"Don't waste any time; they'll probably start for us the instant we sit up. Be sure you get your feet free at the first stroke; feel them well with your left hand first. Are you ready?"
"Yes." And his voice was now calm and perfectly steady.
"Then—one, two, three—go!"
We bent and cut and sprang to our feet, and dashed for the wall. There was a sound of rushing feet—our backs hugged the kindly rock—I heard Harry's shout, "Here they come!"—dim, rushing forms—fingers clutching at my throat.
I felt the blade of my knife sink into soft and yielding flesh, and a warm, thick liquid flow over my hand and arm.
Chapter VIII.
THE DANCE OF THE SUN.
It seemed to me then in the minutes that followed that there were thousands of black demons in that black hole. At the first rushing impact I shouted to Harry: "Keep your back to the wall," and for response I got a high, ringing laugh that breathed the joy of battle.
The thing was sickening. Harry is a natural fighting man; I am not. Without the wall at our backs we would have been overpowered in thirty seconds; as it was, we were forced to handle half a dozen of them at once, while the others surged in from behind. They had no weapons, but they had the advantage of being able to see us.