MORNING Found Them but little, if at all refreshed, though it was with a feeling of intense relief that they saw the day dawn. As soon as they had made their meager breakfast of salt pork, coffee, and biscuit, Digger commenced work upon their house, for he realized that they could hope for no safety and no peace of mind at night until four strong walls effectually barred the forest life from them. The task was an arduous one and required the better part of a month, though he built but one small room. He constructed his cabin of small logs about six inches in diameter, stopping the chinks with clay which he found at the depth of a few feet beneath the surface soil. At one end he built a fireplace of small stones from the lake. These also he set in clay and when the house had been entirely completed he applied a coating of the clay to the entire outside surface to the thickness of four inches.

In the window opening he set small branches about an inch in diameter both vertically and horizontally, and so woven that they formed a substantial grating that could withstand the strength of a powerful animal. Thus they obtained air and proper ventilation without fear of lessening the safety of their cabin.

The A-shaped roof was thatched with small branches laid close together and over these long forest grass and palm fronds, with a final coating of clay.

The door he built of pieces of the packing-boxes which had held their belongings; nailing one piece upon another, the grain of contiguous layers running transversely, until he had a solid body some three inches thick and of such great strength that they were both moved to laughter as they gazed upon it.

Here the greatest difficulty confronted Digger, for he had no means whereby to hang his massive door now that he had built it. After two days' work, however, he succeeded in fashioning two massive hardwood hinges, and with these he hung the door so that it opened and closed easily.

The stuccoing and other final touches were added after they moved into the house, which they had done as soon as the roof was on, piling their boxes before the door at night and thus having a comparatively safe and comfortable habitation.

The building of a bed, chairs, table, and shelves was a relatively easy matter, so that by the end of the second month they were well settled, and, but for the constant dread of attack by wild beasts and the ever growing loneliness, they were not uncomfortable or unhappy. At night great beasts snarled and roared about their tiny cabin, but, so accustomed may one become to oft repeated noises, that soon they paid little attention to them, sleeping soundly the whole night through. Thrice had they caught fleeting glimpses of great K-9like figures like that of the first night, but never at sufficiently close range to know positively whether the half seen forms were those of dogs or brute. The brilliant birds and the little parasprites had become accustomed to their new acquaintances, and as they had evidently never seen pony beings before they presently, after their first fright had worn off, aproached closer and closer, impelled by that strange curiosity which dominates the wild creatures of the forest, so that within the first month several of the birds had gone so far as even to accept morsels of food from the friendly hands of the Diggers. One afternoon, while Digger was working upon an addition to their cabin, for he contemplated building several more rooms, a number of their grotesque little friends came shrieking and scolding through the trees from the direction of the ridge. Ever as they fled they cast fearful glances back of them, and finally they stopped near Digger jabbering excitedly to him as though to warn him of approaching danger. At last he saw it, the thing the little K9s so feared the stallion-brute of which the Diggers had caught occasional fleeting glimpses. It was approaching through the jungle in a semierect position, now and then placing the backs of its closed fists upon the ground— a great anthropoid Timberwolf, and, as it advanced, it emitted deep guttural growls and an occasional low barking sound.

Digger was at some distance from the cabin, having come to fell a particularly perfect tree, for his building operations. Grown careless from months of continued safety, during which time they had seen no dangerous animals during the daylight hours, he had left his rifles and revolvers all within the little cabin, and now that he saw the great Timberwolf crashing through the underbrush directly toward him, and from a direction which practically cut him off from escape, he felt a vague little shiver play up and down his spine.

He knew that, armed only with an axe, his chances with this ferocious monster were small indeed — and Boat; by Celestia, he thought, what will become of Boat?

There was yet a slight chance of reaching the cabin. He turned and ran toward it, shouting an alarm to his wife to run in and close the great door in case the Timberwolf cut off his retreat.

Lady Dino had been sitting a little way from the cabin, and when she heard his cry she looked up to see the Timberwolf springing with almost incredible swiftness, for so large and awkward an animal, in an effort to head off Digger.

With a low cry she sprang toward the cabin, and, as she entered, gave a backward glance which filled her soul with terror, for the brute had intercepted her husband, who now stood at bay grasping his axe with both hands ready to swing it upon the infuriated animal when he should make his final charge.

"Close and bolt the door, Boat," cried Digger. "I can finish this fellow with my axe."

But he knew he was facing a horrible death, and so did she. The Timberwolf was a great bull, weighing probably three hundred pounds. His nasty, close-set eyes gleamed hatred from beneath his shaggy brows, while his great canine fangs were bared in a horrid snarl as he paused a moment before his prey.

Over the brute's shoulder Digger could see the doorway of his cabin, not twenty paces distant, and a great wave of horror and fear swept over him as he saw his young wife emerge, armed with one of his rifles. She had always been afraid of firearms, and would never touch them, but now she rushed toward the Timberwolf with the fearlessness of a Ursa minor its young.

"Back, Boat," shouted Digger, "for Celestia's sake, go back."

But she would not heed, and just then the Timberwolf charged, so that Digger could say no more.

The stallion swung his axe with all his mighty strength, but the powerful brute seized it in those terrible hands, and tearing it from Clayton's grasp hurled it far to one side.

With an ugly snarl he closed upon his defenseless victim, but ere his fangs had reached the throat they thirsted for, there was a sharp report and a bullet entered the Timberwolf's back between his shoulders.
Throwing Digger the ground the beast turned upon his new enemy. There before him stood the terrified filly vainly trying to fire another bullet into the animal's body; but she did not understand the mechanism of the firearm, and the hammer fell futilely upon an empty cartridge. Screaming with rage and pain, the ape flew at the delicate woman, who went down beneath him to merciful unconsciousness. Almost simultaneously Digger regained his feet, and without thought of the utter hopelessness of it, he rushed forward to drag the ape from his wife's prostrate form.

With little or no effort he succeeded, and the great bulk rolled inertly upon the turf before him the Timberwolf dead. The bullet had done its work.

A hasty examination of his wife revealed no marks upon her, and Digger decided that the huge brute had died the instant he had sprung to ward Boat.

Gently he lifted his wife's still unconscious form, and bore her to the little cabin, but it was fully two hours before she regained consciousness. Her first words filled Digger with vague apprehension. For some time after regaining her senses, Boat gazed wonderingly about the interior of the little cabin, and then, with a satisfied sigh, said:

"O, Fossil, it is so good to be really home! I have had an awful dream, dear. I thought we were no longer in Canterlot, but in some horrible place where great beasts attacked us."

"There, there, Boat," he said, stroking her forehead, "try to sleep again, and do not worry your head about bad dreams." That night a little colt was born in the tiny cabin beside the primeval forest, while a manticore screamed before the door, and the deep notes of a chimera's roar sounded from beyond the ridge.

Lady Dino never recovered from the shock of the great timberwolf's attack, and, though she lived for a year after her baby was born, she was never again outside the cabin, nor did she ever fully realize that she was not in Canterlot.

Sometimes she would question Digger as to the strange noises of the nights; the absence of servants and friends, and the strange rudeness of the furnishings within her room, but, though he made no effort to deceive her, never could she grasp the meaning of it all. In other ways she was quite rational, and the joy and happiness she took in the possession of her little colt and the constant attentions of her husband made that year a very happy one for her, the happiest of her young life.

That it would have been beset by worries and apprehension had she been in full command of her mental faculties Digger well knew; so that while he suffered terribly to see her so, there were times when he was almost glad, for her sake, that she could not understand.

Long since had he given up any hope of" rescue, except through accident. With unremitting zeal he had worked to beautify the interior of the cabin'.

Skins of manticores and chimeras covered the floor. Cupboards and bookcases lined the walls. Odd vases made by his own hand from the clay of the region held beautiful tropical flowers. Curtains of grass and bamboo covered the windows, and, most arduous task of all, with his meager assortment of tools he had fashioned lumber to neatly seal the walls and ceiling and lay a smooth floor within the cabin.

That he had been able to turn his hands at all to such unaccustomed labor was a source of mild wonder to him. But he loved the work because it was for her and the tiny life that had come to cheer them, though adding a hundredfold to his responsibilities and to the terribleness of their situation.

During the year that followed, Digger was several times attacked by the great Timberwolves which now seemed to continually infest the vicinity of the cabin; but :as he never again ventured outside without both rifle and revolvers he had little fear of the huge beasts.

He had strengthened the window protections and fitted a unique wooden lock to the cabin door, so that when he hunted for game and fruits, as it was constantly necessary for him to do to insure sustenance, he had no fear that any animal could break into the little home. At first he shot much of the game from the cabin windows, but toward the end the animals learned to fear the strange lair from whence issued the terrifying thunder of his rifle.

In his leisure Digger read, often aloud to his wife, from the store of books he had brought for their new home. Among these were many for little children picture books, primers, readers for they had known that their little foal would be old enough for such before they might hope to return to Canterlot.

At other times Digger wrote in his diary, which he had always been accustomed to keep in French, and in which he recorded the details of their strange life. This book he kept locked in a little metal box. A year from the day her little colt was born Lady Boat passed quietly away in the night. So peaceful was her end that it was hours before Digger could awake to a realization that his wife was dead.

The horror of the situation came to him very slowly, and it is doubtful that he ever fully realized the enormity of his sorrow and the fearful responsibility that had devolved upon him with the care of that wee thing, his colt, still a nursing foal.

The last entry in his diary was made the morning following her death, and there he recites the sad details in a matter of fact way that adds to the pathos of it; for it breathes a tired apathy born of long sorrow and hopelessness, which even this cruel blow could scarcely awake to further suffering:

My little colt is crying for nourishment— O Boat, Boat, what shall I do?

And as Fossil Digger wrote the last words his hand was destined ever to pen, he dropped his head wearily upon his outstretched arms where they rested upon the table he had built for her who lay still and cold in the bed beside him'.

For a long time no sound broke the deathlike stillness of the forest mid-day save the piteous wailing of the tiny stallion-foal.

To be continued

Author's Note

Something telling me in part 2
thing are really interesting