Once he cried out that Dale had
bound him upon the wheel, and that his arms and legs were
broken, and the woods rang to his screams. Why, in that wakeful
forest, they were unheard, or why, if heard, they went unheeded,
God only knows.
The moon went down, and it was very cold. How black were the
shadows around us, what foes might steal from that darkness upon
us, it was not worth while to consider. I do not know what I
thought of on that night, or even that I thought at all. Between my
journeys for the water that he called for I sat beside the dying man
with my hand upon his breast, for he was quieter so. Now and then
I spoke to him, but he answered not.
Hours before we had heard the howling of wolves, and knew that
some ravenous pack was abroad. With the setting of the moon the
noise had ceased, and I thought that the brutes had pulled down the
deer they hunted, or else had gone with their hunger and their
dismal voices out of earshot. Suddenly the howling recommenced,
at first faint and far away, then nearer and nearer yet. Earlier in the
evening the stream had been between us, but now the wolves had
crossed and were coming down our side of the water, and were
coming fast.
All the ground was strewn with dead wood, and near by was a
growth of low and brittle bushes. I gathered the withered branches,
and broke fagots from the bushes; then into the press of dark and
stealthy forms I threw a great crooked stick, shouting as I did so,
and threatening with my arms.
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