A new agony threatens, a new horror is upon him. Vain the attempt to
depict his feelings, as he regards the movements of the vultures. They
are as those of one swimming in the sea amidst sharks. For, although
the birds do not yet fly towards him, he knows they will soon be there.
He sees them sailing in spiral curves, descending at each gyration,
slowly but surely stooping lower, and coming nearer. He can hear the
swish of their wings, like the sough of an approaching storm, with now
and then a raucous utterance from their throats--the signal of some
leader directing the preliminaries of the attack, soon to take place.
At length they are so close, he can see the ruff around their naked
necks, bristled up; the skin reddened as with rage, and their beaks,
stained with bloody flesh of some other banquet, getting ready to feast
upon his. Soon he will feel them striking against his skull, pecking
out his eyes. O, heavens! can horror be felt further?
Not by him. It adds not to his, when he perceives that the birds
threatening to assail him will be assisted by beasts. For he now sees
this. Mingling with the shadows flitting over the earth, are things
more substantial--the bodies of wolves. As with the vultures, at first
only one; then two or three; their number at each instant increasing,
till a whole pack of the predatory brutes have gathered upon the ground.
Less silent than their winged allies--their competitors, if it come to a
repast. For the coyote is a noisy creature, and those now assembling
around Clancy's head--a sight strange to them--give out their triple
bark, with its prolonged whine, in sound so lugubrious, that, instead of
preparing for attack, one might fancy them wailing a defeat.
Clancy has often heard that cry, and well comprehends its meaning. It
seems his death-dirge. While listening to it no wonder he again calls
upon God--invokes Heaven to help him!