But it
rose steadily, with shorter intervals of silence, until the intermittent
gusts swept through the tree-tops with a rushing roar. I had listened to
the crash of the ocean surf, and the resemblance was a striking one.
Listening to this mournful wind with all my ears I was the better prepared
for any lonesome cries of the forest; nevertheless, a sudden, sharp
"Ki-yi-i!" seemingly right at my back, gave me a fright that sent my tongue
to the roof of my mouth.
Fumbling at the hammer of my rifle, I peered into the black-streaked gloom
of the forest. The crackling of dry twigs brought me to my feet. At the
same moment the mustangs snorted. Something was prowling about just beyond
the light. I thought of a panther. That was the only beast I could think of
which had such an unearthly cry.
Then another bowl, resembling that of a dog, and followed by yelps and
barks, told me that I was being visited by a pack of coyotes. I spent the
good part of an hour listening to their serenade. The wild, mournful notes
sent quivers up my back. By-and-by they went away, and as my fire had
burned down to a red glow and the night wind had grown cold I began to
think of sleep.
But I was not sleepy. When I had stretched out on the soft bed of
pine-needles with my rifle close by, and was all snug and warm under the
heavy blanket, it seemed that nothing was so far away from me as sleep.
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