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.
CHAPTER IX
IN A STORM-HAUNTED WOOD
"The storm is coming!" exclaimed Diane with shining eyes. "Button the
flaps by the horses, Johnny. We're in for it to-night. Hear the wind!"
Overhead the gale tore ragged gaps among the fire-shadowed trees,
unshrouding a storm-black sky. Fearlessly--the old wild love of storm
and wind singing powerfully in her heart--the girl rose from the fire
and faced the tempest.
Rex pressed fearfully beside her, whining. Off there somewhere in the
wind and darkness a dog had barked.
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