That amazing lie seemed for a moment to daze Brokaw.  David realized the audacity of it, and knew that Brokaw would remember too well what had happened to believe him.  Its effect was what he was after, and if he had had a doubt as to the motive of the other’s visit that doubt disappeared almost as quickly as he had spoken.  The grin went out of Brokaw’s face, his jaws tightened, the red came nearer to the surface in the bloodshot eyes.  As plainly as if he were giving voice to his thought he was saying:  “You lie!” But he kept back the words, and as David noted carelessly the slow clenching and unclenching of his hands, he believed that Hauck was not very far away, and that it was his warning and the fact that he was possibly listening to them, that restrained Brokaw from betraying himself completely.  As it was, the grin returned slowly into his face.

“Hauck says he’s sorry he couldn’t have breakfast with you,” he said.  “Couldn’t wait any longer.  The Indian’s going to bring your breakfast here.  You’d better hurry if you want to see the fun.”

With this he turned and walked heavily toward the end of the hall.  David glanced across at the door of Marge’s room.  It was closed.  Then he looked at his watch.  It was almost nine o’clock!  He felt like swearing as he thought of what he had missed—­that breakfast with Hauck and the Girl.  He would undoubtedly have had an opportunity of seeing Hauck alone for a little while—­a quarter of an hour would have been enough; or he could have settled the whole matter in Marge’s presence.  He wondered where she was now.  In her room?

Approaching footsteps caused him to draw back deeper into his own and a moment later his promised breakfast appeared, carried on a big Company keyakun, by an old Indian woman—­undoubtedly the woman that Marge had told him about.  She placed the huge plate on his table and withdrew without either looking at him or uttering a sound.  He ate hurriedly, and finished dressing himself after that.  It was a quarter after nine when he went into the hall.  In passing Marge’s door he knocked.  There came no response from within.  He turned and passed through the big room in which he had seen so many unfriendly faces the night before.  It was empty now.  The stillness of the place began to fill him with uneasiness, and he hurried out into the day.  A low tumult of sound was in the air, unintelligible and yet thrilling.  A dozen steps brought him to the end of the building and he looked toward the cage.  For a space after that he stood without moving, filled with a sudden, sickening horror as he realized his helplessness in this moment.  If he had not overslept, if he had talked with Hauck, he might have prevented this monstrous thing that was happening—­he might have demanded that Tara be a part of their bargain.  It was too late now.  An excited and yet strangely quiet crowd was gathered about the cage—­a crowd so tense and motionless that he knew the battle