Again she caught sight of
the fugitives crossing the river below the cataract and again they
were lost to sight. And now the pursuers came into view--shouting
Kor-ul-lul warriors, fierce and implacable. Forty, perhaps fifty
of them. She waited breathless; but they did not swerve from the
trail and passed her, unguessing that an enemy she lay hid within
a few yards of them.
Once again she caught sight of the pursued--three Waz-don warriors
clambering the cliff face at a point where portions of the summit
had fallen away presenting a steep slope that might be ascended by
such as these. Suddenly her attention was riveted upon the three.
Could it be? O Jad-ben-Otho! had she but known a moment before. When
they passed she might have joined them, for they were her father
and two brothers. Now it was too late. With bated breath and tense
muscles she watched the race. Would they reach the summit? Would the
Kor-ul-lul overhaul them? They climbed well, but, oh, so slowly.
Now one lost his footing in the loose shale and slipped back!
The Kor-ul-lul were ascending--one hurled his club at the nearest
fugitive. The Great God was pleased with the brother of Pan-at-lee,
for he caused the club to fall short of its target, and to fall,
rolling and bounding, back upon its owner carrying him from his
feet and precipitating him to the bottom of the gorge.
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