Together they pushed on, shouting as they went, and then Frank James brought slight ease of mind to Justin by reminding him that Anstice had Hercules with her. Justin, after that, whistled a peculiar whistle of his, which Hercules would hear and answer if he were anywhere within reach. A fruitless hour passed, and then the two separated, going in different directions. Justin determined to reach Rutherswater, if he could. Anstice, he argued to himself, might still be taking refuge with the old Nixons. So he pushed on, missing his track continually, retracing his steps to find it again, and all the time shouting and whistling to Hercules.
At last, there was a thudding of feet, a big form sprang upon him with a low whimper of recognition. It was the mastiff. He heaved a deep sigh of relief. He was on the right track.
"All right, old fellow. Take me to her! Fetch her!"
Hercules understood; but as he was bounding away Justin gripped him by the collar.
"Not so fast, my man! I don't mean to lose you again if I can help it."
He took off a muffler he had round his throat, and slipped one end of it through the mastiff's collar. Then suffered himself to be led along at breakneck speed. But he believed in Hercules, and did not expect to be dashed over the edge of some crag.
After a quarter of an hour's hard walking, they came right off the path amongst rough blocks of granite. Here Justin stumbled again and again, but Hercules led steadily on, and then—was it fancy? He thought he heard a faint cry in the distance. They were descending now a steep, precipitous path. It was dangerous going. But they rounded a sharp corner and came upon a flat grassy plateau. And here, dimly through the moving mist, he saw, under the shadow of a sharp overhanging crag, a figure.
"Anstice!" he shouted.
And her voice, clear as a bell, answered him:
"I am here. This way!"