Stamford gasped. Most prominent in the medley of feelings gripping him was a desire to laugh hysterically. It was so like the big innocent fellow to present himself like that, as if they were meeting in a game of hide-and-seek—nothing more.
"I'm f-frightened," came the stammering whisper again, as the Professor's huge hand fell on Stamford's arm.
The steps before the house moved lightly round to the window.
"Are you awake, Mr. Stamford?"
Close to the house, just beyond range of the window, Mary Aikens was standing, terrified, pleading for companionship and comfort. The Professor's grip tightened so convulsively that Stamford almost cried out.
She must have heard the movement.
"What is it, Mr. Stamford, oh, what is it?"
Stamford wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her like a big brother.
"It's only dogs, Mrs. Aikens—somebody's dogs on a coyote or antelope trail."
He was trying to reassure her with his tone even more than with his words.