"The creature has got shut up inside somehow. What is- "

Being unable to articulate for want of breath, I threw myself at him.

It proved to be an error, but one for which I may be excused, I think. I had not observed his fingers had already pressed the latch.

Hearing our voices, the dog had begun hurling itself at the door. It burst open. Emerson staggered back against the wall, and I fell rather heavily onto the ground.

The pariah dogs of the villages are scrawny, starved creatures of indeterminate breed. They are not pets, but feral beasts who have good cause to fear and hate human beings. Those who survive the hardships of early life do so because they are tougher and more vicious than their peers. And this one was mad.

It would have gone straight for Emerson's throat if I had not shoved him aside. Now it attacked the first object it saw- my foot. b.l.o.o.d.y foam flew in pink flecks from its jaws as it sank its teeth into my boot, shaking it, gnawing it. My parasol was still in my hand I brought it down on the dog's head. The blow would have stunned an animal less frenzied. It only drove this one to a more furious attack.

Emerson s.n.a.t.c.hed the parasol from me. Raising it over his head, he struck with all his strength. I heard the crack of bone and a last, agonized howl that will haunt my memory forever. The beast rolled over, thrashing and kicking. Emerson struck again. The sound was less sharply defined this time but equally sickening.

Emerson seized me under the arms and dragged me away from the body of the dog. His face was as white as the bandage on his cheek- whiter, if I must be accurate, for the bandage had got very dirty, and he had refused my offer to change it that morning. Abdullah stood nearby, his knife in his hand.

He was as still as a statue, and he too had gone pale.

Kneeling beside me, Emerson reached up and took Abdullah's knife. "Start a fire," he said. Abdullah stared blankly at him for a moment, and then nodded.

There was fuel at hand, part of Kevin's supplies. I was vaguely aware of Abdullah's rapid movements, but most of my attention, I confess, was focused on my boot, at which Emerson was slashing. The laces were knotted and sticky with saliva, and the part of the boot around the ankle had been torn to shreds.

"Don't touch it!" I exclaimed. "Your hands are always scratched and cut, an open wound-"

I broke off with a cry of pain I could not repress, as Emerson seized the boot in a savage grip and wrenched it off. Cyrus came round the corner of the house in time to hear my exclamation. Fury darkened his brow and he was, I think, about to hurl himself on Emerson when he saw the body of the dog. The color drained from his face as, with his usual quick intelligence, he grasped the significance of the scene.

"G.o.d in heaven!" he cried. "Did it- "

"That is what I am trying to ascertain, you d.a.m.ned fool," said Emerson, inspecting my dirty stocking with the intense concentration of a scientist peering through a microscope. "Keep them back," he added, as the others hurried up, exclaiming in question and in alarm. "And don't touch the- "

The sound that issued from his lips was not a gasp or a groan. It was a muttered expletive. I had seen it too- such a small rent, barely an inch long. But it was large enough to mean my death.

Carefully Emerson stripped the stocking off and took my bare foot in his hand.

It is not proper to be vain about one's personal appearance, and heaven knows I had little cause, but in the privacy of these pages I will confess I had always believed I had rather pretty feet. Small and narrow, with high arches, they had been described in appreciative terms by no less an authority than Emerson himself. Now he stared fixedly, not at the appendage but at the tiny scratch on my ankle. The skin had barely been broken. There were only a few drops of blood.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Abdullah said, "The fire burns well, Father of Curses." He held out his hand. I thought it trembled a little.

Emerson gave him the knife.

If Ramses had been there, he would already have been talking. Kevin was almost as perniciously loquacious as my son, so I was not surprised when he was the first to break the silence. His freckles stood out dark against the pallor of his face. "It is only the merest scratch. Perhaps the dog was not mad. Perhaps- "

"If someone does not silence that babbling idiot of an Irishman I will knock him down," said Emerson.

"We cannot afford to take the chance, Kevin," I said. "I am going to sit up now- "

"You are not going to sit up now," said Emerson, in the same remote voice. "Vandergelt, make yourself useful. Put your knapsack under her head and see if you can locate a bottle of brandy."

"I always carry a flask of brandy," I said, fumbling at my belt. "For medicinal purposes, of course.

There is water in this other flask."

Emerson took the brandy from me and wrenched off the top. I swigged it down like a hardened drunkard, for unnecessary martyrdom is not something I court. I only wished I could drink enough of the horrid stuff to render myself intoxicated and unconscious, but I knew if I consumed it too quickly I would only be sick.

Better sick, drunk, or in pain than dead. Hydrophobia is inevitably fatal, and it would be difficult to think of a more unpleasant way in which to die.

When Abdullah returned, my head was already spinning and I was glad to lie back against the support Cyrus had prepared. He knelt beside me, his face a mask of sympathetic anguish, and took my hand in his. The blade of the knife glowed cherry-red with heat. Abdullah had wrapped a cloth around the handle Emerson took it from him.

It is quite an uncomfortable sensation, of course. Oddly enough the thing I minded most was the hiss and the stench of burning flesh Someone cried out. Most probably it was I.

When I recovered my senses I felt someone's arms holding me. They were not Emerson's, blinking blurrily, I saw him standing nearby, with his back turned.

"It is all over, dearest Amelia," said Cyrus, pressing me closer. "Over, and safe, thank G.o.d."

"Excellent," I said, and fainted again.

The next time I woke I did not need to look to know who carried me cradled in his arms. I had been unconscious for some time, for when I opened my eyes I saw palm fronds overhead. A chicken squawked and flapped. Emerson must have kicked it aside. That was not like him, he usually stepped over them.

"Awake, are you?" he inquired, as I stirred feebly. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on behaving in a womanly fashion."

I turned my head and looked up at him. Perspiration had run down his cheeks and dried, leaving tracks through the dust that smeared them. "You may put me down now," I said. "I can walk."

"Oh, don't be an a.s.s, Peabody," was the irritable reply.

"Let me take her," pleaded Cyrus, close at hand as always.

"Not necessary. We are almost there."

"How do you feel, my dear?" Cyrus asked.

"Quite well," I murmured. "Well, but rather odd. My head seems to be disconnected from the rest of me. Make sure it doesn't float away, Cyrus. It is so useful, you know. For putting one's hat onto."

"She is delirious," Cyrus said anxiously.

"She is dead drunk," said Emerson. "Interesting sensation, is it not, Peabody?"

"Yes, indeed. I had no idea."

I was about to go on, explaining some of the effects I was experiencing, when I heard the sound of running feet and a voice cried out, "Emerson! O Father of Curses, wait for me! It is well. The dog was not mad. She is safe, she will not die!"

Emerson's arms squeezed like a vise and then relaxed. He turned, and I saw Abdullah hurrying toward us, waving his arms. He was grinning from ear to ear and every few steps he gave an absurd little hop, like a child skipping.

We had reached the center of the village. The procession that had followed us from the cultivation- men and women, children, chickens and goats- gathered around. Life in these villages is very dull.

Any excitement draws a crowd.

"Well?" said Emerson coolly, as his foreman came panting up.

"There had been a stick wedged in its jaws to hold its mouth open," Abdullah gasped. "The fragments pierced deep when the stick finally broke. And this"- he displayed a filthy, blood-stiffened length of tattered cord- "tied tightly around its- "

"Never mind," said Emerson, glancing at me.