She came on uncertainly, but always running away from the howls of the
wolves, and just before she reached the little creek, she stopped and
looked back, as if for a sight of pursuers--and there were pursuers.
Perhaps a hundred yards back of her I saw four or five slinking dark
forms; for the cowardly prairie wolf becomes bold when fled from, and
partly out of curiosity, and perhaps looking forward to a feast on some
dead or dying animal, they were stalking the girl, silent, shadowy,
evil, and maybe dangerous. She saw them too--and with another scream she
plunged on through the knee-high grass, fell splashing into the icy
water of the creek, and I lost sight of her.
My first thought was that she was in danger of drowning, notwithstanding
the littleness of the brook; and I ran to the point from which I had
heard her plunge into the water, expecting to have to draw her out on
the bank; but I found only a place where the grass was wallowed down as
she had crawled out, and lying on the ground was the satchel she had
been carrying. Dark as it was I could see her trail through the grass as
she had made her way on; and I followed it with her sachel in my hand,
with some foolish notion of opening a conversation with her by giving it
back to her.
A short distance farther, on the upland, were my four cows, tied head
and foot so they could graze, lying down to rest; and staggering on
toward them went the woman's form, zigzagging in bewilderment.
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