And at that instant the thicket behind them parted as a terrible avenger leaped through. It was not his first leap in vengeance. Many times, in his years of service, he had sprung with magnificent ferocity at the throat of a wolf that menaced the white sheep in his care. But never before had he sprung so true, with such shattering power and dreadful fury. White fangs that could carry a lamb as tenderly as the arms of a shepherdess flashed in the firelight. Just as she had said, the wilderness had spoken. One of the guardians of the flock had swept to her aid. Because he was in defense of his own, obeying the laws of his inmost being, his blow had the might not only of the wilderness but of that high power that has waged war with the wilderness, tamed its passions, subjugated its peoples. No man may say if love for this tall shepherdess was a factor too. Without its impulse, the lesser creatures do not often unleash their fury against man. Shep the dog had come because it was his duty and his destiny, and he sprang like a tigress through the air. The great shepherd dog struck like a wolf, aiming straight for the throat. José had no time to ward off the blow. His back was to the thicket. He didn’t even see it come. Gleaming fangs tore once at his dark flesh. Then for an instant there was only the red fire and the red sky, with the wilderness bathed in their glow between. The dog had dropped silently to his four feet and was crouched, waiting to see if another blow were needed. The girl’s face seemed bereft of all life. And that which had been a man was only a huddled heap in the pine needles, dark and strange and impotent as the dust. Red fire and red sky, and now a scarlet fountain, playing softly with ever decreasing impulses, on the parched earth. Shep had avenged the insult. And in paying the debt the pair of hands that might have untied the bonds that held Alice in the path of the fire were stilled. CHAPTER XXIX Almost in a breath Shep’s ferocity passed away. He eyed the still form for a sign of life, but quickly the fierce yellow lights died from his eyes. The avenger, the remorseless slayer was gone, and just the shepherd, rare comrade and fellow guardian of the flocks, remained. His tail wagged in friendship, the stiff hairs began to lie down at the animal’s shoulders. And he looked up in inarticulate appeal to the girl’s face. “It’s no use, old boy,” the girl told him. “I’m tied fast and I can’t go with you. And—yes—the fire is coming.” She told the truth. It had still a long way to go before it encompassed the floor of the draw, but it was steadily, remorselessly drawing nearer. The dog whined softly. The girl shook her head. “I can’t go, old boy,” she repeated. “We’re lost—you and I and your master, too. You’ve helped us all you can.”