Suppressing a cry of surprise, she waited and watched. Walking slowly, as if in a trance, Hallie pa.s.sed within four feet of her without seeing her, then marched straight on toward the rocky gateway that lay between her and the hidden valley.

At once Florence's mind was in a whirl. Her lips parted to call the child back, but no sound came forth.

What should she do? Evidently something had happened to the child. She was in a daze again. Perhaps the old fever that had wiped out her memory had returned. Had memory accompanied it? Was she now groping her way back to her own home?

"Home!" Florence spoke the word softly. Home had meant so much to her.

Like a moving panorama she saw before her twilight scenes at home by the fireplace, bed time and prayer beside her bed with her mother bending over, joyous mornings and sunny afternoons. Home! Ah, yes, home! And perhaps this little girl was going home. Could she stop her? And yet, could she allow her to wander alone in the gathering darkness through those forbidding portals?

The answer came quickly. She dropped down into the path, turned toward the stone gateway, then marched steadily forward until both she and the child were lost to view beyond the rocky pillars.

Had Florence chanced to look behind she might have caught sight of a person following at a distance. A skulking figure it was that moved by quick starts and stops from shadow to shadow. And, had her backward glance been rightly timed, had it come as a sudden last feeble burst of sunlight illumined his face, she would have seen that this person was Bud Wax.

Had she seen him her heart would doubtless have been filled with misgivings and wild questions. Why was the boy following her? Was this a trap? What did he know about little Hallie? What of the land beyond the forbidden gateway?

Since she did not look behind her, but walked straight on, she asked herself no such questions. So the three pa.s.sed into the mysterious beyond, the child as in a dream, the teacher st.u.r.dily on duty bound, the boy skulking from shadow to shadow. Hardly had they disappeared when sudden night came down to close the gate with a curtain of darkness.

CHAPTER X A MYSTERIOUS PEOPLE

Have you ever stepped out into a night so dark that you could scarcely see your hand before you, and have you, after taking a few steps from your own doorstep, tried to imagine that you were alone in the dark in lands that were strange to you? If you have, then you can imagine the feeling of Florence as she moved forward into the unknown. Scarcely had the second hand on her watch ticked round three times than she found it necessary to follow the child by sound rather than by sight. Such is the darkness that at times fills rockbound mountain valleys.

So, tripping over rocks, splashing into spring fed pools, slipping on damp moss, she made her way forward. Always following the child, always followed by the skulking figure of the boy, she came at last to a sudden turn in the road, and there, just before her, shone a mellow square of yellow light.

"A home!" she breathed.

At that instant there came the baying challenge of a hound. He was joined by two others, and at once the hills were roaring with echoes of their clamor.

For a second Florence stood there trembling, irresolute. Her mind worked rapidly. To flee would be folly. There was no escaping those roaring beasts. The treatment she might hope to receive from her bitterest enemy would be better. At once, having decided this question, she dashed toward the light.

Hardly had she gone a dozen paces when, with a little cry of surprise and terror, she stumbled over something soft and yielding, then went down sprawling.

At once she was on hand and knees, feeling for the thing that had tripped her. In a second her hands were upon it. Not another second was needed to tell her what it was.

"Hallie," she whispered. "Hallie! What has happened? Hallie! Get up!"

But the form beside her neither answered nor moved.

In desperation she groped about her for a stone. Having found two of the right size, she crouched there like a panther beside her wounded young.

At the same time, in as steady a tone as she could command, she shouted:

"Hey there, you! Call off your dogs! Do you want them to murder an innocent child?"

One instant there came a flood of light from a large door, the next the light was blocked by the form of the largest man Florence had ever seen, and there came such a giant's roar as quite drowned the baying of the dogs and set the rocks fairly shaking with echoes.

The echoes died away and the dogs were silent. The giant did not speak again, but stood there peering into the darkness. The girl caught the snap-snap of a bat's jaws as he flew over. She heard the steady tick of her watch. Then of a sudden there came a movement close behind her.

Wheeling about, she tried to peer into the darkness but saw nothing.

There came no other sound.

So a moment pa.s.sed on into eternity, and yet another. Then the giant's voice boomed again:

"Whoever y' be, come! Them hounds won't harm you narry bit. There's chill and right smart of mounting fever in the night air."

Rising unsteadily, a great fear tugging at her heart, Florence lifted the child in her arms and stumbled along toward the doorway.

As she came nearer, the man turned to speak a word to someone inside and at once the light from within brought out his profile in clear relief. A ma.s.sive, full-bearded face it was, with a powerful jaw, a large hawk-like nose, and a full forehead. All this was crowned by a tangled ma.s.s of iron gray hair.

Two other facts the girl noted with a shudder. The giant's right sleeve hung limp at his side; in his powerful left arm he held a rifle of gigantic proportions which might suit equally well for either firearm or club.

"It's the one-armed giant that Ransom Turner told about!" she whispered to herself, more frightened than ever.

Yet, mindful of the good of the child who lay limp in her arms, she trudged st.u.r.dily on until the light from the doorway fell full upon her.

Instantly, at sight of them, a change came over the man's face. The ruddy touch to his cheek turned to ashen. He tottered as if for a fall but, gripping the doorpost, he held his ground and continued his gla.s.sy stare until at last words escaped his lips:

"Hit's Hallie!"

Then, and not till then, did Florence know that she had brought the child to her home.

But the giant? The moment his force of will had loosed his tongue, like some lion who stunned by a shot comes back to life, he became a terrifying creature of tremendous action.

"Hit's her!" he roared. "They killed her!"

"She's not dead," said Florence in as calm a tone as she could command.

"Let me by."

Mechanically the giant moved to one side.

As Florence stepped into the room she took in the interior at a glance.

It was the largest room she had seen in the mountains and its walls were of logs. The cracks were well c.h.i.n.ked. The floor was clean and the wooden table, on which rested three large candles, was scrubbed to a snowy whiteness. Two beds in a corner were well in order. A burned down fire glowed dully in a broad fireplace.

In the corner by the fireplace stood two women; one tall and young, with the st.u.r.dy erectness of her kind; the other bent with age. They had risen from their chairs and were pointing at the child in her arms.

"They've killed her!" the giant roared again. The working of his face in rage or sorrow was a terrible thing to see. "You have killed her. Hit's enough. Give her to me." He gripped Florence's arm in a way that brought white lines of pain to her face.

At that instant an astonishing thing happened. A body hurdling through the doorway struck the giant amidship and sent him bowling over like a ten-pin. As he fell he crashed into the table and overturned it. The three candles cut circles through the air, then sputtered out, leaving the place in darkness.

At once Florence's head was in a whirl. What should she do? Try to escape? Perhaps. But where was the door? She had lost her sense of direction. As she took a step forward her foot caught in some garment and, loosing her hold on the child, she fell heavily.

Stunned by the fall, she lay motionless. As her wandering senses returned she became conscious of the beings about her. She caught the heavy breathing of the old man. No sound came from the corner by the fire. Like all those of their race, the mountain women were neither whining nor sobbing over this sudden commotion in their home, but stood stolidly waiting the next surprising turn of fortune's wheel.

Darkness continued. Two red coals on the hearth glowed like eyes, but gave forth no light.

Suddenly, as Florence listened, she heard the sharp drawn breath of one in pain.

Who could this be? The person who had leaped through the door? Perhaps, but who was he?