Not until the beast had circled half around the glade did his purpose flash upon Blake. With the wariness of all savage hunters, the animal had marked out the spur of jungle on the north side, where he could creep closer to his quarry before leaping from cover.
“The damned sneak!” growled Blake. “You there, Jenny?”
She could not speak, but he heard her gasp.
“Brace up, little woman! Where’s your grit? You’re out of this deal, anyway. He’ll choke to death swallowing me– But say; couldn’t you manage to shin up a palm, twenty feet or so, and hang on for a couple of minutes!”
“I–can’t move–I am–”
“Make a try! It’ll give me a run for my money. I’ll take the next elevator after you. That’ll bring the bluffer out on the hot-foot. I slip a surprise between his ribs, and we view the scenery while he’s passing in his checks. Come; make a spurt! He’s around the turn, and getting nearer every step.”
“I can’t–Tom,–there is no need that both of us– You climb up–”
He turned about as the meaning of her whisper dawned upon him. Her eyes were shining with the ecstasy of self-sacrifice. It was only the glance of an instant; then he was again facing the jungle.
“God! You think I’d do that!”
She made no reply. There was a pause. Blake–crouched on one knee, tense and alert–waited until the sinister wave was advancing into the point of the incurved jungle. Then he spoke, in a low, even tone: “Feel if my glass is there.”