“Yes,” Garth assented, with a quiver in his voice, “and may Heaven grant we find him safe!”
The plain looked particularly gloomy and uninviting, owing to the almost total absence of fungi, save for a few isolated clumps, whose presence but made the twilight more gloomy by contrast.
Yet over it the twain must go if they would find their friend, daring its hidden dangers, and braving all the terrors of this unknown land. So, looking well to their weapons, the two comrades stepped out.
Hardly had they taken half a dozen paces when once more that thrilling, wolfish cry arose, but this time it came from somewhere close at hand.
Seymour pulled up sharply, listening intently.
“By Jove! they’ve scented us!” he cried as the howl was repeated. “Back into the valley; we shall stand a better chance there.”
Quick as a flash he turned, and leapt for the glade they had left.
Garth, following, tripped over a trailing fungus, and, losing his footing, pitched heavily to earth. Ere he could rise a bony hand gripped his neck; he received a sharp blow on the head, and then consciousness left him.
“Where are you, Garth?” Seymour called; “this is the way.”
Alarmed at receiving no answer, the baronet retraced his steps.