Her reverie—whatever might be its cause—was not of long duration. She was awakened from it, on hearing exclamations without—mingled with words that declared some object of apprehension.
She recognised her brother’s voice, speaking in tones that betokened alarm.
“Look, father! don’t you see them?”
“Where, Henry—where?”
“Yonder—behind the waggons. You see them now?”
“I do—though I can’t say what they are. They look like—like—” Poindexter was puzzled for a simile—“I really don’t know what.”
“Waterspouts?” suggested the ex-captain, who, at sight of the strange objects, had condescended to rejoin the party around the carriole. “Surely it can’t be that? It’s too far from the sea. I never heard of their occurring on the prairies.”
“They are in motion, whatever they be,” said Henry. “See! they keep closing, and then going apart. But for that, one might mistake them for huge obelisks of black marble!”
“Giants, or ghouls!” jokingly suggested Calhoun; “ogres from some other world, who’ve taken a fancy to have a promenade on this abominable prairie!”
The ex-officer was only humorous with an effort. As well as the others, he was under the influence of an uneasy feeling.