple tree. Reluctantly, John scurried up the tree after him. The dogs looked up at their owners and then back at the teeth-baring wolves, Then they contented themselves with sitting under the maple tree and doing their best to fight off the wolves.
"It sure is dark and gloomy up here," complained Peter, as night crept near.
I feel like I'm in a swamp," agreed John.
"I guess we have to sleep up here," concluded Peter sulkily. In a few hours they had drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, John was awakened by a powerful nudge from Peter.
"Wake up!" he said impatiently. "The wolves are gone!" In one giant leap he was on the ground. In a flash, John followed and they were taking off toward their colony. Salty and Calvin followed at their heels.