small, oval face, a sadness which was deep seated and in nowise hinging on the danger just averted.
“The dogs?” he managed to exclaim as he rubbed his aching chest.
“Keep them back, Cumber,” she cried. “Beat them back. On your life don’t slip their muzzles!”
The last struck him as being rather a ridiculous speech, for who but a murderer would think of freeing those slavering jaws? The man grunted something unintelligible and astounded Dix by displaying a surly unwillingness in herding the brutes before him down the slope.
“Lock them in the hovel till I get to the house,” she called after him. Grumbling and mumbling the man drove the dogs into the underbrush, but it was not till he had vanished that the girl turned to Dix.
“Are you badly hurt?”
“Only bruised and shaken—thanks to the muzzles. But my mind riots most confoundedly. They’re real, eh?”
“Fearfully so,” she shuddered. “They’re a cross between the giant Danes and the bloodhound—ferocious as tigers.”
“But why are they? And why do you have them?” he puzzled.
The transient horror of her gaze was succeeded by somber earnestness as she ignored his query and said, “Turn back to the hills from where you came. Once you’ve covered a few miles you’ll be safe, as the dogs never wander far from the swamps.”
“Turn back?” he blankly repeated. “But I’m famished. I’m all in. I was prepared to meet Death when you came.”
“You were never nearer to it,” she muttered, staring intently at the swamp cedars. “When unmuzzled, one of the dogs would be more than a match for any three men. Of course if you’re unable to travel—”
“I’m not,” he abruptly cut in. “Who owns the dogs? Why are the devils allowed to run loose?”
“They belong to old Cumber, my uncle’s servant,” she explained. “You’ve never heard of them?”
“Only in ghost stories. My name is Bruce Dix. I was camping with friends on Caribou Lake. Tried to cruise back alone from Clear River a few days ago. Lost my compass, lost my way. I’ve not eaten for hours. Began seeing things. Thought the dogs were imagination till they leaped on me.”
She listened gravely and in turn informed, “I’m Florence Dessel. Andrew Dessel, my uncle, has a cabin on the lake. We came here for his health. He has grown worse and will never return home alive.”
“I’m mighty sorry to hear it,” consoled Dix. “Of course, you can’t take in wanderers. I’ll turn back and make it somehow.”
“You mustn’t attempt it till we’ve outfitted you with supplies and a compass. You must stay with us tonight and start back tomorrow.”
He staggered to his feet, found strength in her level gaze, and asked, “Can’t your uncle be moved to some settlement? I will return with my friends and get him.”
“That’s good of you, but he would never stand the trip out,” she sighed.
“But should he die—what about you?” he demanded.
She shook her head despondently. “I don’t know. I should be alone then except for old Cumber—and the dogs. He is deranged, I fear. He’s been in uncle’s service for years and always faithful. He’s changed sadly the last few months, but I suppose I could depend on him to take me to the settlement.”
“Good heavens, Miss Dessel! There must be no guesswork,” he cried. “Don’t you realize winter will soon be here? I shall come back with my friends and guides and make a camp till you can return with us.”
“The snow will be terrible,” she admitted. “But I’ve been so worried about uncle I haven’t had time to think of myself. Of course, Cumber would take me out safely. He’s a good woodsman.”
“If he’s deranged you can’t tell what he’ll do,” he objected. “What makes you think he’s unbalanced?”
“The dogs.” She shivered in saying it. “We had been here some two months when suddenly he disappeared. We took it for granted he had deserted us; then, after an absence of five or six weeks, he returned with them. He imagines we’re in danger from the outside world. He lets the brutes run the woods unmuzzled at night to guard us from the supposed danger. Which reminds me, we must be going.”
“The dogs loose at night reminds you?” he inquired.
“It’s unsafe for anyone but him to be abroad after dark,” she simply explained. “No time for talk now. We’ll finish our plans tonight.”
“Our plans for getting you back to civilization,” he grimly appended.
“It seems cruel to anticipate my uncle’s death while making arrangements for my comfort.”
“It would be hideously wrong to leave your safety to chance,” he warmly insisted. Before he could say more she suddenly clutched his wrist and urged him after her down the slope, her eyes wide with fear as she cried:
“Hurry, hurry. I fear Cumber has loosed the dogs!”
“Knowing you’re out?” he exclaimed.
“He’s forgotten. Remember he is weak-witted. Hark!”
A deep-throated baying sounded through the thickening gloom, the chorus entering its full swing with a tempo that could emanate only from wildlife suddenly set free and rejoicing. “He started to take them to the hovel,” she called over her shoulder as she took the lead in a narrow, winding path. “But he forgot. He’s obeying his one obsession, his nightly habit. They’re running unmuzzled.”
“They’re between us and the house,” he protested, slackening his pace.
“We’ve time if we hurry. Don’t talk,” she sharply commanded.
He doubted it, for they were heading straight for the bellowing clamor. But pride kept him close to her heels. “Unless the house is very near—” he began.
“I’m making for a boat,” she informed, now running swiftly and lightly.
A gray blur of water opened to their view even as she spoke. On their right and drawing nearer with unnerving rapidity rose the hunting cry of the dogs. But already the girl was splashing through the mud and reeds and was pushing off a crudely constructed flat-bottomed boat. “Jump in!” was her staccato command.
He gently lifted her aboard and with a push of the paddle sent the frail craft gliding from the shore. As he dropped in the stern and began sculling, the dogs burst into view, jaws free and exulting. On discovering their quarry had escaped they made fierce whining noises and ran up and down the shore. The leader even jumped into the water and swam a short distance after the boat.
“The cabin is on the knoll to the right,” informed the girl. “The dogs will try to head us off, but we’ll have time enough, as they’ll make a wide detour to pass round a morass.”
“He unmuzzled them knowing it might mean death for us,” raged Dix.
