The Chronicles of Clovis | Page 6

sure how to treat their quarry now they had got him.
"The hyaena hailed our approach with unmistakable relief and
demonstrations of friendliness. It had probably been accustomed to
uniform kindness from humans, while its first experience of a pack of
hounds had left a bad impression. The hounds looked more than ever
embarrassed as their quarry paraded its sudden intimacy with us, and
the faint toot of a horn in the distance was seized on as a welcome
signal for unobtrusive departure. Constance and I and the hyaena were
left alone in the gathering twilight
"'What are we to do?' asked Constance.
"'What a person you are for questions,' I said.
"'Well, we can't stay here all night with a hyaena,' she retorted.
"'I don't know what your ideas of comfort are,' I said; 'but I shouldn't
think of staying here all night even without a hyaena. My home may be
an unhappy one, but at least it has hot and cold water laid on, and
domestic service, and other conveniences which we shouldn't find here.
We had better make for that ridge of trees to the right; I imagine the
Crowley road is just beyond.'

"We trotted off slowly along a faintly marked cart-track, with the beast
following cheerfully at our heels.
"'What on earth are we to do with the hyaena?' came the inevitable
question.
"'What does one generally do with hyaenas?' I asked crossly.
"'I've never had anything to do with one before,' said Constance.
"'Well, neither have I. If we even knew its sex we might give it a name.
Perhaps we might call it Esmé. That would do in either case.'
"There was still sufficient daylight for us to distinguish wayside objects,
and our listless spirits gave an upward perk as we came upon a small
half-naked gipsy brat picking blackberries from a low-growing bush.
The sudden apparition of two horsewomen and a hyaena set it off
crying, and in any case we should scarcely have gleaned any useful
geographical information from that source; but there was a probability
that we might strike a gipsy encampment somewhere along our route.
We rode on hopefully but uneventfully for another mile or so.
"'I wonder what that child was doing there,' said Constance presently.
"'Picking blackberries. Obviously.'
"'I don't like the way it cried,' pursued Constance; 'somehow its wail
keeps ringing in my ears.'
"I did not chide Constance for her morbid fancies; as a matter of fact
the same sensation, of being pursued by a persistent fretful wail, had
been forcing itself on my rather over-tired nerves. For company's sake I
hulloed to Esmé, who had lagged somewhat behind. With a few
springy bounds he drew up level, and then shot past us.
"The wailing accompaniment was explained. The gipsy child was
firmly, and I expect painfully, held in his jaws.
"'Merciful Heaven screamed Constance, 'what on earth shall we do?

What are we to do?'
"I am perfectly certain that at the Last Judgment Constance will ask
more questions than any of the examining Seraphs.
"'Can't we do something?' she persisted tearfully, as Esmé cantered
easily along in front of our tired horses.
"Personally I was doing everything that occurred to me at the moment.
I stormed and scolded and coaxed in English and French and
gamekeeper language; I made absurd, ineffectual cuts in the air with
my thongless hunting-crop; I hurled my sandwich case at the brute; in
fact, I really don't know what more I could have done. And still we
lumbered on through the deepening dusk, with that dark uncouth shape
lumbering ahead of us, and a drone of lugubrious music floating in our
ears. Suddenly Esmé bounded aside into some thick bushes, where we
could not follow; the wail rose to a shriek and then stopped altogether.
This part of the story I always hurry over, because it is really rather
horrible. When the beast joined us again, after an absence of a few
minutes, there was an air of patient understanding about him, as though
he knew that he had done something of which we disapproved, but
which he felt to be thoroughly justifiable.
"'How can you let that ravening beast trot by your side?' asked
Constance. She was looking more than ever like an albino beetroot.
"'In the first place, I can't prevent it,' I said; 'and in the second place,
whatever else he may be, I doubt if he's ravening at the present
moment.'
"Constance shuddered. 'Do you think the poor little thing suffered
much?' came another of her futile questions.
"'The indications were all that way,' I said; 'on the other hand, of course,
it may have been crying from sheer temper. Children sometimes do.'
"It was nearly pitch-dark when we emerged suddenly into the highroad.
A flash