Occasionally Theriere would return to the trail
to search for further indications of the spoor they sought.
The party had proceeded in this fashion for nearly half a
mile when suddenly they were attracted by a low exclamation
from the mucker.
"Here!" he called. "Here's Miller an' the Swede, an' they
sure have mussed 'em up turrible."
The others hastened in the direction of his voice, to come
to a horrified halt at the sides of the headless trunks of the
two sailors.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, reverting to his
mother tongue as he never did except under the stress of great
excitement.
"Who done it?" queried Red Sanders, looking suspiciously
at the mucker.
"Head-hunters," said Theriere. "God! What an awful fate
for that poor girl!"
Billy Byrne went white.
"Yeh don't mean dat dey've lopped off her block?" he
whispered in an awed voice. Something strange rose in the
mucker's breast at the thought he had just voiced. He did not
attempt to analyze the sensation; but it was far from joy at
the suggestion that the woman he so hated had met a horrible
and disgusting death at the hands of savages.
"I'm afraid not, Byrne," said Theriere, in a voice that none
there would have recognized as that of the harsh and masterful
second officer of the Halfmoon.
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