The victim had been caught by both traps. Evidently, he had stepped fairly into the first. Then, as the great jaws snapped shut on his leg, he had lurched forward and fallen. His arms were outspread wide. But his head was within the second trap. The jaws of it had clamped on the neck. The steel fangs were sunk deep into the flesh. Blood from the wounds was caked black on the skin.
“He didn’t suffer any to speak of,” Brant remarked, at last. He observed, with some surprise, 270 that his voice was very thin. He was not a squeamish man, and he had seen many evil sights. But this—
With repugnance, he set himself to the task of releasing the trap that held the dead man’s head. He had the delicacy not to call on his distressed companion for aid. The task was very difficult, and very gruesome, for it required harsh handling of the head, which was in the way. Finally, however, the thing was accomplished. The savage jaws were freed from the flesh they had mangled, and were locked open. Then, Brant turned the body over, and gazed curiously, with strong repulsion, into the ugly, distorted dead face.
“Providence picked out somebody who could be spared,” he mused grimly.
There came another cry from Stone. In it were wonder, incredulity, relief.
Brant regarded the marshal in amazement. The man was transformed. The motionless figure of desolation was become one of wild, quivering excitement. The face was suffused with blood, the eyes shining fiercely.
“What the devil!” Brant demanded, aghast.
Stone looked toward his questioner gravely, and nodded with great emphasis. His voice was low, tense with emotion. 271
“It is the devil!” he answered solemnly. He paused, clearing his throat, and stared again at the dead man. Then, his eyes went back to Brant, as he added:
“It’s Hodges.”