Mists of Dawn (62 page)

Then
another
sound
came
into
the
cave,
a
different sound.
For
a
moment,
Mark
could
not
place
it.
It
was something
of
a
whine,
and
yet
it
was
something
of
a snarl
.
.
.

Mark
leaped
to
his
feet,
wide
awake,
the
.45
ready in
his
hand.
His
first
thought
was
of
the
half-men, and
he
felt
himself
shuddering.
He
would
kill
himself
before
he
would
surrender
to
those
monsters
again, but
he
would
take
a
few
of
them
along
with
him. He
waited,
holding
his
breath.
Nothing
happened.

The
sound
came
again,
and
Mark
peered
cautiously at
the
mouth
of
the
cave.
He
couldn’t
see
anything. He
took
a
long
stick
with
his
free
hand
and
stirred up
die
fire.
The
circle
of
light
expanded,
slowly.
There, a
dark
shadow!
Mark
took
careful
aim,
but
held
his fire.

“Who
is
it?”
he
called.
“What
do
you
want?”

No
answer.
There
was
only
the
night,
and
the
moon, and
the
shadows.

“Answer
or
die!”
Mark
hissed,
his
finger
curling
on the
trigger.

There
was
a
low
whine.
The
shadow
moved
and came
into
the
circle
of
firelight.

“Well,
I’ll
be
darned,”
Mark
muttered
in
relief.

The
thing
was
an
animal.
More
than
that,
it
was
a
dog.
At
least,
it
looked
so
much
like
a
dog
Mark
could not
see
any
difference.
He
was
almost
full-grown,
a brownish-gray
in
color,
and
looked
a
great
deal
like an
Arctic
husky.
He
was
lying
flat
on
his
belly,
his head
cocked
to
one
side
in
a
questioning
attitude,
his bushy
tail
wagging
hopefully.

Mark
remembered
at
once
the
sounds
he
had
heard coming
from
this
cave
when
he
had
first
arrived among
the
Danequa,
and
it
did
not
take
him
long
to put
two
and
two
together.
He
did
not
believe
that the
Danequa
had
domesticated
the
dog,
in
the
sense of
keeping
them
and
breeding
them
in
captivity.
But it
was
certainly
possible
that
they
permitted
some
of them
to
hang
around
the
camp,
living
in
empty
caverns,
to
feed
on
the
scraps
and
thus
keep
the
place clean.
No
doubt
they
even
petted
them
occasionally, and
perhaps
played
with
the
puppies.
At
any
rate, this
dog
looked
anything
but
vicious.
He
seemed
to be
pathetically
eager
to
make
friends.

“Well,
boy,”
Mark
said,
speaking
now
in
English, “did
I
put
you
out
of
your
home?”

The
dog
thumped
his
tail
affirmatively.

“No
offense,”
Mark
assured
him.
“Come
here.
I’m
glad
to
have
some
company.”

Eying
Mark,
the
dog
came
forward
very
slowly, and
stretched
out
by
the
fire.
Not
wanting
to
scare him
away,
Mark
moved
over
carefully,
and
gently scratched
his
ears.
The
dog
stiffened,
then
relaxed
and wagged
his
tail
vigorously.

Mark
listened
to
the
distant
throb
of
the
drums, and
the
eerie
singing
of
the
Danequa.
The
night
wind moaned
outside,
and
the
silver
moon
floated
through a
sea
of
stars.

“That’s
right,”
Mark
whispered
to
the
dog,
“you
just stay
right
here.
You
and
I—
we’ll
be
alone
together.”