I arose to cry out at the top of my voice. A human being—a man, no doubt, was in reach of my voice—a friend, companion, perhaps, to share my fate and solitude! I filled my lungs for a mighty halloo—a cry to this partner in exile—when out from the trees on the bank, not a spear’s throw distant, issued a black, ungainly form—and then another.
Links! They were black Missing Links!
Those stakes were theirs! I had found their camp. The voice—this human being—was he then a prisoner? What did it mean—and what should I do?
To cry out meant instant detection—perhaps immediate death. The two had failed to see me—they might go back. But I was drifting—drifting toward them. One of them turned about.
A yell went up immediately. I was known. The alarm spread like prairie-fire, up through the wood. I swung the boat about like mad and headed for the lake. A club came whizzing through the air, struck in the water beside the boat and splashed me with spray. A score of the villainous looking devils came running to join their companions. Along the bank they dashed in pursuit, crying out and making crazy gesticulations. The water foamed where it left the oars and it rippled and swashed from the prow of my craft. Club after club came hurtling toward me, end over end. One of these struck the stern a resounding thump; the demons cried out savagely and showered more. A small one would have dashed out my brains had I not been quick to duck to the bottom of the boat.
I shot across the river to the opposite side, but a curve gave my infuriated pursuers a slight advantage. It seemed as if the thickets and trees were simply bridges over which the creatures hurried the faster. Making as if to sweep along below them, I back-watered one of my oars and pulled with the other, at the turn, spinning the boat clean about to hard-a-port, and sent her ahead so swiftly that all the clubs, which the devils threw at point-blank range, plunged stone-head first into the ripples behind.
“Never touched me!” I bawled out in derision.
They screamed in impotent rage. I rounded the curve and sped away with all the advantage mine. They gave up the chase. Ten minutes more saw me out on the lake and well away.
CHAPTER XXIX
A SACRED DISGUISE
Before I got home I had ample time in which to think. What a strange concatenation of events! The outlet discovered, deliverance almost assured me, and then to find the camp of my bitterest enemy on the very bank of my gateway to freedom! But that human voice—what could it mean?