ned and prayed alternately After a while he no longer prayed
but concentrated on his ears.

Surely, surely, the diabolical sound was growing less distinct. ... It
was changing direction too. But whether in Quintana's direction or no
Sard could not tell. He was no woodsman. He was completely turned
around.

He looked upward through a dense yellow foliage, but all was grey in the
sky -- very grey and still; -- and there seemed to be no traces of the
sun that had been shining.

He looked fearfully around; trees, trees, and more trees. No break, no
glimmer, nothing to guide him, teach him. He could see, perhaps, fifty
feet; no further.

In panic he started to move on. That is what fright invariably does to
those ignorant of the forest. Terror starts them moving.

* * * * *

Sobbing, frightened almost witless, he had been floundering forward for
over an hour, and made circle after circle knowing, when, by chance he
set foot in a perfectly plain trail.

Emotion overpowered him. He was too overcome to stir for a while. At
length, however, he tottered off down the trail, oblivious as to what
direction he was taking, animated only by a sort of madness -- horror of
trees -- an insane necessity to see open ground, get into it, and lie
down on it.

And now, directly ahead, he saw clear grey sky low through the trees.
The wood's edge!

He began to run.

As he emerged from the edge of the woods, waist-deep in brush and weeds,
wide before his blood-shot eyes spread Star Pond.

Even in his half-stupefied brain there was memory enough left for
recognition.

He remembered the lake. His gaze travelled to the westward; and he saw
Clinch's Dump standing below, stark, silent, the doors swinging open in
the wind.

When terror had subsided in a measure and some of his trembling strength
returned, he got up out of the clump of rag-weeds where he had lain
down, and earnestly nosed the unpainted house, listening with all his
ears.

There was not a sound save the soughing of autumn winds and the delicate
rattle of falling leaves in the woods behind him.

He needed food and rest. He gazed earnestly at the house. Nothing
stirred there save the open doors swinging idly in every vagrant wind.

He ventured down a little way -- near enough to see the black cinders of
the burned bar, and close enough to hear the lake waters slapping the
sandy shore.

If he dared----

And after a long while he ventured to waddle near