If she
had been born in the piny woods, as I was, the sight of a dead man,
white or black, would not have been an uncommon phenomenon to her. "The--the dead man----" she stammered, and then she was answered most
hideously. From the black woods beside the trail rose a shriek of blood-curdling
laughter. Slavering, mouthing sounds followed it, so strange and
garbled that at first I did not recognize them as human words. Their
inhuman intonations sent a chill down my spine. "Dead men!" the inhuman voice chanted. "Dead men with torn throats! There will be dead men among the pines before dawn! Dead men! Fools,
you are all dead!" Ashley and I both fired in the direction of the voice, and in the
crashing reverberations of our shots the ghastly chant was drowned. But
the weird laugh rang out again, deeper in the woods, and then silence
closed down like a black fog, in which I heard the semi-hysterical
gasping of the girl. She had released Ashley and was clinging
frantically to me. I could feel the quivering of her lithe body against
mine. Probably she had merely followed her feminine instinct to seek
refuge with the strongest; the light of the match had shown her that I
was a bigger man than Ashley. "Hurry, for God's sake!" Ashley's voice sounded strangled. "It can't be
far to the cabin. Hurry! You'll come with us, Mr. Garfield?" "What was it?" the girl was panting. "Oh, what _was_ it?" "A madman, I think," I answered, tucking her trembling little hand
under my left arm. But at the back of my mind was whispering the
grisly realization that no madman ever had a voice like that. It
sounded--God!--it sounded like some bestial creature speaking with
human words, but not with a human tongue! "Get on the other side of Miss Brent, Ashley," I directed. "Keep as far
from the trees as you can. If anything moves on that side, shoot first
and ask questions later. I'll do the same on this side. Now come on!" He made no reply as he complied; his fright seemed deeper than that
of the girl; his breath came in shuddering gasps. The trail seemed
endless, the darkness abysmal. Fear stalked along the trail on either
hand, and slunk grinning at our backs. My flesh crawled with the
thought of a demoniacal clawed and fanged _thing_ hurling itself
upon my shoulders. The girl's little feet scarcely touched the ground, as we almost
carried her between us. Ashley was almost as tall as I, though not so
heavy, and was strongly made. Ahead of us a light glimmered between the trees at last, and a gusty
sigh of relief burst from his lips. He increased his pace until we were
almost running. "The cabin at last, thank God!" he gasped, as we plunged out of the
trees. "Hail your employer, Ashley," I grunted. "He's driven me off with a
gun once tonight. I don't want to be shot by the old----" I stopped,
remembering the girl. "Mr. Brent!" shouted Ashley. "Mr. Brent! Open the door quick! It's
me--Ashley!" Instantly light flooded from the door as the upper half was drawn back,
and Brent peered out, shotgun in hand, blinking into the darkness. "Hurry and get in!" Panic still thrummed in his voice. Then: "Who's
that standing beside you?" he shouted furiously. "Mr. Garfield and your niece, Miss Gloria." "Uncle Richard!" she cried, her voice catching in a sob. Pulling loose
from us, she ran forward and threw her lithe body half over the lower
door, throwing her arms around his neck. "Uncle Richard, I'm so afraid! What does this all mean?" He seemed thunderstruck. "Gloria!" he repeated. "What in heaven's name are you doing here?" "Why, you sent for me!" She fumbled out a crumpled yellow telegraph
form. "See? You said for me to come at once!" He went livid again. "I never sent that, Gloria! Good God, why should I drag you into my
particular hell? There's something devilish here. Come in--come in
quickly!" *       *       *       *       *

He jerked open the door and pulled her inside, never relinquishing the
shotgun. He seemed to fumble in a daze. Ashley shouldered in after her,
and exclaimed to me: "Come in, Mr. Garfield! Come in--come in!" I had made no move to follow them. At the mention of my name, Brent,
who seemed to have forgotten my presence, jerked loose from the girl
with a choking cry and wheeled, throwing up the shotgun. But this time
I was ready for him. My nerves were too much on edge to let me submit
to any more bullying. Before he could bring the gun into position, he
was looking in the muzzle of my .45. "Put it down, Brent," I snapped. "Drop it, before I break your arm. I'm
fed up on your idiotic suspicions." He hesitated, glaring wildly, and behind him the girl shrank away. I
suppose that in the full flood of the light from the doorway I was not
a figure to inspire confidence in a young girl, with my frame which is
built for strength and not looks, and my dark face, scarred by many a
brutal river battle. "He's our friend, Mr. Brent," interposed Ashley. "He helped us, in the
woods." "He's a devil!" raved Brent, clinging to his gun, though not trying to
lift it. "He came here to murder us! He lied when he said he came to
warn us against a black man. What man would be fool enough to come into
Egypt at night, just to warn a stranger? My God, has he got you both
fooled? I tell you, _he wears the brand of the hound_!" "Then you know _he's_ here!" cried Ashley. "Yes; this fiend told me, trying to worm his way into the house. God,
Ashley, _he's_ tracked us down, in spite of all our cleverness. We have trapped ourselves! In a city, we might buy protection; but
here, in this accursed forest, who will hear our cries or come to our
aid when the fiend closes in upon us? What fools--what fools we were to
think to hide from _him_ in this wilderness!" "I heard him laugh," shuddered Ashley. "He taunted us from the bushes
in his beast's voice. I saw the man he killed--ripped and mangled as if
by the fangs of Satan himself. What--what are we to do?" "What can we do except lock ourselves in and fight to the last?" shrieked Brent. His nerves were in frightful shape. "Please tell me what it is all about?" pleaded the trembling girl. With a terrible despairing laugh Brent threw out his arm, gesturing
toward the black woods beyond the faint light. "A devil in human form
is lurking out there!" he exclaimed. "He has tracked me across the
world, and has cornered me at last. Do you remember Adam Grimm?" "The man who went with you to Mongolia five years ago? But he died, you
said. You came back without him." "I thought he was dead," muttered Brent. "Listen, I will tell
you. Among the black mountains of Inner Mongolia, where no white
man had ever penetrated, our expedition was attacked by fanatical
devil-worshippers--the black monks of Erlik who dwell in the forgotten
and accursed city of Yahlgan. Our guides and servants were killed, and
all our stock driven off but one small camel. "Grimm and I stood them off all day, firing from behind the rocks when
they tried to rush us.