times gives to an
animal's proceedings the force of an inspiration. Browne, who knew his
dog well, felt the discouragement of his movement, and finally stopped
abruptly.

"Nay, he knows no home in this wilderness and feels no call to one place
more than another. 'T is past praying for, John; we must e'en make up
our minds to sleep here. Suppose that we lie down in the lee of these
nut-bushes, call the dogs to curl up beside us, and try to keep life
going till morning; no doubt we shall find the way out then, or at least
somewhat to eat."

"My blood is like ice already," murmured Goodman burying his hands in
the spaniel's curly hair.

"If we had but flint and steel to make a fire it were something!"
exclaimed Browne. "What Jack-o'-Bedlams we were to set off thus
unprovided. Catch me so again!"

"But we came out to cut thatch, not to chase deer and get lost in the
woods," suggested Goodman trying to laugh, though his teeth chattered
like castanets.

"It will never do for thee to lie down as chilled as thou art,"
exclaimed Browne anxiously. "I promised thy old mother I'd have an eye
to thee, and lo it is I that have led thee into this mischance! What
shall I do for thee? I have it, lad! Sith it is too dark and rough to
walk farther I'll try a fall with thee; there's naught warms a man's
blood like a good wrestling match. Come on, then!"

"I'm no match for thee, Peter, but here goes!" replied Goodman
struggling to his feet, and the two men joined there in the darkness and
the wilderness in what might truly be called a "joust of courtesy,"
moved only by mutual love and good will, for the event proved Goodman's
modesty well founded, and it was only a few moments before Browne,
raising his slender opponent in his arms, set him down sharply two or
three times upon his feet, saying,--

"I'll not throw thee, for that might prove small kindness. Art warmer?"

But before Goodman could answer a snarling cry broke from the thicket
close at hand, and was answered by another and another voice until the
air seemed filled with the cries of howling fiends.

Nero started to his feet, his eyes glowing, the hair bristling stiffly
upon his neck, and with a fierce growl of defiance would have sprung
forward had not his master seized him by the collar exclaiming,--

"Nay, fool! wouldst rush on thy destruction!"

"'T is the salvages!" stammered Goodman staring about him in the
darkness.

"Nay, 't is lions," replied Browne. "Hopki