ought after
thought flashed through his brain as to what he should do, the result
being that he did nothing, only held the lanthorn, so that those who
struggled and wrestled, before him could see.

In spite of the hoarse, inhuman howling he could hear close to him, all
superstitious notions were now gone. Dale and Melchior were too
evidently engaged with human beings like themselves; and the next
instant there was a heavy blow, a cry and a fall.

"Rightly served," cried Melchior, "whoever you are. Now, herr, you hold
him, and I'll use my rope."

"Quick, then!" panted Dale hoarsely: "he's too strong for me. Hah!"

Dale was heavily thrown, and Saxe could dimly see a short, squat figure
upon his breast. Then he saw Melchior appear out of the gloom, and
quick as lightning twist a loop of the rope tightly round the arms of
the figure, binding them to its side.

"Now, herr, up with you," cried Melchior, "and help me. Show the light,
Herr Saxe. Ah! that's right: down on his face. Good. Your foot on the
back of his neck. Now I have him. Good English rope: he will not break
that."

As the guide spoke he wound his rope round the figure's hands, which he
had dragged behind its back, and tied them fast, serving the legs in the
same way, in spite of the fierce howlings and horrible yellings made.

"That will do," cried the guide at last, and he stooped down over his
prisoner. "Not hurt, are you, herr?"

"Well--yes, I am. It was like wrestling with a bull, and he has bitten
my arm."

"Not through your clothes, herr?" cried the guide excitedly.

"No: I suppose it is only like a pinch; but it was as if it were nipped
in a vice."

"Show the light here, young herr," continued Melchior, as he turned the
captive over. "He is beautiful, is he not?"

"Horrible!" ejaculated Dale, with a shudder. "Good heavens! who and
what is he?"

"The most hideous cretin in Switzerland, herr. Poor wretch! he had no
brains, but his strength is terrible. He is from the valley next to
Andregg's. I don't know what he can be doing here."

"I know," cried Saxe excitedly: "watching us."

"No," said Melchior: "he has not the sense, unless--Here, I must have
hit some one else in the dark. There were two. Give me the light!"

He snatched the lanthorn and stepped farther in, to bend down over
another prostrate figure.

"It is!" he cried. "Pierre! I don't quite understand as yet. It must
be--yes, I see. The wretch!--it is hi