“Gone, master? Where?”
“Gone! Dead, perhaps! Find her for me! Find her! You can see--in the dark! I--I am as though blind! Quick, on the trail!”
“But tell us--”
“Something has taken her! Some savage thing! Some wild man! Even now he may be killing her! Quick--after them!”
Bremilu stood staring for a moment, unable to grasp this catastrophe on the very moment of arrival. But Zangamon, of swifter wit, had already fallen on his knees, there by the mouth of the cave, and now--seeing clearly by the dim light which more than sufficed for him--was studying the traces of the struggle.
Stern, meanwhile, clutching his head between both hands, dumb-mad with agony, was choking with dry sobs.
“Master! See!”
Zangamon held up a piece of splintered wood, with the bark deeply scarred by teeth.
Stern snatched it.
“Part of the pole I gave her to brace the rock with,” he realized. “Even that was of no avail.”