Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

From the sable towers could be heard a hoarse swishing noise, that resembled the sough of a waterfall – at intervals breaking into reverberations like the roll of musketry[58 - musketry – from musket – a firearm of the 16

–18

centuries; in the 19

century it was replaced by aВ rifle], or the detonations of distant thunder!

These noises were gradually growing louder and more distinct. The danger, whatever it might be, was drawing nearer!

Consternation became depicted on the countenances of the travellers, Calhoun’s forming no exception.

The ex-officer no longer pretended levity. The eyes of all were turned towards the lowering sky, and the band of black columns that appeared coming on to crush them!

At this crisis a shout, reaching their ears from the opposite side, was a source of relief – despite the unmistakable accent of alarm in which it was uttered.

Turning, they beheld a horseman in full gallop – riding direct towards them.

The horse was black as coal: the rider of like hue, even to the skin of his face. For all that he was recognised: as the stranger, upon the trail of whose lazo they had been travelling.

The perceptions of woman are quicker than those of man: the young lady within the carriole was the first to identify him. “Onward!” he cried, as soon as within speaking distance. “On – on! as fast as you can drive!”

“What is it?” demanded the planter, in bewildered alarm.

“Is there a danger?”

“There is. I did not anticipate it, as I passed you. It was only after reaching the river, I saw the sure signs of it.”

“Of what, sir?”

“The norther.”

“You mean the storm of that name?”

“I do.”

“I never heard of its being dangerous,” interposed Calhoun, “except to vessels at sea. It’s precious cold, I know; but – ”

“You’ll find it worse than cold, sir,” interrupted the young horseman, “if you’re not quick in getting out of its way.

Mr Poindexter,” he continued, turning to the planter, and speaking with impatient emphasis, “I tell you, that you and your party are in peril. A norther is not always to be dreaded; but this one – look yonder! You see those black pillars?”

“We’ve been wondering – didn’t know what to make of them.”

“They’re nothing – only the precursors of the storm.