“God save you, my lord.”
But before either Thalcave or Glenarvan could get more than a glimpse of the boy, holding on fast by Thaouka’s mane, he was out of sight.
“Robert! oh you unfortunate boy,” cried Glenarvan.
But even Thalcave did not catch the words, for his voice was drowned in the frightful uproar made by the wolves, who had dashed off at a tremendous speed on the track of the horse.
Thalcave and Glenarvan rushed out of the RAMADA. Already the plain had recovered its tranquillity, and all that could be seen of the red wolves was a moving line far away in the distant darkness.
Glenarvan sank prostrate on the ground, and clasped his hands despairingly. He looked at Thalcave, who smiled with his accustomed calmness, and said:
“Thaouka, good horse. Brave boy. He will save himself!”
“And suppose he falls?” said Glenarvan.
“He’ll not fall.”
But notwithstanding Thalcave’s assurances, poor Glenarvan spent the rest of the night in torturing anxiety. He seemed quite insensible now to the danger they had escaped through the departure of the wolves, and would have hastened immediately after Robert if the Indian had not kept him back by making him understand the impossibility of their horses overtaking Thaouka; and also that boy and horse had outdistanced the wolves long since, and that it would be useless going to look for them till daylight.