It would be impossible to describe my feelings as I was flung upon the
floor of our prison. This was cold, damp, and filthy; but I heeded not
these grievances. Greater sorrows absorbed the less. There is no
torture so racking, no pain so painful as the throbbings of a jealous
heart; but how much harder to bear under circumstances like mine! She
could sleep, smile, dance--dance by my prison, and with my jailer!
I felt spiteful--vengeful. I was stung to a desire for retaliation, and
along with this came an eagerness to live for the opportunity of
indulging in this passion.
I began to look around our prison, and see what chances it afforded for
escape.
"Good heavens! if our being transferred to the cell should destroy the
plans of Narcisso! How is he to reach us? The door is double-locked,
and a sentry is pacing without."
After several painful efforts I raised myself upon my feet, propping my
body against the side of the prison. There was an aperture--a window
about as large as a loophole for musketry. I spun myself along the wall
until I stood directly under it. It was just the height of my chin.
Cautioning my companions to silence, I placed my ear to the aperture and
listened. A low sound came wailing from the fields without. I did not
heed this. I knew it was the wolf. It rose again, louder than before.
A peculiarity in the howl struck me, and I turned, calling to Raoul.
"What is it, Captain?" inquired he.
"Do you know if the prairie wolf is found here?"
"I do not know if it be the true prairie wolf, Captain. There is one
something like the _coyote_."