The presence of the dog filled the engineer with a fear that he had not
anticipated. Not for an instant did the brute give slack to his tongue
as they raced through the night, and Howland knew now that the storm and
the darkness were of little avail in his race for life. There was but
one chance, and he determined to take it. Gradually he slackened his
pace, drawing and cocking his revolver; then he turned suddenly to
confront the yelping Nemesis behind him. Three times he fired in quick
succession at a moving blot in the snow-gloom, and there went up from
that blot a wailing cry that he knew was caused by the deep bite
of lead.
Again he plunged on, a muffled shout of defiance on his lips. Never had
the fire of battle raged in his veins as now. Back in the window,
listening in terror, praying for him, was Meleese. The knowledge that
she was there, that at last he had won her and was fighting for her,
stirred him with a joy that was next to madness. Nothing could stop him
now. He loaded his revolver as he ran, slackening his pace as he covered
greater distance, for he knew that in the storm his trail could be
followed scarcely faster than a walk.
He gave no thought to Jean Croisset, bound hand and foot in the little
cabin on the mountain.
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