“But suppose the demon isn’t in his cave?”
“That’s just what we’re afraid of, Will, and we are only taking our chances. He ought to be in at this time of night, eating his supper and tormenting his captives—if he has any. He must be in! I feel that we haven’t come all the way here for nothing; I feel that we are in for a grand adventure! And what will the demon say when he finds two armed boys in his den!”
“Suppose he won’t come out when I fire? He may be too cute to rush out, and leave the door open, and straggle off.”
“Oh, do quit supposing! If he won’t come out, we will shove our way in. If he is a good old man, we must cheer him up, and help him; but if he is a wicked old knave, with captives and treasures, we must set them free, and plunder him for the National Treasury. Here we are at the tree, Will; get out your pistol ready to fire. No, wait! Let me take a look over the log, to see that he isn’t prowling around there.”
After much scrambling, Henry succeeded in climbing upon the tree. Will stood by, fumbling idly with the pistol. The demon, a few steps behind, pressed close against the cliff, and remained unseen.
“I don’t see anything of the demon,” Henry whispered, from the trunk of the tree. “Don’t fire till I slip down, because he might pop out quick, and see me. In a minute or two, I’ll venture up again.”
Before he had finished speaking he was on the ground; and, as bravely as a war-worn general, he said, in a higher key than Will’s proximity made necessary: “FIRE!”
Of course every accomplished story-teller, when he “gets into the thick of it,” must pause deliberately, and give prolix descriptions of people or places about whom or which the general reader cares next to nothing. It is unjust to the impatient, but powerless, reader; but it is the custom. We must plead guilty of this time-honored meanness, and seize the present opportune moment to introduce the demon as he appeared at that time.
He was a tall, powerful man, with light, active movements, worthy of a soldier. His features were regularly formed, and apparently he had once been a fine-looking man. Now, however, he was haggard and stooped from long-continued privations. His eyes had a ferocious glare,—not pleasant to beholders, but supposed to be an attribute of maniacs,—a suspicious look, as though he dreaded some enemy were lurking near, ready to spring upon him. In fact, his entire appearance showed that he was always on his guard. His long and intensely black hair waved about his shoulders in wild profusion; whilst his beard, likewise black, reached far down his breast. His clothing, old and tattered, was in keeping with his general appearance.
All taken together, he looked like a madman; and if Marmaduke could have seen him, he would have been in ecstacy, thinking that at last he had found one of Dickens’ monstrosities.