"Help--help--help!"
Again and again the thrilling words burst from his throat, and as their
echoes floated back to them from the forest, like a thousand mocking
voices, Nathaniel grew hot with the sweat of horror. If he could only
have added his own voice to those cries, shrieked out the words with
Neil--joined even unavailingly in this last fight for life, it would not
have been so bad. But he was helpless. He watched the desperation grow
in his companion's face as there came no response save the taunting
echoes; even in the light of the stars he saw that face darken with its
effort, the eyes fill with a mad light, and the throat strain against
its choking thong. Gradually Neil's voice became weaker. When he stopped
to rest and listen his panting breath came to Nathaniel like the hissing
of steam. Soon the echoes failed to come back from the forest, and
Nathaniel fought like a crazed man to free himself, jerking at the
thongs that held him until his wrists were bleeding and the rawhide
about his neck choked him.
"No use!" he heard Neil say. "Better take it easy for a while, Nat!"
Marion's brother had turned toward him, his head thrown back against the
stake, his face lifted to the sky. Nathaniel raised his own head, and
found that he could breath easier. For a long time his companion did not
break the silence. Mentally he began counting off the seconds. It was
past midnight--probably one o'clock. Dawn came at half past two, the sun
rose an hour later.
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