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 from a woman smitten suddenly with terror; yet it was an utterly inhuman cry, savage and wild and menacing, fiercer even than the chorus of the wolves.

Ugly Meg found her tongue first.

"Speak of the devil" she said grimly, her eyes on Lachlan's face.

Mr. O'Sullivan glanced at Jolie, marked the pallor of her cheeks.

"Perhaps," he suggested hopefully, "that was the real thing we heard—a real panther. What say you, lad?"

Lachlan made no reply. Already Almayne was at his side, speaking rapidly in a low voice, his gray-blue eyes alight. Lachlan nodded, turned swiftly to Jolie.

"Mam'selle," he said, "we will go now—you and Almayne and I. It was the signal agreed upon with Striking Hawk. It means that pursuers from Charles Town are coming. Mr. O'Sullivan, you cannot come with us—your mule could not keep up. Ready, Mam'selle? Then—ride."

Meg Pearson's long arm encircled Jolie's slim shoulders. Leaning forward, she kissed the girl upon the forehead.

"God's blessing on you, my lamb," she whispered. "We'll do what we can for you here."

Nunda the Moon-Face leaped forward as Almayne's heels dug into the piebald's flanks. "Now, lamb!" cried Meg, and struck Selu's haunch with her open palm. They were off, racing straight up the