And with a sudden little push he was on his feet and bounding low across the space toward the cave and Chiswell.
The action was too sudden for Garth to do anything. He couldn't even get to his feet, much less intervene. He saw two leaps carry Prokle halfway across the space. He heard a frightened little cry from Chiswell, and suddenly he felt very sorry for him. The last twenty feet Prokle literally soared, almost horizontally. He leaped too wide, but managed to reach out and grasp the startled Chiswell by the throat. They fell lazily to the ground in a tangled heap, Chiswell bleating in thin terror like a lamb with a wolf at its throat.
Trapped animals can be very dangerous in their terror. Prokle's hold loosened and he rolled over lightly. From his distance, Garth saw Chiswell's hand come up. He glimpsed something massive in it. He cried out a warning, and Prokle twisted around.
But not in time. Garth saw the mass of rock descend, and he heard an awful crunching sound as it smashed Prokle's skull.
Chiswell bleated no longer. The bleat was a snarl as he leaped astride Prokle and without waiting to see if he were dead, gripped his neck with unbelievable strength. Garth heard the vertebrae snap sickeningly, and still the madman clung. He clung until he was quite sure Prokle wasn't going to move any more, and then his hands slowly loosened. He leaped aside, and with the mien of a sculptor surveying his masterpiece he gazed on the thing at his feet. Then, uttering horrible little throat noises he grasped Prokle's hands and dragged him to the cave and into the darkness beyond.
Garth staggered blindly to his feet and stood there swaying. Prokle was dead, but there was something else. A semblance of thought and reason was trying to flow back to his brain, but it came too slowly.