"It's like a voice in
the wind. It comes down the wind. D'ye hear now--now--now?"
It was, indeed, the faintest of faint sounds when Haw-Haw caught it. It
was, in the roar of the rain, as indistinct as some distant light on the
horizon which may come either from a rising star or from the window of a
house. But it had a peculiar quality of its own, even as the house-light
would be tinged with yellow when the stars are cold and white. A small
and distant sound, and yet it cut through the crashing of the storm more
and more clearly; someone rode through the rain whistling.
"It's him!" gasped Haw-Haw Langley. "My God A'mighty, Mac, he's
whistlin'! It ain't possible!"
He reined his horse closer to the wall, listening with mouth agape.
He shrilled suddenly: "What if he should hit us both, seein' us
together? They ain't no heart in a feller that can whistle in a storm
like this!"
But Mac Strann had lowered his head, bulldog-like, and now he listened
and thrust out his blunt jaw farther and farther and returned no answer.
"God gimme the grit to stick it out," begged Haw-Haw Langley in an
agony of desire. "God lemme see how it comes out. God lemme watch 'em
fight. One of 'em is goin' to die--may be two of 'em--nothin' like it
has ever been seen!"
The rain shifted, and the heart of the storm rolled far away. For the
moment they could look far out across the shadow-swept hills, and out of
the heart of the desolate landscape the whistling ran thrilling upon
them.
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