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Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951

"Three More John Silence Stories"

None of us spoke. Sangree and I,
with cocked guns, watched the shore lines, and all within easy touch and
speaking distance. It was a slow and blundering drive, and there were
many false alarms, but after the best part of half an hour we stood on
the farther end, having made the complete tour, and without putting up
so much as a squirrel. Certainly there was no living creature on that
island but ourselves.
"I know what it is!" cried Maloney, looking out over the dim expanse of
grey sea, and speaking with the air of a man making a discovery; "it's a
dog from one of the farms on the larger islands"--he pointed seawards
where the archipelago thickened--"and it's escaped and turned wild. Our
fires and voices attracted it, and it's probably half starved as well as
savage, poor brute!"
No one said anything in reply, and he began to sing again very low to
himself.
The point where we stood--a huddled, shivering group--faced the wider
channels that led to the open sea and Finland.


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