Josephine stood free.  She had seen Philip drop his pistol and she sprang to the spot where it had fallen.  It was buried under the snow.  The four men were on the ground now, Philip under.  She heard a gasping sound—­and then, far away, something else:  a sound that thrilled her, that sent her voice back through the forest in cry after cry.

What she heard was the wailing cry of the dog pack, her pack, following over the trail which her abductors had made in their flight from Adare House!  A few steps away she saw a heavy stick in the snow.  Fiercely she tore it loose, ran back to the men, and began striking blindly at those who were choking the life from Philip.

Lang had risen to his knees, clutching his throat, and now staggered toward her.  She struck at him, and he caught the club.  The dogs heard her cries now.  Half a mile back in the forest they were coming in a gray, fierce horde.  Only Josephine knew, as she struggled with Lang.  Under his assailants, Philip’s strength was leaving him.  Iron fingers gripped at his throat.  A flood of fire seemed bursting his head.  Josephine’s cries were drifting farther and farther away, and his face was as Lang’s face had been a few moments before.

Nearer and nearer swept the pack, covering that last half mile with the speed of the wind, the huge yellow form of Hero leading the others by a body’s length.  They made no sound now.  When they shot out of the forest into the little opening they had come so silently that even Lang did not see them.  In another moment they were upon him.  Josephine staggered back, her eyes big and wild with horror.  She saw him go down, and then his shrieks rang out like a madman’s.  The others were on their feet, and not until she saw Philip lying still and white on the snow did the power of speech return to her lips.  She sprang toward the dogs.

“Kill!  Kill!  Kill!” she cried.  “Hero—­kill!  Nipa Hao, boys!  Beaver—­Wolf&m
dash;­Hero—­Captain—­kill—­kill—­kill!”

As her own voice rang out, Lang’s screams ceased, and then she saw Philip dragging himself to his knees.  At her calls there came a sudden surge in the pack, and those who could not get at Lang leaped upon the remaining three.  With a cry Josephine fell upon her knees beside Philip, clasping his head in her arms, holding him in the protection of her own breast as they looked upon the terrible scene.

For a moment more she looked, and then she dropped her face on Philip’s shoulder with a ghastly cry.  Still partly dazed, Philip stared.  Screams such as he had never heard before came from the lips of the dying men.  From screams they turned to moaning cries, and then to a horrible silence broken only by the snarling grind of the maddened dogs.

Strength returned to Philip quickly.  He felt Josephine limp and lifeless in his arms, and with an effort he staggered to his feet, half carrying her.  A few yards away was a small tepee in which Lang had kept her.  He partly carried, partly dragged her to this, and then he returned to the dogs.