The Three Black Pennys | Page 5

across the floor.
"Yes," he called back, rapidly waking.
The voice from without continued, "They're going to start up the Oley."
"What is it?" Fanny demanded.
"The raccoon dogs," the boy paused at the door. "A lot of the
furnacemen and woodcutters from round about are hunting."
Fanny Gilkan leaned across the table to Howat, her face glowing with
interest. "Come ahead," she urged; "we can do this anyhow. I like to
hear the dogs yelping, and follow them through the night. You can
bring your gun, I'll leave mine back, and perhaps we'll get something
really big."
Howat himself responded thoroughly to such an expedition; to the
mystery of the primitive woods, doubly withdrawn in the dark; the calls
of the others, near or far, or completely lost in a silence of stars; the
still immensity of a land unguessed, mythical--endless trees, endless

mountains, endless rivers with their headwaters buried in arctic
countries beyond human experience, and emptying into the miraculous
blue and gilded seas of the tropics.
Fanny Gilkan would follow the dogs closely, too, with infinite swing
and zest. She knew the country better than himself, better almost than
any one else at the Furnace. He stirred at her urgency, and she caught
his arm, dragging him from behind the table. She tied a linsey-woolsey
jacket by its arms about her waist, and put out the candles. Outside the
blast was steadily in progress at the stack; the clear glow of the flame
shifted over the nearby walls, glinted on the new yellow of more distant
foliage, fell in sharp or blurred traceries against the surrounding night.
They could hear the short, impatient yelps of the dogs; but, before they
reached them, the hunt was away. A lantern flickered far ahead, a
minute blur vanishing through files of trees. Fanny turned to the right,
mounting an abrupt slope thickly wooded toward the crown. A late
moon, past full, shed an unsteady light through interlaced boughs,
matted grape vines, creepers flung from tree to tree; it shone on a
hurrying rill, a bright thread drawn through the brush. Fanny Gilkan
jumped lightly from bank to bank. She made her way with lithe ease
through apparently unbroken tangles. It was Fanny who went ahead,
who waited for Howat to follow across a fallen trunk higher than his
waist. She even mocked him gaily, declared that, through his slowness,
they were hopelessly losing the hunt.
However, the persistent barking of the dogs contrived to draw them on.
They easily passed the stragglers, left a group gathered about a lantern
and a black bottle. They caught up to the body of men, but preferred to
follow a little outside of the breathless comments and main, stumbling
progress. They stirred great areas of pigeons and countless indifferent
coveys of partridges barely moved to avoid the swiftly falling feet. But
no deer crossed near them, and the crashing of a heavy animal through
the bushes diminished into such a steep gulley that they relinquished
thought of pursuit. The chase continued for an unusual distance; the
moon sank into the far, unbroken forest; the stars brightened through
the darkest hour of the night.
Fanny Gilkan and Howat proceeded more slowly now, but still they
went directly, without hesitation, in the direction they chose. They
crossed a log felled over a shallow, hurrying creek; the course grew

steeper, more densely wooded. "Ruscomb Manor," Fanny pronounced
over her shoulder. "Since a long way back," he agreed. Finally a
sharper, stationary clamour announced that the object of the hunt had
been achieved, and a raccoon treed. They made their way to the dim
illumination cast on moving forms and a ring of dogs throwing
themselves upward at the trunk of a tree. There was a concerted cry for
"Ebo," and a wizened, grey negro in a threadbare drugget coat with a
scarlet handkerchief about his throat came forward and, kicking aside
the dogs, commenced the ascent of the smooth trunk that swept up to
the obscure foliage above. There was a short delay, then a violent
agitation of branches. A clawing shape shot to the ground, struggled to
its feet, but the raccoon was instantly smothered in a snarling pyramid
of dogs.
Howat Penny was overwhelmingly weary. He had tramped all day,
since before morning; while now another dawn was approaching, and
the hunters were at least ten miles from the Furnace. He would have
liked to stay, sleep, where he was; but the labour of preparing a proper
resting place would be as great as returning to Shadrach. Besides,
Fanny Gilkan was with him, with her new, cautious regard for the
world's opinion. They stood silent for a moment, under a fleet dejection
born of the hour and a cold, seeping mist of which he became suddenly
conscious.