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 gripped Holman or me around the throat, the fiends found great fun in straining upon the rope till the wire-like creepers gave way.

We suffered unbearable torture.  Hour after hour we were jerked over the ground.  Our clothes were stripped from our backs, our faces were torn and bloody from the thorns, and our tormented flesh protested through every nerve against the treatment.  Once Holman put a question in a hoarse whisper.

“Where are they taking us?” he asked.

“God knows,” I gasped.

“It’s my fault, Verslun.”

“Why?” I groaned.

“I missed him!  I missed him!  I——­”