The other makes no reply. Gazing vacantly at his rescuers, he continues to twirl his gruesome weapons, with much the same regularity of movement as though he were practising with Indian clubs prior to taking his morning bath.
“How did you get here?” goes on the leader, with a strange look at his white companion.
“Eh? Get here? Ran, of course.”
“Ran?” taking in the woeful state to which the unfortunate man had manifestly been brought. “Why did you run? Who was after you?”
“The devil.”
“Who?”
“The devil.”
“But—where are your pals? Where are the rest of you?”
“Pals? Oh, dead.”
“Dead?”