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There was a deep, steep-sided gully between Finn and these strange figures, but even at that distance the Wolfhound was conscious of a strong sense of hostility toward the creatures he watched.
The dingoes ate where they made their kills that night, within a couple of miles of the camp, thereby spreading terror wide and deep throughout that range; for the little folk feared these fiercely cunning killers far more than they had learned to fear big ghostly Finn, who roamed their country more in student fashion than as a serious hunter of meat, so far.
Yet it found its way into his books into Huckleberry Finn, with its recital of Jim's pathetic longing to buy back his wife and children; and in Pudd'nhead Wilson with its moving picture of the poor slave's agony when she suddenly realizes in the way the water is flowing around the snag that she is being "sold down the river."
Finn had been walking dejectedly, his head carried low and close to Mr. Sandbrook's legs, his mind still too full of mournful thoughts of his lost Master to permit of his inquiring closely into those smells and other details of his immediate surroundings, which would have interested him in ordinary circumstances.
Her father had been dead for some time, but the daughter was constant. With his wife, his brother-in-law, his negroes, and several waggons loaded with the most necessary articles, Finn forced his way to Little Rock, on the Arkansas River, whence, after a short repose, he again started in a S.S.W. direction, through a hilly and woody country never before travelled.
Silas Finn again cast her off and railed and raved at her. "I will not go away," he cried in wild passion. "I will not allow my own son to raise an impious hand against the Almighty." "Lor' lumme!" gasped Barney Bill, dropping his hat. "He's done it." There was a silence. Silas Finn stood shaking in the middle of the room, the sweat streaming down his forehead.
But Finn and the rest were sound asleep, and Tara was dozing with one brown eye uncovered, when the Master came into the den on that second morning and spoke invitingly to his beloved mother of heroes. The great bitch rose slowly and with gentle care, and Finn, with the other sucklings, rolled helplessly on his back, sleepily cheeping a puny remonstrance, though he had no idea what he wanted.
I should go mad if I were to remain here and know nothing about it but what Silverbridge will tell me." "I will telegraph to Mr. Finn." "Mr. Finn won't care. Men are so heartless. They write about each other just as though it did not signify in the least whether anybody were dead or alive. I shall go to him." "You cannot do that." "I don't care now what anybody may think.
And Finn said: "child of my child, calf of my calf, white and slender, it is a pity the way you are. And my heart is starting like a deer," he said, "and I am weak after you and after the Fenians of Ireland. And misfortune has followed us," he said, "and farewell now to battles and to a great name, and farewell to taking tributes; for every good thing I ever had is gone from me now," he said.
"If the police know their business this ought to help them." Then he turned to Finn again. "You didn't know there was a twenty-five pound reward out for you, my son, did you? It was to have been made fifty in another day or two; though, if you did but know it, our solvency demands rather that you should be sold, than paid for in that fashion." The Mistress nodded thoughtfully.
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