Barbara Harding crouched close to the door, listening. She
knew that the crucial moment was at hand; that there were at
best but a few moments for her to live. A silent prayer rose
from her parted lips. She placed the sharp point of Oda
Yorimoto's short sword against her breast, and waited--
waited for the coming of the men from the room beyond,
snatching a few brief seconds from eternity ere she drove the
weapon into her heart.
Theriere plunged through the jungle at a run for several
minutes before he caught sight of the mucker.
"Are you still on the trail?" he called to the man before
him.
"Sure," replied Byrne. "It's dead easy. They must o' been at
least a dozen of 'em. Even a mutt like me couldn't miss it."
"We want to go carefully, Byrne," cautioned Theriere. "I've
had experience with these fellows before, and I can tell you
that you never know when one of 'em is near you till you feel
a spear in your back, unless you're almighty watchful. We've
got to make all the haste we can, of course, but it won't help
Miss Harding any if we rush into an ambush and get our
heads lopped off."
Byrne saw the wisdom of his companion's advice and tried
to profit by it; but something which seemed to dominate him
today carried him ahead at reckless, breakneck speed--the
flight of an eagle would have been all too slow to meet the
requirements of his unaccountable haste.
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