The eyes closed. Haltingly at first, then more smoothly as though finding strength in reliving the story, Dartoog spoke:
"It happened only a little while ago. I was near the foot of one of the hills, making a spear. A few warriors and women were near me; the rest of our people were in the caves.
"Then, suddenly, many strange fighting-men sprang out from behind trees at the edge of the clearing. They were as many as leaves on a big tree. With loud war-cries they ran at us; and before we could get away they had thrown their spears. I tried to run; but a big warrior caught me and struck me with his knife."
The son of Barkoo fell silent. Tharn, a flaming rage growing within him, bent nearer. Behind him were Korgul and Torbat, both very still, their faces strained.
"Then," the boy continued, "came Tharn, the chief, with our fighting-men. They came running from the caves and threw themselves upon the strangers.
"It was a great fight! Many times did the strange warriors try to beat back our men, and as many times did they fail. Tharn, our chief, was the reason. So many men that I could not count them, died beneath his knife and spear. But at last he, too, fell with a spear in his back.
"While they were fighting I crawled to the trees. Then I got to my feet and ran this way as far as I could. I wanted to find you, father, that you might go and kill them all."
Dartoog's voice, growing weaker, now ceased altogether. Twice he opened his lips to speak but no words came. Then, his throat swelling with a supreme effort, he cried out: "Go, father! Go, before they—" His voice broke, his body stiffened, then relaxed and he fell back, sighing.
Gently the father cradled his son's head in the circle of his arms. Once more the clear brown eyes opened. The man bent an ear to the lips framing further words.