I imagined that the big
ruffian had rushed us away from the spot lest the two women would escape
from Soma and run to the assistance of their father, but I know that we
were thankful that the interruption put an end to the football tactics
in which the infuriated devil was indulging.
But we had escaped from the frying pan to find ourselves in the flames.
The three dancers felt that the Fates had given them a chance to avenge
their friend, and they took full advantage of the opportunity. So that
each would have a proper share in the burden, they placed us side by
side, strapped our ankles together, and then, passing a rope through the
straps, the three laid hold of it and set off through the night, towing
us behind with an absolute disregard for our feelings. They entered into
the fun of the thing. No Norwegian peasant ever towed home a Yule log
with a greater exhibition of joy than those savages displayed as they
hauled us through the thickets. They had a contempt for open places.
They chose the most intricate paths they could find, and if a tough
liana gripped Holman or me around the throat, the fiends found great fun
in straining upon the rope till the wire-like creepers gave way.
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