And, grouped around this, already some hundreds of the now paling torches cast their livid glare.
Off to one side he could just distinguish what seemed to be a group engaged in some activity--but what this might be, he could not determine. Yet, all at once a scream of pain burst out, therefrom; and then a gasping cry that ended quickly and did not come again.
Another shriek, and still a third; and now into the leaping flames some dark, misshapen things were flung, and a great shout arose.
Then rose, also, a shrill, singsong whine; and suddenly drams roared, now with a different cadence.
“Hark!” said the engineer. “The torchmen must have exterminated the other bunch, and got possession of the drums. They're using 'em, themselves--and badly!”
By the firelight vague shapes came and went, their shadows grotesquely flung against the leafy screens. The figures quickened their paces and their gestures; then suddenly, with cries, flung themselves into wild activity. And all about the fire, Stern saw a wheeling, circling, eddying mob of black and frightful shapes.
“The swine!” he breathed. “Wait--wait till I make a pint or two of Pulverite!”
Even as he spoke, the concourse grew quiet with expectancy. A silence fell upon the forest. Something was being led forward toward the fire--something, for which the others all made way.
The wind freshened. With it, increased the volume of smoke. Another frightened bird, cheeping forlornly, fluttered above the tree-tops.
Then rose a cry, a shriek long-drawn and ghastly, that climbed till it broke in a bubbling, choking gasp.