XX
THE ARGOSY OF FURS"To the left," sobbed the voice from the bear's mask.
We turned between the trunks of the pines, the mat of fallen needles springy underfoot. Behind us the fires of the Dancing-Place were a faint radiance in the dusk. Branches crashed; bodies hurtled against each other; a bedlam of shrieks resounded to the skies.
"Let me help you," I panted to our rescuer.
"There will be no need," she answered, running stride for stride beside us.
"At the least, slip off your mask," urged Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"I shall be wanting it presently," she returned. "Do not be concerned for me. Many a mile I have run with the gillies over the Highland hills."
She stumbled as she spoke, and I set my hand under her elbow. Ta-wan-ne-ars did the same on the other side, and so we ran for a space,
