Part 22 (2/2)
”Wha-what is it?” the other girl breathed.
”It's the sound a c.o.o.n makes when he's lonesome. But listen!”
A new and louder sound burst upon their ears. There was no need for asking what this was. Marion knew all too well. It was the booming baying of a hound. The next second he was joined by his companion.
”Are they coming this way?” asked Marion, while a cold chill shook her from head to foot.
”No.” There was a quiet a.s.surance in Patience's tone. ”We've made no sound. It isn't us they hear. It's that c.o.o.n. They'll race over to that tree and bay up at it if the men'll let 'em, and I think they will.”
”And then they'll get on our scent and-and it will all be over!” Marion's teeth were chattering in spite of her.
That this was a possibility she had not thought of was told by the long moment of silence before the mountain girl spoke.
”Well, they might,” she whispered, measuring her words, ”but a hound's a hound, and all hounds love to bay a c.o.o.n tree. We'll just have to wait and see.”
Waiting out there in the dark forest with every least sound, the flutter of a bird or the movement of some small living thing in the gra.s.s at their feet giving them a start, was not the easiest thing in the world.
Indeed, Marion found it almost the hardest.
Now and again there came the call of the c.o.o.n, then the booming of the hounds.
”Why don't they let them go?” Patience murmured impatiently. ”If they don't; if-”
She paused in the midst of a sentence to listen. Then in a joyous whisper she exclaimed:
”There! There they go!”
It was true. As Marion strained her ears she caught the sound of the hounds tearing away through the brush.
But even as she listened her heart suddenly went wild. What if the hounds had somehow gotten scent of them and were coming their way? How terrible that would be! They were sure to be great, gaunt, vicious beasts.
In the darkness it was impossible to tell what direction they were taking. Aided by her heightened imagination, she fancied the sound of their rush through the bushes growing louder, seemed to catch more plainly their hoa.r.s.e breathing.
Wildly she strained her eyes in the dark, searching for a tree that she might climb, but in vain. The trees were either too large, with branches twenty feet in air, or too slender to bear her weight. In her wild terror she was about to flee when again Patience whispered:
”There they go!”
”Who?” Marion whispered back.
”The men. They are all alike-hounds and mountain men. They can't stand the call of a c.o.o.n. Oh, thank G.o.d! Our chance is coming. See!”
As she looked toward the cabin Marion did see. Not alone did she see the men, but saw their faces plainly. By the glaring light of a burning pine knot held aloft by one of the men, faces of three tall, gaunt, stubby-whiskered men were silhouetted against the shadows of night.
”Know them?” Marion whispered as they disappeared behind a clump of trees.
”Narry a one.”
”I guess that's all of them,” Patience whispered a moment later. ”Away, now, for little Hallie. We'll have to take a chance. C'mon, and remember-not a sound. Not a snap of a twig, not a breath!”
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