She listened intently for a moment as the cackling grew louder. "Yes," she replied—"the kazars. We had better hide."
Acting upon Nalte's suggestion we concealed ourselves behind a clump of underbrush and waited. The cackling grew in volume, and we knew that the kazars were approaching.
"Do you suppose that it is Skor's pack?" I asked.
"It must be," she replied. "There is no other pack in this vicinity, according to Skor."
"Nor any wild kazars?"
"No. He says that there are no wild ones on this side of the big river. They range on the opposite side. These must be Skor's!"
We waited in silence as the sounds approached, and presently we saw the new leader of the pack trot into view on the opposite bank. Behind him strung several more of the grotesque beasts, and then came Skor, mounted on his zorat, with the dead men that formed his retinue surrounding him.
"Duare is not there!" whispered Nalte. "Skor did not recapture her."
We watched Skor and his party until they had passed out of sight among the trees of the forest on the other side of the river, and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw what I hoped would be the last of the jong of Morov.