Little Mink, and it gave me notice that travellers were approaching and that they were not to be feared."
She exclaimed in wonder, while Meg Pearson looked on with a smile and Mr. O'Sullivan swore softly in the ancient language of Ireland which he used when he was much pleased or surprised.
"And, lad?" he asked, "if those poor Congarees had been enemies whom we should have had cause to fear, what then would have been Little Mink's signal to you?"
"He would have called to me, then," Lachlan answered, "in the voice of one of the preying birds or one of the hunting beasts. If the danger were slight he would have used a sparrow hawk's cry. If it were great, but not very great, he would have uttered the scream of the partridge hawk. If the danger were very serious, we should have heard the howl of a lone wolf or the scream of a hunting panther."
Mr. O'Sullivan slapped his thigh with his right hand. "By damn and by Paul!" he cried, his round face glowing like a beet under his white mop of hair. "'Tis the strategy of the wilderness and 'tis superb material for the book I plan to write about the war fare of the aborigines. Now tell me, lad . . ."
The words died on his lips; he stood open-mouthed, eyes suddenly wide. From Jolie's cheeks the colour drained.
From far behind the pack train the sound came—a long, quavering, wailing scream. It might have come
