Robert gazed at him with a smile. "I am not afraid," said he.
"No, my boy, no," replied Glenarvan; "and you are right. In two hours, day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave Patagonian!" cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier.
A DYING HOPE.
But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the inclosure.
Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him.
At this moment a change took place in the action of the wolves. They seemed to be retreating, and their howls, so deafening before, suddenly ceased. An ominous silence reigned over the plain.
"They are going," said Robert.
"Perhaps," replied Glenarvan, who was listening with intentness.
But Thalcave shook his head. He knew well that the animals would not abandon a certain prey until at daybreak they returned to their holes and dens.