He peered carefully out toward the cooking-fire. The fire had died down now and was deserted. By the sounds coming from the larger dugout Reivers knew that Moir and his men were occupied with their supper, supplemented by occasional drafts of liquor, and once more he crawled out upon the sand. With a snarl the great dog leaped again, his bared fangs flashing in the night. The snarl died in a choke. Reivers’ long arms flashed out and his fingers caught the dog by the throat so swiftly and surely that not another sound came from between its teeth. It was a big, strong dog and it died hard, but out there on the sand Reivers sat, silently keeping his hold till the last sign of life had gone from the brute’s body. Not a sound rose to attract attention from the larger dugout. When the animal was quite dead Reivers crawled forward and untied the chain that held it to a rock. Noiselessly he crawled farther on and noiselessly slipped the carcass into the brook. The brisk current caught it and dragged it down. Reivers waited until he saw the thing disappear into the dark tunnel at the lower end of the cavern, then returned to the dugout and quietly lay down on his blankets. “God’s blood!” gasped MacGregor and sat silent. “Well,” yawned Reivers, “our friend Moir is short one dog.” “You crazy fool!” MacGregor was grinding his teeth. “Ha’ you no’ thought of what Shanty Moir will do when he finds what you’ve done to his watch-dog?” “What I have done?” Reivers laughed his idiotic squaw-man’s laugh. “D’you suppose a poor old bum like me could throttle a man-eater like that beast? You’ll be the one to be blamed for it. Why should I touch Moir’s dog? Moir and I came here together, chummy as a couple of thieves.” “You would not—you could not do that? You could not put it on me? Man, they’d drop me in the river after the beast, if you got them to believe it.” “Well?” said Reivers gently. The Scot bit his lip and grew crafty. “Well,” he said, “there’d be only you left then to do the dirt-hauling for Shanty Moir.” Reivers nodded appreciatively. “You deserve something for that, Mac,” said he. He lay silent for a few minutes. Then he chuckled suddenly as if he had thought of a good joke. “Watch me closely now, Mac,” he ordered, “and if you ever feel like speaking that word to Moir, I’ll holler at you worse than this.” He rolled himself to the front of the dugout, and suddenly there rang out in the cavern such a shriek of terror as stopped the blood in the veins of all who heard. Twice Reivers uttered his horrible cry. Then he began to shout drunkenly: “Take him off, take him away! Oh, oh, oh! Big dog coming out of the river. Take him away. Big dog swimming in the river. Take him away. Help, help!”