She ran closer. She saw old Thor, Thor who had learned to love her and whom she had learned to love, lying limp in Standing's arms. Thor dead? Some one had killed him, then, and Standing, above the booming of the waterfall, had heard? A sight, perhaps, to stir that wild, uncontrollable laughter of Lynette! The sight of a big, strong man half weeping over a dead dog in his arms.... Yet, when she came running to him and dropped down on her knees and put out her quick hand and Standing turned his face toward her ... he saw that this time there was no laughter in her. Instead, her eyes were wet with a sudden dash of tears. "He's not dead ... we won't have it that he's dead! Thor!" she cried softly. She did not realize that she had put her warm, sympathetic hand on Standing's arm before her other hand found the old dog's head. "Thor!... Thor!" Thor looked up at her; at Standing. The dog tried to stir; the faithful tongue strove to overmaster the terrible inertia laid upon it; to grant in last adulation the last farewell. For a stricken dog, like a stricken man, knows after the way of all creatures which have the spark of eternity within them, when the day's end is in doubt.... Standing tried to speak ... and grew silent. How she hated herself then for that other time when he had slipped, through sorrowing rage, into his one unmanly failing ... and she had laughed! Her tears began running down. He saw; he jerked his head about, focussing his eyes upon the eyes of a dog that he loved; a dog that had been faithful to him. "Where is he hurt? He can't be shot," cried Lynette. "We would have heard a shot! If he is poisoned...." Standing had mastered himself. He said coldly. "Look!" "Who did ... _that_?" "If I only knew! My God, if I only knew!" Thor was not dead; his body jerked and quivered now and again, in spasms. Yet he seemed to be dying. And it grew clear to Lynette, as, at a glance, it had been clear to Standing, what had happened. Thor had been left in charge of camp; but the one word had rung in the faithful head: "Watch!" And then some one had come; Thor had been true to his trust; some man had struck him down with club or a rifle barrel; had struck and struck again. Thor's fore leg was broken; he had been battered over the head ... bones were broken, the skull seemed crushed ... the dog stiffened; fell back.... "Dying," said Standing, still on his knees. He placed old Thor very gently on the ground, striving after his own rough fashion to make a dog's last few minutes of breathing no more tormenting than was inevitable. "Thor," said Standing gently. "Good old Thor!" The dog tried to rouse. The old faithful head on Standing's knee stirred ever so little. The old steadfast eyes, red-rimmed but clear-sighted, were on Standing's. If ever a dog could have spoken.... Standing, with sudden thought, jumped to his feet.