Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 137: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

128 She leaped the narrowest end of the fissure, and trotted up the further slopes of the basin still yapping angrily. Her nose was in the air defiantly; the bristles of her withers stood up. She stopped with a quick jerk as she neared the top. Planting her fore legs stiffly before her, she began a series of shrill yelpings, dancing in her excite- ment. Her bark leaped a couple of octaves into a shriek of fear, and out from be- hind a boulder loomed the hideous tri- angular head we knew too well. The Monster of the cafion lumbered into view, and the little dog turned and flew for us frantically, not the merest indica- tion of her tail in evidence, so tightly was it tucked between her legs. In her unseeing terror she _ fled straight towards us, not avoiding the cleft. Consequently she came slap up- on it, and unable to stop, charged straight into it. With a thump and a squeak she fell into the angle of the bottom. Being so far above her we could plainly see how she was caught in the nip of the crevice, where she remained struggling desper- ately upon her back, howling piercingly as she twisted and wriggled between the cruel stones. We had commenced to run for our rock, which was fortunately only about two hundred yards distant. The Beast was still about a quarter of a mile from the ship and the fissure, out of which still came poor “Fidget’s heartrending yells. “ Poor little wretch,” I remarked to Gwen, as I turned back to face the as- THE ARGOSY. cent. “ But I expect it'll be mercifully quick and soon over.”’ No answer came, and [I was aware— and the blood within me seemed to freeze with the knowledge—that Gwen was flying down the slope to where the little dog lay howling, her eyes ablaze, her curls streaming in the wind. She was calling Fidget desperately by name, while towards her with steadfast, leis- ured tread rolled that great Horror, as three centuries before he had swung down upon the hapless Mayan maiden. ‘ Stop,” I screamed, “ for God’s sake stop!” and I flung away my burden and raced madly down the slope. She gave no heed, still calling loudly to Fidget, whose whinings increased as we drew nearer. I ran as I have never run before or since; I saw the eyes of the Beast glint emerald sheened in the sun; I saw his ungainly waddle break into a cumber- some trot, and the desperation of my speed brought me to Gwen’s side in a couple of seconds. “Stop! Are you mad?” I yelled. ‘“What’s a dog’s life to yours?” and I snatched at her shoulder to drag her back. A pebble shot from under my feet, glancing upon the water smooth gran- ite, I fell heavily, while a thousand stars danced before my eyes. As I scrambled dazedly to my feet, 1 saw Gwen thirty yards away lifting Fidget from the cleft, and rushed to meet her as she turned to run towards me. The Beast was a short furlong distant. (To be continued.) WHEN ‘“ HOME, SWEET HOME’”’ WAS SUNG. For one sweet moment, and there seemed No North or South land there, Across the river’s breast there gleamed The holiness of prayer. S. H. M. Byers. ECORRIC OO© eo