Do you make out
anything? Moving?"
"Yes; a dog."
"It moves too slowly for a dog. Frona, get the glasses."
Courbertin and St. Vincent sprang after them, but the latter knew their
abiding-place and returned triumphant. Jacob Welse put the binoculars
to his eyes and gazed steadily across the river. It was a sheer mile
from the island to the farther bank, and the sunglare on the ice was a
sore task to the vision.
"It is a man." He passed the glasses to the Baron and strained
absently with his naked eyes. "And something is up."
"He creeps!" the baron exclaimed. "The man creeps, he crawls, on hand
and knee! Look! See!" He thrust the glasses tremblingly into Frona's
hands.
Looking across the void of shimmering white, it was difficult to
discern a dark object of such size when dimly outlined against an
equally dark background of brush and earth. But Frona could make the
man out with fair distinctness; and as she grew accustomed to the
strain she could distinguish each movement, and especially so when he
came to a wind-thrown pine. Sue watched painfully. Twice, after
tortuous effort, squirming and twisting, he failed in breasting the big
trunk, and on the third attempt, after infinite exertion, he cleared it
only to topple helplessly forward and fall on his face in the tangled
undergrowth.
"It is a man.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256