“Yes,” said Pen wearily, as he followed his comrade’s example. “They may fire, but I am so done up that they can’t keep me awake.”
The water proved to be a delicious balm for the bruised limbs and the wound—a balm so restful and calming to the nerves that somehow the sun had long set, and the evening star was shining brilliantly in the soft grey evening sky when the two sleepers, who had lain utterly unconscious for hours, started awake together, wondering what it all meant, and then prepared themselves to face the darkness of the coming night, not knowing what fate might bring; but Pen felt a strange chill run through his breast with a shiver as Punch exclaimed in a low, warning whisper, “I say, comrade, hear that? Wolves?”
Chapter Thirty Nine.
Strung-Up.
“Or dogs,” said Pen angrily. “What a fellow you are, Punch! Don’t you think we had enough to make us low-spirited and miserable without you imagining that the first howl you hear comes from one of those horrible brutes?”
“It’s all very well,” said Punch with a shudder. “I have heard dogs enough in my time. Why, I used to be once close to the kennel where they kept the foxhounds, and they used to set-to and sing sometimes all at once. Then I have heard shut-up dogs howl all night, and other sorts begin to howl when it was moonlight; but I never heard a dog make a noise like that. I am sure it’s wolves.”
“Well, perhaps you are right, Punch; but I suppose they never attack people except in the winter-time when they are starving and the ground’s covered with snow; and this is summer, and they have no reason for coming down from the mountains.”
“Oh, I say,” exclaimed the boy, “haven’t they just!”