Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour passed before he could give to Robert the meaning of Thalcave's answer. He had questioned the Indian concerning their situation.
"And what did he answer?" inquired Robert.
"He said that, cost what it may, we must hold out till daybreak. The aguara goes out only at night, and when morning comes he returns to his lair. He is the wolf of darkness, a cowardly beast that fears the daylight."
"Well, let us defend ourselves till day."
"Yes, my boy, and with our knives if we can no longer use our guns."
Already Thalcave had set the example, and when a wolf approached the fire, the long knife of the Patagonian was thrust through the flames and drawn back again red with blood.
However, the means of defense were failing. About two o'clock in the morning, Thalcave threw into the fire the last armful of fuel, and the besieged had only five charges left.
Glenarvan cast about him a sorrowful glance. He thought of the child who was there, of his companions, of all whom he loved. Robert said nothing; perhaps the danger did not appear imminent to his hopeful spirit. But Glenarvan pictured to himself that terrible event, now apparently inevitable, the being devoured alive! He was not master of his emotion; he drew the child to his breast, he clasped him to his heart, he pressed his lips to his forehead, while tears flowed from his eyes.
Robert gazed at him with a smile. "I am not afraid," said he.
"No, my boy, no," replied Glenarvan; "and you are right. In two hours, day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave Patagonian!" cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier.
But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the inclosure.
Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him.