Then his lips parted to shout to Grip to be quiet, but he did not utter the words, for he stopped short just as he neared the first stone of the circle, on hearing the dog begin to bark furiously again, and a savage voice roar loudly,—
“Get out, or I’ll crush your head with this stone!”
Chapter Twenty.
A Doubtful Acquaintance.
Gwyn recognised the voice, and knew what was the matter, and his first aim was to make a rush to protect his dog from the crushing blow which would probably be given him with one of the many weather-worn fragments of granite lying about among the great monoliths. But he was just where he could not make such a rush, for it would have been into a dense bed of gorse as high as himself, and forming a chevaux de frise of millions of sharp thorns.
The next best plan was to shout loudly, “You hurt my dog if you dare—” though the man might dare, and cast the stone all the same.
But Gwyn did neither of these things, for another familiar voice rose from beyond the furze, crying loudly,—
“You let that dog alone! You touch him and I’ll set him to worry you. Once he gets his teeth into you, he won’t let go. Here, Grip! Come to heel!”