His body was tense, every muscle showing as he stiffened
himself. Into my mind flashed a picture of the bloodthirsty Wizards of
the Centipede stretching out in exactly the same manner centuries before
a white man sailed into the Pacific!
The silence seemed to sap my strength. I watched Holman with eyes that
were half-blinded by the perspiration that rolled down my forehead.
There was no movement upon the ledge, and the fingers of the youngster
were reaching slowly--slowly upward.
It was a yell of horror that shattered the awful quiet--a yell that went
up through the hot air like the shriek of a lost soul. It swirled around
and around like a lariat of brass. It was a terrible yell. It wrenched
my inmost being till the very spirit seemed to go out of me for an
instant, and I returned to consciousness to find myself struggling to
hold Holman from being dragged into the depths below.
It was the youngster's voice that seemed to bring me back to a knowledge
of the surroundings. In an instant's pause in the torrent of blasphemy
his words came to me clear and distinct.
"Hold me tight, Verslun!" he cried.
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