with his hands in hers. Perhaps it would be kinder to spare her the sight of Shep's death—yet his spirit lacked the strength.
"The dog first," the girl repeated. "And don't—wait—any more."
The dog's appealing eyes were upon them. Their own spirit—that of immortality itself which only men seem to possess—had pervaded him, and the dark eyes seemed unafraid. To the beasts, death is a darkness and a fear; but Shep knew that these two masters would have only mercy and kindness for him. Hugh's hand reached back for the revolver.
But the forest gods had not written that Shep should die so soon. The drama of the flaming forest was not yet over. An interlude strange and startling past all words; three figures—vivid in outline and bathed in the fire's glow—came speeding toward them from the thickets to the east. A gasp of wonder fell from Hugh's lips as he beheld them.
Two of the forms were unfamiliar, but one of them was known and beloved of old. Hugh couldn't mistake the trim figure, the curved undeveloped horns of the first of the three. No break appeared in the fiery wall toward the east, yet Spot—his own unmistakable form and his wool unsinged—ran steadily toward them in plain sight of all three. It was as if he had returned from the shadow world, a ghostly savior in the hour when his old followers hovered at the
