Pierre was seated on one of the fallen trees; Etienne was playing
with the dogs, now only two in number, when the elder of them
lifted its nose in the air, and then began to growl ominously.
"The dog begins to be uneasy," said old Ralph.
"Another wild boar, probably."
"Had we not better appoint a sentinel or two? we might be taken by
surprise in this glade."
"Ralph, where hast thou left thy manhood? Art thou afraid of these
shadows?"
"They were not shadows who burnt our farms."
"I wish they had some substance, then we might get hold of them."
"May I appoint men to keep watch?"
"It is not necessary," replied Etienne, quite wilfully, for he had
determined not to be advised.
The meal was now prepared, and the whole party gathered round the
fire, arranging the logs so as to form seats. They were soon eating
with the zest of men who have had the advantage of forest air, when
they were disturbed by another growl from the older dog.
Ralph looked uneasily round.
"He smells another boar, but one is enough for our dinner," said
Etienne, and they turned again to their meal.
Suddenly one of their number, a woodman named Gilbert, leapt up
with a wild cry, and then fell down in their midst dead.
An arrow had pierced his heart.
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