ready for storm."

It was. Following a forest path, Philip presently caught the flicker
of a camp fire ahead. There was a huge tarpaulin over the wagon and a
canopy above the horses. Storm-proof tents loomed dimly among the
trees. A brisk little man whose apple cheeks and grizzled whiskers
Philip instantly approved, trotted importantly about among the horses,
humming a jerky melody. Johnny was fifty and looked a hundred, but
those unwary ones who had felt the steely grip of his sinewy fingers
were apt evermore to respect him.

Diane was piling wood upon the fire with the careless grace of a
splendid young savage. The light of the camp fire danced ruddily upon
her slim, brown arms and throat bared to the rising wind. A beautiful,
restless gypsy of fire and wind, she looked, at one with the
storm-haunted wood about her.

There came a patter of rain upon the forest leaves. The tents were
flapping and the fire began to flare. There were curious wind crackles
all about him, and Nero had begun to sniff and whine. Somewhere--off
there among the trees--Philip fancied he caught the stealthy pad of a
footfall and the crackle of underbrush. Every instinct of his body
focusing wildly upon the thought of harm to Diane, he whirled swiftly
about, colliding as he did so with something--vague, formless,
heavy--that leaped, crouching, from the shadows and bore him to the
ground. The lightning flared savagely upon steel. Philip felt a
blinding thud upon his head, a sharp, stinging agony along his shoulder.

Somewhere in the forest--a great way off he thought--a dog was barking
furiously.