In the dim gray of the early morning forms were seen walking about the lighthouse. They were men, and among them was the keeper. The others wore clothes that reminded the pariah of former days, and one stranger seemed to be familiar to him. This was a man, short, broad, and bearded, with bow legs set wide apart, and long arms with huge hands and crooked fingers. He was ugly, and reminded him of the crabs he had seen and captured in the streams during the summer. There was something of the crab about the queer little fellow, and his very ugliness attracted the dog’s attention. It brought back some memory of past days, a memory that was not all unpleasant, yet indistinct and unreal.
As the day dawned and the snow grew deeper the outcast waited no longer. He held up his nose and let forth a howl that was heard above the snore of the gale, and which brought the light-keeper to attention. He came running with a club, and behind him followed the stranger with the crablike body.
“Sink me if I aint got ye at last, ye varmint!” yelled the keeper as he drew near. Then he halted. “A dog—what—jest a common everyday dog? But I’ll make a good dog out o’ ye in a minute. All dead dogs is good dogs, an’ you’ll do.”
He advanced with raised club, and the pariah crouched for a spring. He would try for one last good bite. All the savageness of his mixed blood surged through his fierce mind. He gave a low growl and showed his teeth, and his eyes were like bits of yellow flame.
“Hold on thar, stranger; don’t kill that ’ar dog. Wait a bit,” said the ugly man, waddling up behind. “What, caught ’im in a trap?”
“Sure I got him in a trap. D’ye want me to loose him?” asked the keeper testily.
“That’s erbout the size o’ my games,” said the ugly man. “Yew may think it a go, but that ’ar dog looks uncommon like the one I lost aboard the Seagull when she went ashore hereabouts last year. He ware a good dog, part wolf, part hound, and the rest a mixture I don’t exactly remember. Lemme try ’im?”
“Gwan, man; that critter is been stealin’ chickens since last summer,” said the keeper, but at the same time he allowed the ugly fellow to have his way.
“Hey, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!” said the ugly sailor. “Don’t yew know me, Sammy?” And he bent forward toward him.
The pariah gazed at him. What did he mean? What was that voice? It sounded like that of the man who had brought him aboard the vessel he had gone ashore in. The only human who had never struck him or offered him harm. He hardly remembered the ugly fellow, for he had only been in the ship a short time before she was lost.