ed to death if a merciful interruption had not
stopped him. The horrified Professor, who was sitting upright during the
exhibition of brutality, lifted up his voice in protest, and his shrill
denunciations brought a cry out of the surrounding gloom.

"Father! father! Where are you, father?"

It was Edith Herndon's voice, and the note of agony in the words
maddened me. I drove my teeth into Leith's left leg as he stood quiet
for a second near my head, and the brute used the sole of his right
boot to loosen my grip. There were no gentle ways about the devil. As
Edith's cry was repeated, he had administered a farewell kick to Holman
and me, and shouted an order in the same strange dialect which the
dancer had used in addressing me in the Cavern of the Skulls when the
robe of parrot feathers had saved my life. The three natives immediately
gripped us by the heels and we were dragged off into the bushes.

It seemed to me that Edith Herndon's cry was repeated again and again as
the natives dragged me at a jog trot through the undergrowth. There was
untold anguish in the cry. It was plain that Leith had taken the
unfortunate old Professor some distance from his daughters so that they
could not listen to the conversation, and the scientist's high-pitched
protests against our maltreatment had caused the terror-stricken girls
to think that Leith was ill-using their father. I imagined that the big
ruffian had rushed us away from the spot lest the two women would escape
from Soma and run to the assistance of their father, but I know that we
were thankful that the interruption put an end to the football tactics
in which the infuriated devil was indulging.

But we had escaped from the frying pan to find ourselves in the flames.
The three dancers felt that the Fates had given them a chance to avenge
their friend, and they took full advantage of the opportunity. So that
each would have a proper share in the burden, they placed us side by
side, strapped our ankles together, and then, passing a rope through the
straps, the three laid hold of it and set off through the night, towing
us behind with an absolute disregard for our feelings. They entered into
the fun of the thing. No Norwegian peasant ever towed home a Yule log
with a greater exhibition of joy than those savages displayed as they
hauled us through the thickets. They had a contempt for open places.
They chose the most intricate paths they could find, and if a tough
liana gri