swamp. Its course had once been traced back and found to extend through the worst part of the region for about a mile and thence into the hills, where its only source was found to be a series of small springs. At the bank of this repulsive waterway I stopped and began to examine the locality closely. Finally I found what I had been looking for, namely, a multitude of footprints in the soft mud. A glance at these was enough to convince me as to who had made the tracks, but such evidence was as nothing to that which now met my eye. For a little to the right of the trail, half hidden in a tuft of rank grass into which it had evidently been unwittingly dropped, lay father's familiar old hunting knife! I bowed my head; all hope had left me.
But I had little time to stand here sadly musing, for the strange behavior of the dog now claimed my attention. He stood a little way ahead of me along the bank, trembling from head to drooping tail; first whining beseechingly back at me, then snarling with a sort of frightened ferocity as he gazed ahead to where the trail led into a dark, evil-looking glade. Absently dropping the knife into a trousers pocket, I hastened to follow his fear-halted lead; and my quest came to an abrupt end!
The glade—what a hideous spot it was! The river at this point was but a desolation of cat-o'-nine-tails, rank growths and green, slimy water. Little green lizards basked dreamily on rotting logs and swam lazily about in the stagnant pool. Brilliant-colored dragon-flies poised for a breathless instant over foul, exotic lilies, only to dart away into black, hot aisles of the swamp. Leeches were everywhere, and now and again a water snake came zigzagging among the lily pads in search of prey. More noisome still, the bottom of the pool and its filthy banks were littered with all kinds of dead creatures—all sizes of bodies, from those of tiny squirrels up to the carcasses of bob-cats and even deer. Not one of them bore a visible wound, and every one was almost colorless. Those soaking in the murky water were bloated into gross exaggerations of their proper sizes, but those on the banks were dry, shriveled, shrunken things! All this I noted as in a wondering dream, the while I gazed on the body of my father.
It lay on the bank with one leg dangling in the water, the limbs weirdly contorted, as though the man had succumbed only after a terrific struggle. Nearly demoralized, I flew frantically at the body, seizing it by the shoulders and yanking it clear of the horrible pool. A hasty examination sufficed to show that father had met the same mysterious fate that had taken toll of so many lives in this hateful place.
I had barely made the discovery when I was completely undone by a distant, long-drawn-out howl—the frightened bay of the wolfhound. His mission accomplished, he had promptly deserted, leaving me alone with my dead.
I was not long to wonder why!
What was the terrible fate that could strike down a man in the sanguine glow of physical strength and activity and leave this shriveled, white, bloodless death? And that, too, without leaving a single mark on the husk of a body! To be sure, the clothing was covered with dried blood-stains, but whence had the blood come? Was there not some tiny wound which I in my first frantic pawing of the corpse had overlooked—perhaps the two little purple holes which I shudderingly remembered were supposed to be the mark of venomous snake bites? I stooped again, and, clenching my jaws to still my chattering teeth, began a careful search of
