At the sound a dark brown shadow leapt up from the shelter of the dense growth, and, with a choking sob, fell back again.
It all happened too quickly for the baronet to catch more than a glimpse of the Thing, but, as he moved forward to discover what creature it was that had fallen to his aim, something flashed through the twilight.
Startled, he pulled up, and the missile, humming past him, stuck quivering in the ground ten paces to the rear.
It was a great, broad-bladed spear!
While yet the baronet stood hesitating, the wolfish howl he had heard before arose from the jungle around him.
It rose, fell, and rose again, then died away in a series of snarling yelps that made Seymour’s blood run cold.
What could these creatures be, he thought, that howled like wolves, and yet used spears?
Once more that terrible chorus rose, until the whole underworld became hideous with the sound.
At that Seymour turned and broke into a run, tearing through the jungle like one possessed. And after him, spectre-like, flitted a crowd of dusky figures, grim and menacing.