Chapter 72 - Adventures in the Far West by Mayne Reid
The Sleuth-Hounds
The shrill whistle, pealing along the water, pierced the dark aisles of the forest. It aroused the wild denizens of the lake, who, startled by such an unusual sound, answered it with their various cries in a screaming concert. The screech of the crane and the Louisiana heron, the hoarse hooting of owls, and the hoarser croak of the pelican, mingled together; and, louder than all, the scream of the osprey and the voice of the bald eagle—the last falling upon the ear with sharp metallic repetitions that exactly resembled the filing of saws.
For some moments this commotion was kept up; and it occurred to me that if I had to repeat the signal then it would not have been heard. Shrill as it was, it could scarce have been distinguished in such a din!
Crouching among the branches, we remained to await the result. We made no attempts at idle converse. The moments were too perilous for aught but feelings of extreme anxiety. Now and then a word of cheer—a muttered hope—were all the communications that passed between us.
With earnest looks we watched the water—with glances of fear we regarded the land. On one side we listened for the plashing of a paddle; on the other we dreaded to hear the “howl” of a hound. Never can I forget those moments—those deeply-anxious moments. Till death I may not forget them.
Every thought at the time—every incident, however minute—now rushes into my remembrance, as if it were a thing of yesterday.
I remember that once or twice, away under the trees, we perceived a ripple along the surface of the water. Our hearts were full of hope—we thought it was the canoe.
It was a fleeting joy. The waves were made by the great saurian, whose hideous body—large almost as the pirogue itself—next moment passed before our eyes, cleaving the water with fish-like velocity.
I remember entertaining the supposition that the runaway might not be in his lair! He might be off in the forest—in search of food—or on any other errand. Then the reflection followed—if such were the case, I should have found the pirogue by the tree? Still he might have other landing-places around the lake—on the other side perhaps. He had not told me whether or no, and it was probable enough. These hypothetic conjectures increased my anxiety.
But there arose another, far more dreadful, because far more probable—
The black might be asleep!
Far more probable, because night was his day, and day his night. At night he was abroad, roaming and busy—by day he was at home and slept.
Oh, Heavens! if he should be asleep, and not have heard the signal!
Such was the terrible fancy that rushed across my brain.
I felt suddenly impelled to repeat the signal—though I thought at the time, if my conjecture were correct, there was but little hope he would hear me. A negro sleeps like a torpid bear. The report of a gun or a railway-whistle alone could awake one. There was no chance for a puny pipe like mine—the more especially as the screaming concert still continued.
“Even if he should hear it, he would hardly be able to distinguish the whistle from—Merciful heavens!”
I was speaking to my companion when this exclamation interrupted me. It came from my own lips, but with involuntary utterance. It was called forth by a sound of dread import—a sound that I could hear above the shrill screaming of the birds, and hearing could interpret. It was the trumpet-like baying of a hound!
I stood bent, and listening; I heard it again. There was no mistaking that note. I had the ears of a hunter. I knew the music well.
Oh, how unlike to music then! It fell upon my ears like a cry of vengeance—like a knell of death!
I thought no longer of repeating the signal; even if heard, it would be too late. I flung the reed away, as a useless toy. I drew Aurore along the tree, passing her behind me; and raising myself erect, stood fronting the land.
Again the “gowl” broke out—its loud echoes rolling through the woods—this time so near, that every moment I expected to see the animal that had uttered it.
I had not long to wait. A hundred yards off was a cane-brake. I could perceive a motion among the tall reeds. Their tops swayed to and fro, and their hollow culms rattled against each other, as they were jerked about, and borne downward. Some living thing was pressing through their midst.
The motion reached their verge—the last canes gave way, and I now saw what I had looked for—the spotted body of a hound! With a spring the animal came forth, paused for a moment in the open ground, and then, uttering a prolonged howl, took up the scent, and galloped forward.
Close upon his heels came a second; the waving cane closed behind them, and both ran forward in the direction of the log.
As there was no longer any underwood, I had a full view of their bodies. Gloomy as the place was, I could see them with sufficient distinctness to note their kind—huge, gaunt deer-hounds, black and tan. From the manner of their approach, they had evidently been trained to their work, and that was not the hunting of deer. No ordinary hound would have run upon a human track, as they were running upon ours.
The moment I saw these dogs I made ready for a conflict. Their huge size, their broad heavy jaws, and ferocious looks, told what savage brutes they were; and I felt satisfied they would attack me as soon as they came up.
With this belief I drew forth a pistol; and, laying hold of a branch to steady me, I stood waiting their approach.
I had not miscalculated. On reaching the prostrate trunk, he scarcely made a pause; but, leaping upward, came running along the log. He had dropped the scent, and now advanced with eyes glaring, evidently meditating to spring upon me.
My position could not have been better, had I spent an hour in choosing it. From the nature of the ground, my assailant could neither dodge to the right nor the left; but was compelled to approach me in a line as straight as an arrow. I had nought to do but hold my weapon firm and properly directed. A novice with fire-arms could hardly have missed such an object.
My nerves were strung with anger—a feeling of intense indignation was burning in my breast, that rendered me as firm as steel. I was cool from very passion—at the thought of being thus hunted like a wolf!
I waited until the muzzle of the hound almost met that of the pistol, and then I fired. The dog tumbled from the log.
I saw the other close upon his heels. I aimed through the smoke, and again pulled trigger.
The good weapon did not fail me. Again the report was followed by a plunge.
The hounds were no longer upon the log. They had fallen right and left into the black water below!