She had ridden much of late, taking long, solitary gallops beside the shimmering sea that she loved so well, or up the winding valleys into the foot-hills where echoed the roar of swift waters or glinted the flash of shovel blades.  This morning her horse was lame, so she determined to walk.  In her early rambles she had looked timidly askance at the rough men she met till she discovered their genuine respect and courtesy.  The most unkempt among them were often college-bred, although, for that matter, the roughest of the miners showed abundant consideration for a woman.  So she was glad to allow the men to talk to her with the fine freedom inspired by the new country and its wide spaces.  The wilderness breeds a chivalry all its own.

Thus there seemed to be no danger abroad, though they had told the girl of mad dogs which roamed the city, explaining that the hot weather affects powerfully the thick-coated, shaggy “malamoots.”  This is the land of the dog, and whereas in winter his lot is to labor and shiver and starve, in summer he loafs, fights, grows fat, and runs mad with the heat.

Helen walked far and, returning, chose an unfamiliar course through the outskirts of the town to avoid meeting any of the women she knew, because of that vivid memory of the night before.  As she walked swiftly along she thought that she heard faint cries far behind her.  Looking up, she noted that it was a lonely, barren quarter and that the only figure in sight was a woman some distance away.  A few paces farther on the shouts recurred—­more plainly this time, and a gunshot sounded.  Glancing back, she saw several men running, one bearing a smoking revolver, and heard, nearer still, the snarling hubbub of fighting dogs.  In a flash the girl’s curiosity became horror, for, as she watched, one of the dogs made a sudden dash through the now subdued group of animals and ran swiftly along the planking on which she stood.  It was a handsome specimen of the Eskimo malamoot—­tall, gray, and coated like a wolf, with the speed, strength, and cunning of its cousin.  Its head hung low and swung from side to side as it trotted, the motion flecking foam and slaver.  The creature had scattered the pack, and now, swift, menacing, relentless, was coming towards Helen.  There was no shelter near, no fence, no house, save the distant one towards which the other woman was making her way.  The men, too far away to protect her, shouted hoarse warnings.

Helen did not scream nor hesitate—­she turned and ran, terror-stricken, towards the distant cottage.  She was blind with fright and felt an utter certainty that the dog would attack her before she could reach safety.  Yes—­there was the quick patter of his pads close up behind her; her knees weakened; the sheltering door was yet some yards away.  But a horse, tethered near the walk, reared and snorted as the flying pair drew near.  The mad creature swerved, leaped at the horse’s legs, and snapped in fury.  Badly frightened at this attack, the horse lunged at his halter, broke it, and galloped away; but the delay had served for Helen, weak and faint, to reach the door.  She wrenched at the knob.  It was locked.  As she turned hopelessly away, she saw that the other woman was directly behind her, and was, in her turn, awaiting the mad animal’s onslaught, but calmly, a tiny revolver in her hand.