Arthur Conan Doyle,
The Refugees — Chapter XXXIV
(1893)
“ Amos felt a flush of pride at these words from a man whose name was honoured wherever trader or trapper smoked round a camp fire. He was about to make some answer when a dreadful cry broke suddenly out of the woods, a horrible screech, as from some one who was goaded to the very last pitch of human misery. Again and again, as they stood with blanched cheeks in the darkness, they heard that awful cry swelling up from the night and ringing drearily through the forest."They are torturing the women," said Du Lhut."Their camp lies over there.""Can we do nothing to aid them?" cried Amos. ”
