They pointed to the dragon, from whose nostrils suddenly issued hissing spurts of flame.
Larry fumed in disgust at the cheap hocus-pocus of it—but the next moment a more violent emotion swept over him as he saw Diane seized and borne swiftly to that loathsome shrine.
But even as he lunged forward, the professor reached his daughter’s side. Throwing himself in front of her, he begged them to spare her, to sacrifice him instead.
The answer of the priests was a blow that knocked the graybeard senseless, and lifting Diane up, half-swooning, they flung her upon the altar.
“Mr. Hunter! Larry!” came her despairing cry.
She struggled up and for a moment her blue eyes opened, met his beseechingly.
That was enough—that and that despairing cry, “Larry!”
With the strength of frenzy, he flung off his captors, rushed to her aid, his hard fists flailing.
The pigmies went down in his path like grain before the scythe. Reaching the altar, he seized the priest whose knife was already upraised, and, lifting him bodily, flung him full into the ugly snout of that snorting dragon.
Then, as a wail of dismay rose from the Cabiri, at this supreme sacrilege, he seized the now unconscious Diane and retreated with her toward the door.