We reached the boat, to my intense relief. “Please get in and make yourself as comfortable as possible,” said I, and ripping off the bear-skin, I flung it down to make her a seat.
Out into the limpid stream I shoved my clumsy but beloved craft, and manning the oars I swung her about, headed her toward the lake and made the liquid silver shiver from the prow.
The moonlight fell on the sweet, womanly face. The goddess looked at me dumbly—almost with the divine expression I had seen on the face of little Tike. Her eyes were eloquent of gratitude, relief and things too great to be expressed. Slowly her head came forward on her breast, away from which she held that ugly serpent, and she sobbed and sobbed like a child.
Ah what a night it was! I felt a throb of triumph all through my veins. Rowing steadily and stoutly I said nothing, but let her have her cry. At last she looked upon my face again.
“Where—are we—going?” she faltered.
“Home,” said I, “to the camp on top of the hill.”
“Home?” she echoed softly. “To your—people, do you—mean?”
“Yep,” I agreed. “For a while, at least. But they’re not exactly my people. They’re a lot of Missing Links.”
“Oh—what? Missing Links? You don’t mean things like the horrible creatures we have just escaped?”
“Same species,” I assured her cheerfully, “but mine are red.”