"Or dogs," said Pen angrily. "What a fellow you are, Punch! Don't you
think we had enough to make us low-spirited and miserable without you
imagining that the first howl you hear comes from one of those horrible
brutes?"
"It's all very well," said Punch with a shudder. "I have heard dogs
enough in my time. Why, I used to be once close to the kennel where
they kept the foxhounds, and they used to set-to and sing sometimes all
at once. Then I have heard shut-up dogs howl all night, and other sorts
begin to howl when it was moonlight; but I never heard a dog make a
noise like that. I am sure it's wolves."
"Well, perhaps you are right, Punch; but I suppose they never attack
people except in the winter-time when they are starving and the ground's
covered with snow; and this is summer, and they have no reason for
coming down from the mountains."
"Oh, I say," exclaimed the boy, "haven't they just!"
"Will you hold your tongue, Punch!" cried Pen angrily. "This is a nice
way to prepare ourselves for a tramp over the mountains, isn't it?"
"Are we going to tramp over the mountains in the night?" said the boy
rather dolefully.
"Yes, and be glad of the opportunity to get farther away from the French
before morning."
"But won't it be very bad for your leg, comrade?"
"No worse than it will be for your back, Punch."
"But wouldn't it be better if we had a good rest to-night?"
"Where?" said Pen bluntly.
"In some goat-keeper's cottage. We saw goats before we came here, and
there must be people who keep them."
"Perhaps so," said Pen; "but I have seen no cottages."
"We ain't looked," said Punch.
"No, and I don't think it would be very wise to look for them in the
dark. Come, Punch, don't be a coward."
"I ain't one; but I can't stand going tramping about in these mountains
with those horrid beasts hunting you, smelling you out and following you
wherever you go."
"I don't believe they would dare to come near us if we shouted at them,"
said Pen firmly; "and we needn't be satisfied with that, for if they
came near and we fired at them they would never come near us again."
"Yes, we have got the guns," said the boy; and he unslung the one he
carried and began to try the charge with the ramrod. "Hadn't you better
see if yours is all right too?" he said.
"Perhaps I had," was the reply, "for we might have to use them for
business that had nothing to do with wolves."
As he spoke, Pen followed his comrade's example, driving the cartridge
and bullet well home, and then feeling whether the powder was up in the
pan.
"Oh, I say," cried the boy huskily, "there they go again! They're
coming down from high up the mountains. Hadn't we better go lower down
and try and find some cottage?"
"I don't think so," said Pen sturdily.
"But we might find one, you know--an empty one, just the same as we did
before, when my back was so bad. Then we could shut ourselves in and
laugh at the wolves if they came."
"We don't want to laugh at the wolves," said Pen jocularly. "And it
might make them savage. I know I used to have a dog and I could always
put him in a rage by laughing at him and calling him names."
"And now you are laughing at me. I can't help it. I am ashamed
perhaps; but, knowing what I do about the wolves, and what our chaps
have seen--Ugh! It's horrid! There they go again. Let's get lower
down."
"To where the French are lying in camp, so that they may get hold of us
again? Nonsense, Punch! What was the good of our slipping away if it
was only to give ourselves up?"
"But we didn't know then that we should run up against these wolves."
"We are not going to run up against them, Punch, but they are going to
run away from us if we behave like men."
"But, don't you see, I can't behave like a man when I'm only a boy? Oh,
there they go again!" half-whispered the poor fellow, who seemed
thoroughly unnerved. "Come along, there's a good chap."
"No," said Pen firmly. "You can't behave like a man, but you can behave
like a brave boy, and that's what you are going to do. If we ever get
back to our company you wouldn't like me to tell the lads that you were
so frightened by the howling of the wolves that you let me go on alone
to face them, and--"
"Here, I say," cried Punch excitedly, "you don't mean to say that you
would go on alone!"
"I mean to say I would," said Pen firmly; "but I shall not have to,
because you are coming on along with me."
"No, I ain't," said the boy stubbornly.
"Yes, you are."
"You don't know," continued the boy, through his set teeth. "Hanged if
I do--so there!"
Pen laughed bitterly.
"Well, you are a queer fellow, Punch," he said. "You stood by me
yesterday and faced dozens of those French chasseurs, and fought till we
had fired off our last cartridge, and then set-to to keep them off with
the butt of your musket, though you were quite sure they would come on
again and again."
"Perhaps I did," said the boy huskily, "because I felt I ought to as a
soldier, and it was dooty; but 'tain't a soldier's dooty to get torn to
pieces by wolves. Ugh! It's horrid, and I can't bear it."
"Come on, Punch. I am going."
"No, don't! I say, pray don't, comrade!" cried the boy passionately;
and he caught at Pen's arm and clung to it with all his might. "I tell
you I'd shoulder arms, keep touch with you, and keep step and march
straight up to a regiment of the French, with the bullets flying all
about our ears. I wouldn't show the white once till I dropped. You
know I'd be game if it was obeying orders, and all our fellows coming on
behind. I tell you I would, as true as true!"
"What!" said Pen, turning upon him firmly, "you would do that if you
were ordered?"
"That I would, and I wouldn't flinch a bit. You know I never did,"
cried the boy passionately. "Didn't I always double beside my
company-leader, and give the calls whenever I was told?"
"Yes; and now I am going to be your company-leader to-night. Now then,
my lad, forward!"
Pen jerked his arm free and stepped off at once, while his comrade
staggered with the violence of the thrust he had received. Then,
recovering himself, he stood fast, struggling with the stubborn rage
that filled his young breast, till Pen was a dozen paces in front,
marching sturdily on in the direction of the howls that they had heard,
and without once looking back.
Then from out of the silence came the boy's voice.
"You'll be sorry for this," he shouted.
Pen made no reply.
"Oh, it's too bad of him," muttered Punch. "I say," he shouted, "you
will be sorry for this, comrade. D'ye 'ear?"
Tramp, tramp, tramp went Pen's feet over the stony ground.
"Oh, I say, comrade, this is too bad!" whimpered the boy; and then,
giving his musket one or two angry slaps as if in an exaggerated salute,
he shouldered the piece and marched steadily after his leader.
Pen halted till the boy closed up, and then started again.
"There, Punch," he said quietly, "I knew you better than you know
yourself."
The boy made no reply, but marched forward with his teeth set; and
evidently now thoroughly strung-up to meet anything that was in store,
he stared straight before him into the darkness and paid no heed to the
distant howls that floated to them upon the night-air from time to time.