For behind us, in two, three, four quarters at once rose a long wailing howl.
CHAPTER VI
MOSTLY WOLVES: AND A GIRL
Oh, what was that drew screaming breath?
"A wolf that slashed at me!"
Oh, who was that cried out in death?
"A man who struck at thee!"
The Night Ride.
The sound might have come from a country hound or two baying for sheer melancholy, or after a cat: only there were neither hounds nor cats on the Caraquet road. I felt Paulette stiffen through all her supple body. She whispered to herself sharply, as if she were swearing—only afterwards I knew better, and put the word she used where it belonged: "The devil! Oh, the devil!"
I made no answer. I had enough business holding in the horses, remembering that spliced pole. Paulette remembered it too, for she spoke abruptly. "How fast do you dare go?"
"Oh, not too fast," my thoughts were still on the pole. "They're not after us, if you're worrying about those wolves."