The walls of the pit into which they descended were twenty feet high before they could reach the edge of the circular area. As they continued their descent, the walls grew higher—fifty feet, seventy-five, a hundred....
Pee Bee threw himself on the trampled jangle grass and beat at his head in blind frustration.
"Ah told 'em!" he cried out. "Ah done told 'em t'stay off'n dat debbil ground! Now dey done gone 'n left me all alone—'n where am I?"
He sat up, abruptly, more bug-eyed than ever before. He listened.
The still, hot air brought him only the sound—and the smell—of the pristine jungle surrounding him. A giant bird with a black back and brilliant yellow belly soared over-head and squawked at him hostilely. Somewhere down the hill something small and warm-blooded squealed in terror. He heard a tremendous threshing about in the underbrush and remembered the vines that made a net for their prey—then clutched it inescapably and mashed it into pulp before devouring it. The eternal sky that never turned dark and cool, that sky up there that beat its itchy heat down on him and was making a rash creep up on his skin—it wasn't God's blue sky.
But it was his sky—Pee Bee's! All Pee Bee's world now.
He sprang to his feet and screamed, "Dey can't leave me alone in dis place!"
But when he looked at the big, round, gaping hole in the center of the meadow he had to admit the reality of the situation. He was alone!