“Do you hear? Quick––tell me?”
“Yes,” shouted Wilson.
The din seemed to be approaching in an ever-narrowing circle. It came from all sides––a noise so deafening, so full of unusual sounds that it was in itself terrifying. Again came the blast, followed by another and another. Manning caught sight of the 326 image upon the ground. It acted like magic. He snatched it up. But the girl, regardless of danger, ran to his side.
“Don’t,” she cried in a panic. “What is the matter, father?”
He looked down at her with eyes which scarcely reflected any recognition.
“Don’t go, father. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know your daughter? See, I am Jo––Jo! Do you understand?”
Even in the midst of this other danger––the noise and imminent peril, the two men heard and turned away their heads at the sight with throats straining with emotion. Manning looked back with hardly a gleam of his true self showing in his eyes. And yet there was something left which made him pause––which in one flash brought him back for a second. He stooped and kissed her. Then he raised himself and facing the two men pointed towards the woods behind them.
“Go,” he commanded.
Another blast and he clutched the idol to his breast. He raised his eyes to the East and the three stood dumbfounded––from his throat there issued a cry so wild, so weird, that it checked their breathing. Instantly following there was silence from the shadows. One, two, three, four seconds passed––still that silence which was nerve-racking in its intensity. Then a cry rang out from among the trees so piercing that the girl put her arm up over her eyes as though to ward off a 327 blow. A hundred forms appeared from the trees. Stubbs and Wilson raised their rifles. But with a sweeping motion back with his hand, the Priest bade the two men pause. He disappeared into the shadows where he was greeted with a sort of pæan of joy. Then silence. Then a few sharp-spoken words. Then silence again.
Wilson, scarcely believing this was not some evil dream, gripped Stubbs’ arm.