red with a whine, wagged his tail, came close and thrust
his nose against the man's arm in a welcome greeting. With his left hand
the man stroked the warm, furry head, while his right slowly slipped the
ugly sharpened cutlass from its scabbard.

Still stroking the dog's head and softly murmuring words of endearment,
he straightened his body:

"Bully old dog! Fine old doggie--"

The dog's eyes followed the rising form with confidence, wagging his
tail in protest against his going.

The hand gripped the brass hilt of the cutlass, the polished steel
whizzed through the air and crashed into the yellow mass of flesh and
bones.

His aim was bad in the dark. He missed the dog's head and the sword
split the body lengthwise. To the man's amazement a piercing howl of
agony rang through the woods.

He dropped his sword and gripped the quivering throat and held it in a
vise of steel until the writhing body was still at last.

Inside the darkened cabin, the mother stirred from an uneasy sleep. She
shook her husband and listened intently. The only sound that came from
without was the chirp of crickets and the distant call of a coyote from
the hill across the creek.

She held her breath and listened again. The man by her side slept
soundly. She couldn't understand why her heart persisted in pounding.
There wasn't the rustle of a leaf outside. The wind had died down with
the falling night. It couldn't be more than eleven o'clock.

Her husband's breathing was deep and regular. His perfect rest and the
sense of strength in his warm body restored her poise. She felt the
slender forms of her little girls in the trundle bed and tried to go
back to sleep.

It was useless. In spite of every effort her eyes refused to close.
Again she was sure she had heard the dog's cry in the night. She
believed that it was an ugly dream. The dawn of a beautiful Sunday
morning would find all well in the little home and her faithful dog
again wagging his tail at the door asking for breakfast.

She listened to the beating of her foolish heart. Wide awake, she began
to murmur a prayer of thanks to God for all His goodness and mercy in
the new home He had given.

As Owen's hands slowly relaxed from the throat of the lifeless body
he seized a handful of leaves and wiped the blood from the blade and
replaced it in the scabbard.

He rose quickly and gave the signal to advance. Again crouching low,
moving with the soft tread of beasts of prey, the h