Old Donald had come close to his side, and at the look in the gray old mountaineer’s face John Aldous paused.  Slowly Donald laid his hands on his shoulders.

“Johnny,” he said gently, “Johnny, be you sure of yourself?  Be you a man, Johnny?”

“Good heaven, Donald.  You mean——­”

Their eyes met steadily.

“If you are, Johnny,” went on MacDonald in a low voice, “I’d take her with me.  An’ if you ain’t, I’d leave these mount’ins to-night an’ never look in her sweet face again as long as I lived.”

“You’d take her along?” demanded Aldous eagerly.

“I would.  I’ve been thinkin’ it over to-night.  An’ something seemed to tell me we mustn’t dare leave her here alone.  There’s just two things to do, Johnny.  You’ve got to stay with her an’ let me go on alone or—­you’ve got to take her.”

Slowly Aldous shook his head.  He looked at his watch.  It was a little after ten.

“If I could make myself believe that she would not be safe here—­I would take her,” he said.  “But I can’t quite make up my mind to that, Mac.  She will be in good hands with the Blacktons.  I will warn Paul.  Joanne is determined to go, and I know she will think it pretty indecent to be told emphatically that she can’t go.  But I’ve got to do it.  I can’t see——­”

A break in the stillness of the night stopped him with the suddenness of a bullet in his brain.  It was a scream—­a woman’s scream, and there followed it shriek after shriek, until the black forest trembled with the fear and agony of the cries, and John Aldous stood as if suddenly stripped of the power to move or act.  Donald MacDonald roused him to life.  With a roar in his beard, he sprang forth into the darkness.  And Aldous followed, a hot sweat of fear in his blood where a moment before had been only a chill of wonder and horror.  For in Donald’s savage beastlike cry he had caught Joanne’s name, and an answering cry broke from his own lips as he followed the great gaunt form that was tearing with the madness of a wounded bear ahead of him through the night.

CHAPTER XXII

Not until they had rushed up out of the coulee and had reached the pathlike trail did the screaming cease.  For barely an instant MacDonald paused, and then ran on with a speed that taxed Aldous to keep up.  When they came to the little open amphitheatre in the forest MacDonald halted again.  Their hearts were thumping like hammers, and the old mountaineer’s voice came husky and choking when he spoke.

“It wasn’t far—­from here!” he panted.