Suddenly a thought struck him. It seemed at first to take his breath
away. He gasped at the mere suggestion of its temerity. Then it set his
blood beating furiously in his veins. After a space, in which he sought
to calm himself, to still his nerves, to tame his quivering muscles, he
rose slowly to a sitting posture, then stepped deftly, lightly to the
floor. Standing motionless, he glanced keenly about in the dull red
gloom. All silence--no stir save the regular rise and fall of the
breathing of the slumbering Indians. Nevertheless, with his keen
perceptions all alert and tense, he felt an eye upon him. He looked back
warily over his shoulder through the lucid red gloom, like a palpable
medium, as one looks, through a veil or tinted glass.
It was the eye of the dog! The animal lay under the couch, his muzzle
flat on the clay floor. A serious yet doubtful vigilance was in his
aspect. Tscholens was already at the exit, which was a narrow winding
passage serving as a wind-break, and with a sudden turn leading to the
outer world. He heard the abrupt patter of the dog's feet on the clay
floor, and a drowsy voice calling to the animal in Cherokee, admonishing
him to be still.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286