To remain and take her as his mate after the manner and customs of her own people would reflect no shame upon himself or her; but was she not deserving of the highest honor that it lay within his power to offer at the altar of her love?
She—his wonderful Nadara—must become his through the most solemn and dignified ceremony that civilized man had devised. What the young woman of his past life demanded was none too good for her.
Again the girl voiced her question.
“You wish to go?”
“Yes, Nadara,” he replied, “I must go back to my own people—and you must go with me.”
Her face lighted with pleasure and happiness as she heard his last words; but the expression was quickly followed by one of doubt and fear.
“I am afraid,” she said; “but if you wish it I will go.”
“You need not fear, Nadara. None will harm you by word or deed while Thandar is with you. Come, let us return to the sea and the yacht before she sails.”
Hand in hand they retraced their steps down the steep cliff, across the little valley toward the forest and the sea.
Nadara walked very close to Thandar, her hand snuggled in his and her shoulder pressed tightly against his side, for she was afraid of the new life among the strange creatures of civilization.
At the far side of the valley, just before one enters the forest, there grows a thick jungle of bamboo—really but a narrow strip, not more than a hundred feet through at its greatest width; but so dense as to quite shut out from view any creature even a few feet within its narrow, gloomy avenues.
Into this the two plunged, Thandar in the lead, Nadara close behind him, stepping exactly in his footprints—an involuntary concession to training, for there was no need here either of deceiving a pursuer, or taking advantage of easier going. The trail was well-marked and smooth-beaten by many a padded paw.
It wound erratically, following the line of least resistance—it forked, and there were other trails which entered it from time to time, or crossed it. The hundred feet it traversed seemed much more when measured by the trail.
The two had come almost to the forest side of the jungle when a sharp turn in the path brought Thandar face to face with a huge, bear-like man.
The fellow wore a G-string of soft hide, and over one shoulder dangled an old and filthy leopard skin—otherwise, he was naked. His thick, coarse hair was matted low over his forehead. The balance of his face was covered by a bushy red beard.
At sight of Thandar his close set, little eyes burned with sudden rage and cunning. From his thick lips burst a savage yell—it was the preliminary challenge.
Ordinarily a certain amount of vituperation and coarse insults must pass between strangers meeting upon this inhospitable isle before they fly at one another’s throat.
“I am Thurg,” bellowed the brute. “I can kill you,” and then followed a volley of vulgar allusions to Thandar’s possible origin, and the origin of his ancestors.
“The bad men,” whispered Nadara.
With her words there swept into the man’s memory the scene upon the face of the cliff that night a year before when, even in the throes of cowardly terror, he had turned to do battle with a huge cave man that the fellow might not prevent the escape of Nadara.
He glanced at the right forearm of the creature who faced him. A smile touched Thandar’s lips—the arm was crooked as from the knitting of a broken bone, poorly set.
“You would kill Thandar—again?” he asked tauntingly, pointing toward the deformed member.
Then came recognition to the red-rimmed eyes of Thurg, as, with another ferocious bellow, he launched himself toward the author of his old hurt.
Thandar met the charge with his short stick of pointed hard wood—his “sword” he called it. It entered the fleshy part of Thurg’s breast, calling forth a howl of pain and a trickling stream of crimson.
Thurg retreated. This was no way to fight. He was scandalized.
For several minutes he stood glaring at his foe, screaming hideous threats and insults at him. Then once more he charged.
Again the painful point entered his body, but this time he pressed in clutching madly at the goad and for a hold upon Thandar’s body.
The latter held Thurg at arm’s length, prodding him with the fire-hardened point of his wooden sword.
The cave man’s little brain wondered at the skill and prowess of this stranger who had struck him a single blow with a cudgel many moons before and then run like a rabbit to escape his wrath.
Why was it that he did not run now? What strange change had taken place in him? He had expected an easy victim when he finally had recognized his foe; but instead he had met with brawn and ferocity equal to his own and with a strange weapon, the like of which he never before had seen.
Thandar was puncturing him rapidly now, and Thurg was screaming in rage and suffering. Presently he could endure it no longer. With a sudden wrench he tore himself loose and ran, bellowing, through the jungle.
Thandar did not pursue. It was enough that he had rid himself of his enemy. He turned toward Nadara, smiling.
“It will seem very tame in Boston,” he said; but though she gave him an answering smile, she did not understand, for to her Boston was but another land of primeval forests, and dense jungles; of hairy, battling men, and fierce beasts.
At the edge of the forest they came again upon Thurg, but this time he was surrounded by a score of his burly tribesmen. Thandar knew better than to pit himself against so many.
Thurg came rushing down upon them, his fellows at his heels. In loud tones he screamed anew his challenge, and the beasts
