ountains had failed. This--

But Fairchild suddenly realized that now was not a time for
conjecturing upon the past. The man on the bed was unconscious,
incapable of helping himself. Far below, a white-haired woman, her
toothless jaws uttering one weird chant after another, was digging for
him a quicklime grave, in the insane belief that she was aiding in
accomplishing some miracle of immortality. In time--and Fairchild did
not know how long--an evil-visaged, scar-faced man would return to help
her carry the inert frame of the unconscious man below and bury it.
Nor could Fairchild tell from the conversation whether he even intended
to perform the merciful act of killing the poor, broken being before he
covered it with acids and quick-eating lime in a grave that soon would
remove all vestige of human identity forever. Certainly now was not a
time for thought; it was one for action!

And for caution. Instinct told Fairchild that for the present, at
least, Rodaine must believe that Harry had escaped unaided. There were
too many other things in which Robert felt sure Rodaine had played a
part, too many other mysterious happenings which must be met and coped
with, before the man of the blue-white scar could know that finally the
underling was beginning to show fight, that at last the crushed had
begun to rise. Fairchild bent and unlaced his shoes, taking off also
the heavy woolen socks which protected his feet from the biting cold.
Steeling himself to the ordeal which he must undergo, he tied the laces
together and slung the footgear over a shoulder. Then he went to the
bed.

As carefully as possible, he wrapped Harry in the blankets, seeking to
protect him in every way against the cold. With a great effort, he
lifted him, the sick man's frame huddled in his arms like some gigantic
baby, and started out of the eerie, darkened house.

The stairs--the landing--the hall! Then a query from below:

"Is that you, Roady?"

The breath pulled sharp into Fairchild's lungs. He answered in the
best imitation he could give of the voice of Squint Rodaine:

"Yes. Go on with your digging, Honey. I 'll be there soon."

"And you'll kiss me?"

"Yes. Just like I kissed you the night our boy was born."

It was sufficient. The chanting began again, accompanied by the swish
of the spade as it sank into the earth and the cludding roll of the
clods as they were thrown to one side. Fairchild gained the door. A
moment mor