Something in his voice made the girl shiver. It was as if the vanishing
point of mercy had been reached, and savages were at their backs. She
heard the wounded man moan again as they stole through the deeper
shadows of the corrals toward the nigger-head bottom. And then she
noticed that the mist was no longer in her face. The sky was clearing.
She could see Alan more clearly, and when they came to the narrow trail
over which they had fled once before that night it reached out ahead of
them like a thin, dark ribbon. Scarcely had they reached this point when
a rifle shot sounded not far behind. It was followed by a second and a
third, and after that came a shout. It was not a loud shout. There was
something strained and ghastly about it, and yet it came distinctly
to them.

"The wounded man," said Alan, in a voice of dismay. "He is calling the
others. I should have killed him!"

He traveled at a half-trot, and the girl ran lightly at his side. All
her courage and endurance had returned. She breathed easily and
quickened her steps, so that she was setting the pace for Alan. They
passed along the crest of the ridge under which lay the willows and the
pool, and at the end of this they paused to rest and listen. Trained to
the varied night whisperings of the tundras Alan's ears caught faint
sounds which his companion did not hear. The wounded man had succeeded
in giving his message, and pursuers were scattering over the plain
behind them.

"Can you run a little farther?" he asked.

"Where?"

He pointed, and she darted ahead of him, her dark hair streaming in a
cloud that began to catch a faint luster of increasing light. Alan ran a
little behind her. He was afraid of the light. Only gloom had saved them
this night, and if the darkness of mist and fog and cloud gave way to
clear twilight and the sun-glow of approaching day before they reached
the kloof he would have to fight in the open. With Stampede at his side
he would have welcomed such an opportunity of matching rifles with their
enemies, for there were many vantage points in the open tundra from
which they might have defied assault. But the nearness of the girl
frightened him. She, after all, was the hunted thing. He was only an
incident. From him could be exacted nothing more than the price of
death; he would be made to pay that, as Sokwenna had paid. For her
remained the unspeakable horror of Graham's lust and passion. But if
they could reach the kloof, and the