As Cyril gazed in terror, a shaggy dark shape outlined itself against the sky-line, just above him.
Having followed the eccentric footsteps of the wanderer, with great and greater difficulty, to the fence-lee where the tracing was much easier, Lad came to the lip of the ravine a bare five minutes after the child's drop to the ledge.
There, for an instant, the great dog stood; ears cocked, head inquiringly on one side; looking down upon the ledge.

Cyril shrank to a quivering little heap of abject terror, at sight of the indistinct animal shape looming mountain-high above.
This for the briefest moment.

Then back went Lad's head in a pealing bark that seemed to fill the world and to reecho from a myriad directions at once.

Again and again, Lad gave clamorous voice to his discovery of the lost child.
On a clear or windless night, his racket must have penetrated to the dullest ears at the Place, and far beyond.

For the bark of a dog has more carrying power than has any other sound of double its volume.