The Lost Trail | Page 8

over him, and he pined for his old home in the States, which he
had so lately left.
A tremulous wail, which came faintly through the silence of the
boundless woods, reminded him that there were other inhabitants of the
solitude besides human beings. At such times, he drew nearer to the fire,
as a child would draw near to a friend to shun an imaginary danger.
But, finally the drowsy god asserted himself, and the watcher passed
off into a deep slumber. His last recollection was a dim consciousness
of hearing the tread of something near the camp-fire. But his stupor was
so great that he had not the inclination to arouse himself, and with his
face buried in the leaves of his bushy couch, he quickly lost cognizance
of all things, and floated off into the illimitable realms of sleep--Sleep,
the sister of Death.
He came out of his heavy slumber from feeling something snuffing and
clawing at his shoulder. He was wide awake at once, and all his
faculties, even to his anger, were aroused.

"Git out, ye owld sarpent!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "Git out,
or I'll smash yer head the same as I smashed the assassin's, barring I
didn't do it!"
The affrighted animal leaped back several yards, as lightly as a shadow.
Teddy caught only a glimpse of the beast, but could plainly detect the
phosphorescent glitter of his angry eyes, that watched every movement.
The Irishman's first proceeding was to replenish the fire. This kept the
creature at a safe distance, although he began trotting around and
around, as if to seek some unguarded loophole through which to
compass the destruction of the man who had thus invaded his
dominions.
The tread of the animal resembled the rattling of raindrops upon the
leaves, while its silence, its gliding motion, convinced the
inexperienced Irishman of the brute's exceedingly dangerous character.
His rifle was too much injured to be of use and he could therefore only
keep his precocious foe at a safe distance by piling on fuel until the
camp-fire burned defiantly.
There was no more sleep for Teddy that night. He had received too
great a shock, and the impending danger was too imminent for him to
do any thing but watch, so long as darkness and the animal remained.
Several times he thought there was evidence of the presence of another
beast, but he failed to discover it, and finally believed he had been
mistaken.
It was a tiresome and lonely occupation, this incessant watching, and
Teddy had recourse to several expedients to while away the weary
hours. The first and most natural was that of singing. He trolled forth
every song that he could recall to remembrance, and it may be truly
said that he awoke echoes in those forest-aisles never before heard
there. As in the pauses he heard the volume of sound that seemed
quivering and swaying among the tree-trunks, like the confined air in
an organ, he was awed into silence.
"Whist, ye son of Patrick McFadden; don't ye hear the responses all
around ye, as if the spirits were in the organ loft, thinkin' ye a praist and

thimselves the choir-boys. I belaves, by me sowl, that ivery tree has got
a tongue, for hear how they whispers and mutters. Niver did I hear the
likes. No more singin', Teddy my darlint, to sich an audience."
He thereupon relapsed into silence, but it was only momentary. He
suddenly looked out into the darkness which shrouded the still watchful
beast from sight, and exclaimed:
"Ye owld shivering assassin, out there, did yees ever hear till how Tom
O'Reilly got his wife? Yees never did, eh? Well, then, be aisy now, and
I'll give yees the truths of the matter.
"Tom was a great, rollicking boy, that had an eye gouged out at the
widow Mulloney's wake, and an ugly cut that made his mouth six
inches wide: and, before he got the cut, it was as broad as yer own out
there. Besides, his hair being of a fire's own red, you may safely say
that he was not the most beautiful young man in Limerick, and that
there wasn't many gals that were dying of a broken heart for the same
Tom.
"But Tom thought a mighty sight of the gals and a great deal more of
Kitty McGuire, that lived close by the brook as yees come a mile or
two out of this side of Limerick. Tom was possessed after that same gal,
and it only made him the more determined when he found that Kitty
didn't like him at all. He towld the boys he was bound to have her, and
any one who said he wasn't would get his head broke.
"There was