The Lions of the Lord | Page 4

one of them was surely
bewitched.
Out he strode to the middle of the street, between two rows of
yellowing maples, and there he shouted again and still more loudly to
evoke some shape or sound of life, sending a full, high, ringing call up
the empty thoroughfare. Between the shouts he scanned the near-by
houses intently.
At last, half-way up the next block, even as his lungs filled for another
peal, he thought his eyes caught for a short half-second the mere thin
shadow of a skulking figure. It had seemed to pass through a grape
arbour that all but shielded from the street a house slightly more
pretentious than its neighbours. He ran toward the spot, calling as he
went. But when he had vaulted over the low fence, run across the
garden and around the end of the arbour, dense with the green leaves
and clusters of purple grapes, the space in front of the house was bare.
If more than a trick-phantom of his eye had been there, it had vanished.
He stood gazing blankly at the front door of the house. Was it fancy
that he had heard it shut a second before he came? that his nerves still
responded to the shock of its closing? He had already imagined so
many noises of the kind, so many misty shapes fleeing before him with
little soft rustlings, so many whispers at his back and hushed cries
behind the closed doors. Yet this door had seemed to shut more
tangibly, with a warmer promise of life. He went quickly up the three
wooden steps, turned the knob, and pushed it open--very softly this
time. No one appeared. But, as he stood on the threshold, while the
pupils of his eyes dilated to the gloom of the hall into which he looked,
his ears seemed to detect somewhere in the house a muffled footfall
and the sound of another door closed softly.
He stepped inside and called. There was no answer, but above his head
a board creaked. He started up the stairs in front of him, and, as he did
so, he seemed to hear cautious steps across a bare floor above. He
stopped climbing; the steps ceased. He started up, and the steps came
again. He knew now they came from a room at the head of the stairs.

He bounded up the remaining steps and pushed open the door with a
loud "Halloo!"
The room was empty. Yet across it there was the indefinable trail of a
presence,--an odour, a vibration, he knew not what,--and where a bar of
sunlight cut the gloom under a half-raised curtain, he saw the motes in
the air all astir. Opposite the door he had opened was another, leading,
apparently, to a room at the back of the house. From behind it, he could
have sworn came the sounds of a stealthily moved body and softened
breathing. A presence, unseen but felt, was all about. Not without effort
did he conquer the impulse to look behind him at every breath.
Determined to be no longer eluded, he crossed the room on tiptoe and
gently tried the opposite door. It was locked. As he leaned against it,
almost in a terror of suspense, he knew he heard again those little
seemings of a presence a door's thickness away. He did not hesitate.
Still holding the turned knob in his hand, he quickly crouched back and
brought his flexed shoulder heavily against the door. It flew open with
a breaking sound, and, with a little gasp of triumph, he was in the room
to confront its unknown occupant.
To his dismay, he saw no one. He peered in bewilderment to the farther
side of the room, where light struggled dimly in at the sides of a
curtained window. There was no sound, and yet he could acutely feel
that presence; insistently his nerves tingled the warning of another's
nearness. Leaning forward, still peering to sound the dim corners of the
room, he called out again.
Then, from behind the door he had opened, a staggering blow was dealt
him, and, before he could recover, or had done more than blindly crook
one arm protectingly before his face, he was borne heavily to the floor,
writhing in a grasp that centered all its crushing power about his throat.
CHAPTER II.
The Wild Ram of the Mountains Slight though his figure was, it was
lithe and active and well-muscled, and he knew as they struggled that
his assailant was possessed of no greater advantage than had lain in his

point of attack. In strength, apparently, they were well-matched. Twice
they rolled over on the carpeted floor, and then, despite the big, bony
hands pressing about his throat, he turned his burden under him, and