She looked down and only the grass and the
flowers looked up at her. She came from her shelter and examined
the ground upon the opposite side of the tree--there was no dead man
there, nor anywhere as far as she could see. Slowly she descended,
keeping a wary eye and an alert ear ready for the first intimation
of danger.
At the foot of the tree was a pool of blood and a little trail of
crimson drops upon the grass, leading away parallel with the shore
of Jad-ben-lul. Then she had not slain him! She was vaguely aware
of a peculiar, double sensation of relief and regret. Now she
would be always in doubt. He might return; but at least she would
not have to live above his grave.
She thought some of following the bloody spoor on the chance that
he might have crawled away to die later, but she gave up the idea
for fear that she might find him dead nearby, or, worse yet badly
wounded. What then could she do? She could not finish him with
her spear--no, she knew that she could not do that, nor could she
bring him back and nurse him, nor could she leave him there to
die of hunger or of thirst, or to become the prey of some prowling
beast. It were better then not to search for him for fear that she
might find him.
That day was one of nervous starting to every sudden sound. The
day before she would have said that her nerves were of iron; but
not today.
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