pail of water, and that all they want is to be allowed to get the water, and go." 

 "Why should a watchman hide behind a tree?" asked the girl.  "And why——" 

 She ceased abruptly with a sharp cry of fright.  "What's that?" she whispered. 

 "What's what?" asked the young man startled.  "What did you hear?" 

 "Over there," stammered the girl.  "Something—that—groaned." 

 "Pretty soon this will get on my nerves," said the man. He ripped open his greatcoat and reached under it.  "I've been stoned twice, when there were women in the car," he said, apologetically, "and so now at night I carry a gun."  He shifted the darkened torch to his left hand, and, moving a few yards, halted to listen. The girl, reluctant to be left alone, followed slowly. As he stood immovable there came from the leaves just beyond him the sound of a feeble struggle, and a strangled groan. The man bent forward and flashed the torch. He saw stretched rigid on the ground a huge wolf-hound. Its legs were twisted horribly, the lips drawn away from the teeth, the eyes glazed in an agony of pain. The man snapped off the light.  "Keep back!" he whispered to the girl. He took her by the arm and ran with her toward the gate. 

 "Who was it?" she begged. 

 "It was a dog," he answered.  "I think——" 

 He did not tell her what he thought. 

 "I've got to find out what the devil has happened to Fred!" he said. "You go back to the car. Send your brother here on the run. Tell him there's going to be a rough-house. You're not afraid to go?" 

 "No," said the girl. 

 A shadow blacker than the night rose suddenly before them, and a voice asked sternly but quietly:  "What are you doing here?" 

 The young man lifted his arm clear of the girl, and shoved her quickly from him. In his hand she felt the pressure of the revolver. 

 "Well," he replied truculently, "and what are you doing here?" 

 "I am the night watchman," answered the voice.  "Who are you?" 

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