chorus of savage voices. It rang shockingly loud in the silent darkness. It was a symphony of prolonged, deep bays,—a sound as terrifying and menacing as any voice of the wilderness. And an evil glitter came into Fargo' s eyes.
The explosion of sound, blaring out so suddenly in the stillness, had startled Jose; but he caught himself at once. The cry ceased, the stillness fell again. "Your pack of bear dogs!" he exclaimed.
"Yes. It was as if they heard us talkin' about sheep. It's like they was try in' to tell us what to do."
It was true. It might have been the voice of an evil genius, prompting their vicious designs. Fargo was a superstitious man, and now he was tingling all over with hatred and malice, inspired to the depths of his wicked being by the cry in the darkness.
"Yes," he whispered. "My pack of bear dogs—ten of 'em, savage as wolves—and not to be afraid of no wounded shepherd dog, and tearin' to pieces any one that tries to stop 'em. They've told us how to solve our problem. And I don't see why I didn't think of 'em before."
