The hag grasping his ears drew his head up toward her face, and thrusting her terrible head forward she plunged her gaze like sword points down into the man’s very soul.
With a cry like that of a wounded wild-cat, she jumped back and throwing her skinny arms up in the air began waving them above her head, screaming:
“He does not lie! It is true! It is true!”
In impotent rage she dug the sharp nails of her fingers into the skin of her bald head and tore long ridges across its smooth bare surface.
Suddenly she seized the mulatto, now half-dead from terror, crying:
“Come! Goat without horns, let us tell Tu Konk.”
Manuel, limp, scarcely breathing, staggered to his feet. The hag held him by the bleeding ears that she had half torn from his head. Pushing him before her they passed behind the curtain suspended against the rock wall at the rear of the room.
The cave they entered was of small dimensions. It was illuminated by four large candles, which stood at each of the four corners of a baby’s cradle. This misplaced article occupied the center of the space walled in by the rocky sides of the apartment. The place otherwise was bare.