Leaning on
the neck of his horse, the old man muttered--
"Where is my pup? Where is it--Hector--where is it, dog?"
The hound caught the well-known sounds, and answered by a whine of
friendship, which threatened to break out into one of his piercing
howls. The trapper was in the act of raising himself from this
successful exploit, when he felt the hand of Weucha grasping his
throat, as if determined to suppress his voice by the very unequivocal
process of strangulation. Profiting by the circumstance, he raised
another low sound, as in the natural effort of breathing, which drew a
second responsive cry from the faithful hound. Weucha instantly
abandoned his hold of the master in order to wreak his vengeance on
the dog. But the voice of Esther was again heard, and every other
design was abandoned in order to listen.
"Ay, whine and deform your throats as you may, ye imps of darkness,"
she said, with a cracked but scornful laugh; "I know ye; tarry, and ye
shall have light for your misdeeds. Put in the coal, Phoebe; put in
the coal; your father and the boys shall see that they are wanted at
home, to welcome their guests.
Pages:
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496