With all her strength she tried
to fire accurately, but Alan's big gun leaped and twisted in her hand as
she poured its fire wildly down among the rocks until it was empty. Her
own smaller weapon she had lost somewhere in the race to the kloof, and
now when she found she had fired her last shot she waited through
another instant of horror, until she was striking at faces that came
within the reach of her arm. And then, like a monster created suddenly
by an evil spirit, Graham was at her side. She had a moment's vision of
his cruel, exultant face, his eyes blazing with a passion that was
almost madness, his powerful body lunging upon her. Then his arms came
about her. She could feel herself crushing inside them, and fought
against their cruel pressure, then broke limply and hung a resistless
weight against him. She was not unconscious, but her strength was gone,
and if the arms had closed a little more they would have killed her.
And she could hear--clearly. She heard suddenly the shots that came
from up the kloof, scattered shots, then many of them, and after that
the strange, wild cries that only the Eskimo herdsmen make.
Graham's arms relaxed. His eyes swept the fairies' hiding-place with its
white sand floor, and fierce joy lit up his face.
"Martens, it couldn't happen in a better place," he said to a man who
stood near him.
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