the park and strolled up Thirteenth Avenue, towards the bridge
which spans the Miami River and forms a link between the more
thickly settled part of the town and its southerly suburbs.

As he crossed the bridge, a car passed him, moving rapidly
eastward, and leaving a choky trail of dust. He had bare time
to see it was driven by the Norse giant, and that the girl had
moved to the front seat beside the driver. The collie
(fastened by a cord running through his collar from one side
of the tonneau to the other) lay fidgetingly on the rear seat.

For miles the man plodded on, under the wind-tempered
sunshine. Passing Brickell Avenue and then the last of the
city, he continued,--now on the road, now going
cross-country,--until he came out on a patch of broken beach,
with a background of jungle-like forest.

The sun had gone beyond the meridian mark during his ramble
southward, and the afternoon was hurrying by. For the way was
long, though he had tramped steadily.

As he reached the bit of sandy foreshore, he paused for the
first time since stopping to survey the car. An unpainted
rowboat was drawn up on the beach. Half way between it and
the tangle of woodland behind, was a man clad only in
undershirt and dirty duck trousers. He was yanking along by
the scruff of the neck a protesting and evidently angry
collie.

The man was big and rugged. Weather and sea had bronzed him