I pulled myself together, got on my hands and feet, and crawled over to Stringer's side. There, I managed to render a little help.
"Did you—give it a . . . sniff of ether?" I gasped between by exertions.
"Yes!"
"You must have been pretty quick."
"Never hustled so much in my life. . . ."
"This is absurd," I said. "We can't continue raking in gorillas at this rate all day. The strain's too great."
I wiped my perspiring brow and helped to tie the last knot.
"The other two seem to be very quiet," remarked Stringer.
We turned and looked at them. They were sitting just as they had been placed, perfectly still and upright, and showed clear signs of the deepest interest in our movements. Naturally, they had never seen anything like this before and must have been almost hypnotized with amazement. Once the elements of fear and anger are eliminated, it is probable that the anthropoid ape is capable of experiencing emotions very similar to our own. They can feel pity, affection, astonishment and—most of all—intense curiosity.
Apparently, they did not fear us and were not angry with us (or even with one another, now) but their curiosity must have been tremendous. Nothing else could account for their quiet behavior under such circumstances. It might be argued that the pressure of their bonds would hurt sufficiently to enrage even the most curious brute, but I think that the pain from the wounds caused in the fight would, in their opinion, account for all such discomforts. Their reasoning powers, equal to those of an eighteen months old child, were too limited to connect Stringer and myself with most of their troubles, and no doubt they still looked on us as two harmless and inoffensive females of their own species.