The boy answered nothing.
“You are not afraid, Robert?”
“No, my lord.”
“Very well, my boy.”
At this moment another report resounded. Thalcave had brought down a too bold enemy. The wolves that were advancing in close ranks recoiled, and gathered together again a hundred paces from the enclosure.
Glenarvan, at a sign from the Indian, took his place at once, while the latter, collecting the bedding, grass, and all combustible materials, piled them at the entrance of the ramada and threw on a burning ember. Soon a curtain of flame was defined against the dark background of the sky, and through the openings the plain appeared illumined by great moving reflections. Glenarvan could therefore judge of the great number of animals against which they had to defend themselves. Never had so many wolves been seen together before, nor so excited by rapacity. The fiery barrier that Thalcave had just opposed to them had redoubled their fury. Some, however, advanced to the very fire, crowded by the rear ranks, and burned their paws. From time to time a shot was necessary to check the howling horde, and at the end of an hour fifteen bodies lay on the prairie.
The besieged were now in a situation relatively less dangerous. So long as their supplies lasted, so long as the barrier of fire stood at the entrance to the ramada, invasion was not to be feared. But what was to be done if all these methods of repelling the wolves should fail at the same time?
Glenarvan gazed at Robert, and felt his heart beat quick with excitement. He forgot himself, and thought only of this poor child, who displayed a courage beyond his years. Robert was pale, but his hand did not leave his weapon, and he awaited with firm bearing the assault of the enraged wolves.
Meantime, Glenarvan, after coolly considering the situation, resolved to do something decisive.
“In one hour,” said he, “we shall have no more powder, shot, or fire. We must not wait till then to make a sally.”
He turned towards Thalcave, and, recalling a few words of Spanish, began a conversation with the Indian, frequently interrupted by the cracks of the rifle.
It was not without difficulty that these two men succeeded in understanding each other. Glenarvan, fortunately, knew the habits of the red wolf. Without this knowledge he could not have interpreted the words and gestures of the Patagonian.
Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour passed before he could give to Robert the meaning of Thalcave’s answer. He had questioned the Indian concerning their situation.
“And what did he answer?” inquired Robert.
“He said that, cost what it may, we must hold out till daybreak. The ramada goes out only at night, and when morning comes he returns to his lair. He is the wolf of darkness, a cowardly beast that fears the daylight.”
“Well, let us defend ourselves till day.”
“Yes, my boy, and with our knives if we can no longer use our guns.”
Already Thalcave had set the example, and when a wolf approached the fire, the long knife of the Patagonian was thrust through the flames and drawn back again red with blood.
However, the means of defense were failing. About two o’clock in the morning, Thalcave threw into the fire the last armful of fuel, and the besieged had only five charges left.
Glenarvan cast about him a sorrowful glance. He thought of the child who was there, of his companions, of all whom he loved. Robert said nothing; perhaps the danger did not appear imminent to his hopeful spirit. But Glenarvan pictured to himself that terrible event, now apparently inevitable, the being devoured alive! He was not master of his emotion; he drew the child to his breast, he clasped him to his heart, he pressed his lips to his forehead, while tears flowed from his eyes.
Robert gazed at him with a smile. “I am not afraid,” said he.
“No, my boy, no,” replied Glenarvan; “and you are right. In two hours, day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave Patagonian!” cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier.
But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the enclosure.
Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him.
At this moment a change took place in the action of the wolves. They seemed to be retreating, and their howls, so deafening before, suddenly ceased. An ominous silence reigned over the plain.
“They are going,” said Robert.
“Perhaps,” replied Glenarvan, who was listening with intentness.
But Thalcave shook his head. He knew well that the animals would not abandon a certain prey until at daybreak they returned to their holes and dens.
However, the tactics of their enemies had evidently changed, they no longer endeavored to force the entrance of the ramada; but their new maneuvers were already causing a still more imminent danger.
The wolves, abandoning their design of penetrating the enclosure by this entrance, which was defended by weapon and fire, went to the back of the ramada and sought to assail it in the rear. Their claws were soon heard rattling against the half-decayed wood. Already their powerful paws and bloody mouths had forced their way between
