yet I am conscious of a deep resentment
against this man. At some time in the past he has injured me cruelly, I
am sure.--Yet I told you I had injured him, didn't I?" She passed a hand
across her face. "It is very puzzling."

"Don't worry!" he said cheerily. "It's bound to be made clear in the
end."

"You wish to do all the worrying, don't you?" she said, with a wry
smile.

He could not meet her dear eyes. "Worry nothing!" he cried. "I only have
one idea in my mind, and that is to get some sleep!" He bustled to get
his blankets.

They awoke him for the evening meal. After eating, he inspected his
camp, sent Clare to bed, moved Imbrie closer, instructed Mary to keep
watch that he did not succeed in freeing himself, and went back to sleep
again. Mary was to call him at dawn, and they would take the trail at
sunrise.

In the middle of the night he was brought leaping to his feet by a cry
out of the dark: a cry that was neither from wolf, coyote, nor
screech-owl. Wakened from a deep sleep, his consciousness was aware only
of something dreadful. Outside the tent Mary ran to him: her teeth were
chattering with terror: she could not speak. Clare crept from her tent.
Both women instinctively drew close to their protector.

"What was it?" Clare asked, tremblingly.

A shriek answered her; a dreadful urgent cry of agony that made the
whole night shudder. It came from a little way down the trail, from the
edge of the woods perhaps, not more than a quarter of a mile away.

"A human voice!" gasped Clare.

"A woman's!" muttered Stonor grimly.

Again it shattered the stillness, this time more dreadful, for they
heard words in their own tongue. "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" Then a
horrible pause, and with added urgency: "Help! Help!"

"By God! English words!" cried Stonor, astounded.

"Go to her! Go to her!" cried Clare, urging him with her hands.

On the other hand, Mary, falling to her knees, clung to him, fairly
gibbering in the extremity of her terror.

Stonor was suspicious, yet every instinct of manliness drew him towards
these cries. Under that pull it was impossible to think clearly. He
shook Mary off, and started to run. He took three steps and pulled
himself up short.

"Look at Imbrie," he muttered. "Strange he hasn't wakened."

It was true the prisoner still lay motionless, entirely covered with his
blanket.

"It's a trick!" said Stonor. "There could be no English woman near here.
It's a trick to dra