“I have heard as much during our conversations in Bachelors’ Hall, but—Stop a bit, Harry; these snow-shoe lines of mine have got loosened with tearing through this deep snow and these shockingly thick bushes. There—they are right now; go on. I was going to say that I don’t—oh!”
This last exclamation was elicited from Hamilton by a sharp blow caused by a branch which, catching on part of Harry’s dress as he plodded on in front, suddenly rebounded and struck him across the face. This is of common occurrence in travelling through the woods, especially to those who from inexperience walk too closely on the heels of their companions.
“What’s wrong now, Hammy?” inquired his friend, looking over his shoulder.
“Oh, nothing worth mentioning—rather a sharp blow from a branch, that’s all.”
“Well, proceed; you’ve interrupted yourself twice in what you were going to say. Perhaps it’ll come out if you try it a third time.”
“I was merely going to say that I don’t much care where I am sent to, so long as it is not to an outpost where I shall be all alone.”
“All very well, my friend; but seeing that outposts are, in comparison with principal forts, about a hundred to one, your chance of avoiding them is rather slight. However, our youth and want of experience is in our favour, as they like to send men who have seen some service to outposts. But I fear that, with such brilliant characters as you and I, Hammy, youth will only be an additional recommendation, and inexperience won’t last long.—Hollo! what’s going on yonder?”
Harry pointed as he spoke to an open spot in the woods about a quarter of a mile in advance, where a dark object was seen lying on the snow, writhing about, now coiling into a lump, and anon extending itself like a huge snake in agony.
As the two friends looked, a prolonged howl floated towards them.
“Something wrong with the dogs, I declare!” cried Harry.