“Those brutes will be eating each other alive next!” exclaimed Felix.
“That is so!” answered the other. “I warned you!”
“Suppose you go back and see what’s wrong?” suggested Felix.
“I have no influence over the savages,” was the reply, “and besides, the temple must be watched.”
With an exclamation of anger Felix started away in the direction of the forest. It was evident that he had his work cut out for him there, for the savages were fighting desperately, and his approach did not appear to terminate the engagement.
The man left at the angle of the cliff to watch and wait for news from the temple moved farther around the bend and stood leaning against the cliff, listening. Sam moved softly up behind him. The rattling of a pebble betrayed the young man’s presence, and his hands upon the throat of the other alone prevented an outcry which would have brought Felix, and perhaps several of the savages, to the scene.
It was a desperate, wordless, almost noiseless, struggle that ensued. The young man’s muscles, thanks to months of mountain exercise and freedom from stimulants and narcotics, were hard as iron, while those of his opponent seemed flabby and out of condition, doubtless because of too soft living in the immediate past.
The contest, therefore, was not of long duration. Realizing that he was about to lapse into unconsciousness, Sam’s opponent threw out his hands in token of surrender. The young man deftly searched the fellow’s person for weapons and then drew him to his feet.
“Now,” he said, presenting his automatic to the fellow’s breast, “if you utter a word or signal calculated to bring you help, that help will come too late, even if it is only one instant away. At the first sound or indication of resistance, I’ll put half a clip of bullets through your heart!”
“You have the victory!” exclaimed the other sullenly.