Most likely my own face was firm enough, but, if it were, 'twas
a poor clue to the brain behind it. I fell to wondering about Grey
still travelling in the woods. Was there any hope for him? Was there
hope, indeed, for any one of us penned in a wooden palisade fifty miles
from aid, a handful against an army?
Presently in the lowering silence came the scream of a hawk.
An uncommon sound, half croak, half cry, which only hill dwellers know,
but 'tis an eery noise in the wilderness. It came again, less near, and
a third time from a great distance. I thought it queer, for a hawk does
not scream twice in the same hour. I looked at Shalah, who stood by the
gate, every sinew in his body taut with expectation. He caught my eye.
"That hawk never flew on wings," he said.
Then an owl hooted, and from near at hand came the cough of a deer. The
thicket was alive with life, which mimicked the wild things of the
woods.
Then came a sound which drowned all others. From the inky sky descended
a jagged line of light, and in the same second the crash of the thunder
broke. Never have I seen such a storm. Down in the Tidewater we had
thunderstorms in plenty during the summer-time, but they growled and
passed and scarce ruffled the even blue of the sky.
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