"Where is it now?"
Evan shook his head again. "I don't know where it went. It was going for the blacks."
Alicia stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth and tried desperately to get a grip on herself again.
"We'll go and look out at the back," said Arthur grimly. "You stay here, Evan."
We went cautiously out toward the rear. There lay one of the natives with his neck broken, an expression of infinite horror on his face. Others lay in twisted attitudes about the place, gaping wounds from the buckshot at close range showing how desperately Evan had fought. Of the gorilla there was no sign. We searched the place thoroughly, but found nothing.
We returned to the others, a curious lethargy settling upon us. We had been at such high tension for so long that it was impossible to keep keyed up. I, for one, felt an almost-overpowering desire to sleep. Alicia had recovered her composure by now and was trying to bandage Evan's hand. He was indifferently submitting, but after she had finished, he looked at it and took the bandage off, substituting a mere strip of adhesive for the many turns of the cloth.
"I can handle my rifle like this," he said dully.
Mrs. Braymore made coffee and we drank it in silence. Presently Arthur motioned to the women to leave the room and began to tug at the bodies lying on the floor. It was absurd for us to think of trying to bury them. He dragged them to the edge of the veranda and dropped them over the edge to the ground below. He moved jerkily, almost like a man asleep.
"No need to do that," said Evan suddenly, a little while later.
Arthur stopped and looked at him questioningly.