Max obeyed his orders to the letter. Hour by hour, he remained perfectly motionless, with every sense on the alert. He was beginning to think that the fears and suspicions of Crouch were entirely baseless, when, on a sudden, the eternal stillness was broken by a shriek, piercing and unearthly, that was lifted from somewhere near at hand.
Springing to his feet, he rushed forth from the hut. And as he did so, the shriek was repeated, louder than before.
[CHAPTER VIII--LEAVE TO QUIT]
Max had no difficulty in recognizing whence came these appalling sounds; for, as he hastened forward, they were repeated, again and again. It was as if the night were filled with terror, as if some wild, tormented spirit had been let loose upon the stillness of the jungle.
From the opened doorway of de Costa's hut a bright light shone forth, making a wide, diverging pathway to the foot of the stockade. And in this pathway two shadows danced like fiends. They were here, there and everywhere, whilst time and again that piercing shriek went forth.
Max dashed into the hut, and there was brought to a standstill by the sight that he beheld.
On one knee upon the floor, with an arm upraised as if in self-protection, was the half-caste, de Costa, with abject fear stamped upon every feature of his face. Still yelping like a cur, flinching repeatedly for no ostensible reason, he looked up furtively, and into the face of the man who stood above him.
This was Cæsar, with the Great Dane snarling at his side. His right arm was bare to the elbow, and in his hand he held a whip. It was a cruel whip, if ever there were such a thing. The handle was short, but the lash was long and tied in many a knot.
"Drop that!" cried Max; and, without a moment's thought, he lifted his revolver and directed the muzzle full at the head of the Portuguese.
At that the dog crouched low, as if about to spring, and filled the hut with a growl.