A strange and tragic blankness came into Hugh’s face. The lips seemed to waver, the firm set of the jaw weakened,—just for an instant. Despair was upon him. Seemingly the forest had beaten him down and broken him at last. Blow after blow, disaster upon disaster, until the spirit broke beneath them. “So you’ve deserted me, old Shep,” he said simply. “So you’re fleeing to save yourself.” For was he not taking the same path that Alice had taken, heading for the deep canyon where perhaps the fire had not yet crept and the pass was open? The blow went deep to Hugh. He was down at last to the elements of life—with death, a stern reality, even now stretching dreadful arms toward him—and it is not good in such moments to have an ancient and beloved trust betrayed. The fight was lost: no honor remained except to go down with the ship. But Hugh hadn’t understood. A pin-prick through the air, Shep had heard the crack of José’s rifle. This in itself would not have been enough to call him from his post of duty with the flocks. But through the air came even clearer messages: mysterious vibrations such as only the lower creatures of the earth—closer to the heart of things than their proud masters—could receive. No man may tell in what language those messages were sent, by what impulse they came tingling through the still forest to him, and by what law within himself he made his answer. But it was always the way of the great shepherd dog to hasten to the aid of those of his flock who were in peril. Perhaps in his heart of hearts this slim, tall mistress of his—one whose word must never be disobeyed—was also just one of his wards, in whose service his life was merely a pawn. But in the secret ways of the wilderness he knew of her distress, and had sped to give help. CHAPTER XXVII While José Mertos had been riding, Landy Fargo had been busy, too. It wasn’t enough just to order things done, and later to learn of their accomplishment. In the hand, more than the brain, lies the gratification of vengeance; and Fargo didn’t intend to miss this satisfaction. Riding swiftly, he had lighted the circle of fires in front of the sheep flock. Exultation was upon him when he saw the red, greedy flames creeping into the trees. It was his long-awaited moment. By no conceivable circumstances could the flock and its shepherd escape. He had prepared for every emergency, blockaded every pass. The blows that Hugh had dealt him were paid for at last. His dog-pack been laid low, in a still, ugly, curious heap—but there would be other silent ones before this night was done. And there would be less of beauty in these still forms than in those of his slain pets. Everything was square at last. His brutal lips leered and his eyes burned.