im stood his master, the
king of the ape-men. In all things he was, as Lord John had said, the
very image of our Professor, save that his coloring was red instead of
black. The same short, broad figure, the same heavy shoulders, the
same forward hang of the arms, the same bristling beard merging itself
in the hairy chest. Only above the eyebrows, where the sloping
forehead and low, curved skull of the ape-man were in sharp contrast to
the broad brow and magnificent cranium of the European, could one see
any marked difference. At every other point the king was an absurd
parody of the Professor.

All this, which takes me so long to describe, impressed itself upon me
in a few seconds. Then we had very different things to think of, for
an active drama was in progress. Two of the ape-men had seized one of
the Indians out of the group and dragged him forward to the edge of the
cliff. The king raised his hand as a signal. They caught the man by
his leg and arm, and swung him three times backwards and forwards with
tremendous violence. Then, with a frightful heave they shot the poor
wretch over the precipice. With such force did they throw him that he
curved high in the air before beginning to drop. As he vanished from
sight, the whole assembly, except the guards, rushed forward to the
edge of the precipice, and there was a long pause of absolute silence,
broken by a mad yell of delight. They sprang about, tossing their
long, hairy arms in the air and howling with exultation. Then they
fell back from the edge, formed themselves again into line, and waited
for the next victim.

This time it was Summerlee. Two of his guards caught him by the wrists
and pulled him brutally to the front. His thin figure and long limbs
struggled and fluttered like a chicken being dragged from a coop.
Challenger had turned to the king and waved his hands frantically
before him. He was begging, pleading, imploring for his comrade's
life. The ape-man pushed him roughly aside and shook his head. It was
the last conscious movement he was to make upon earth. Lord John's
rifle cracked, and the king sank down, a tangled red sprawling thing,
upon the ground.

"Shoot into the thick of them! Shoot! sonny, shoot!" cried my
companion.

There are strange red depths in the soul of the most commonplace man.
I am tenderhearted by nature, and have found my eyes moist many a time
over the scream of a wounded hare. Yet the blood lust was on me