But Wendling and Pierre left the hut together. They walked for an hour,
scarcely speaking, and not considering where they went. At last Pierre
mechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short,
then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. "Shoo has told you what happened
here?" he said.

Pierre nodded.

"And you know what came once when you walked with me.... The dead can
strike," he added. Pierre sought his eye. "The minister and the girl
buried together that day," he said, "were--"

He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water.
Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of the
Glen now until they had compassed its length--the walls were high. The
sound grew. The men faced each other.

"Good-bye," said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. But
Pierre heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as he
stretched his arm in response. He caught at Wendling's shoulder, but
felt him lifted and carried away, while he himself stood still in a
screeching wind and heard impalpable water rushing over him. In a minute
it was gone; and he stood alone in Red Glen.

He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to the
plain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold;
the body was wet: the man was drowned and dead.