The tents were flapping and the fire began to flare.

There were curious wind crackles all about him, and Nero had begun to sniff and whine.

Somewhere--off there among the trees--Philip fancied he caught the stealthy pad of a footfall and the crackle of underbrush.

Every instinct of his body focusing wildly upon the thought of harm to Diane, he whirled swiftly about, colliding as he did so with something--vague, formless, heavy--that leaped, crouching, from the shadows and bore him to the ground.

The lightning flared savagely upon steel.