"Don't!" The wail shrilled up. "Don't! Oh—God——"
Krausz had signalled to the askaris, who shut off Jenson's screams with grins of delight. It was not the sort of work they usually did for white people, but to Masai hearts it was glorious. Hammer realized that the one friendly man could do nothing for him, and his cheeks blanched.
He watched Jenson carried to the edge of the pit and carefully lowered. A jerk or two freed the rope, and since no sound came forth, Hammer supposed that the man had reached the ledge in safety. Krausz turned to where Sara Helmuth lay, still senseless.
Then the American knew that there was no hope, that this fiend would actually carry out his threat, and he felt his flesh creep at the thought.
He pictured to himself that narrow ledge, with Jenson already there—ready to fight off whomever came next.
If the girl was sent down alone, unconscious as she was, what little chance she had would be gone, while he, Hammer, was whimpering up here!
He slowly got to his feet, the askari who stood over him pulling him up, and, as Krausz leaned over the girl with the rope ready, Hammer knew that he had become himself once more. He might die, but he would die like a man.
"Put that rope around me, Krausz," he said calmly. "I'll take her in my arms, if you'll untie my wrists."
The other straightened up, turning toward him, and Hammer saw the little dribble of blood that trickled down the front of his khaki coat from beneath the helmet-gauze. He noted, too, that Krausz feared to trust him, and added desperately:
"I'll give you my word, doctor, to make no trouble. Let's have it over with decency."