There was a bog at the foot. With his fouled hands he dug out a basin which filled up full of reddish water, discoloured by alders.
But the water was redder still when his toilet ended.
As he stood there, examining his clothing, and washing what he could of the ominous stains from sleeve and shoe, very far away to the north he heard a curious noise — a far, faint sound such as he never before had heard. If it were a voice of any sort there was nothing human about it. … Probably some sort of unknown bird. … Perhaps a bird of prey. … That was natural, considering the attraction that Georgiades would have for such creatures. … If it were a bird it must be a large one, he thought. … Because there was a certain volume to the cry. … Perhaps it was a beast, after all. … Some unknown beast of the forest. …
Sanchez was suddenly afraid. Scarcely knowing what he was doing he began to run along the edge of the bog.
First growth timber skirted it; running was unobstructed by underbrush.
With his startled ears full of the alarming and unknown sound, he ran through the woods under gigantic pines which spread a soft green twilight around him.
He was tired, or thought he was, but the alarming sounds were filling his ears now; the entire forest seemed full of them, echoing in all directions, coming in upon him from everywhere, so that he knew not in which direction to run.
But he could no stop. Demoralised, he darted this way and that; terror winged his feet; the air vibrated above and around him with the dreadful, unearthly sounds.
The next instant he fell headlong over a ledge, struck water, felt himself whirled around in the icy, rushing current, rolled over, tumbled through rapids, blinded, deafened, choked, swept helplessly in a vast green wall of water toward something that thundered in his brain an instant, then dashed it into roaring chaos.
* * * * *