He would not take his own life, though the temptation was great, but he courted death in every form that the savage island owned. He slept out upon the ground at night. He sought Nagoola in his lair, and armed only with his light lance he leaped to close quarters with every one of the great cats he could find.
The wild boars, often as formidable as Nagoola himself, were hunted now as they never had been hunted before. Thandar lived high those days, and many were the panther pelts that lined his newfound cave in the cliff beside the sea—the same cliff in which Nadara had found shelter, and from whence she had gone away with the search party from the Priscilla.
One day as Thandar was returning from the beach where he often went to scan the horizon for a sail, he saw something moving at the foot of his cliff. Thandar dropped behind a bush, watching. A moment later the thing moved again, and Thandar saw that it was a man. Instantly he sprang to his feet and ran forward. The days that he had been without human companionship had seemed to drag themselves into as many weary months. Now he had reached the pinnacle of loneliness from which he would gladly have embraced the devil had he come in human guise.
Thandar ran noiselessly. He was almost upon the man, a great, hairy brute, before the fellow was aware of his presence. At first the fellow turned to run, but when he saw that Thandar was alone he remained to fight.
“I am Roof,” he cried, “and I can kill you!”
The familiar primitive greeting no longer raised Thandar’s temperature or filled him with the fire of battle. He wanted companionship now, not a quarrel.
“I am Thandar,” he replied.
The slow-witted, hulking brute recognized him, and stepped back a pace. He was not so keen to fight now that he had learned the identity of the man who faced him. He had seen Thandar in battle. He had witnessed Thurg’s defeat at the hands of this smooth-skinned stranger.
“Let us not fight,” continued Thandar. “We are alone upon the island. I have seen no other than you since the Great Nagoola came forth and destroyed the people. Let us be friends, hunting together in peace. Otherwise one of us must kill the other and thereafter live always alone until death releases him from his terrible solitude.”
Roof peered over Thandar’s shoulder toward the wood behind him.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“Yes—have I not told you that all were killed but you and I?”
“All were not killed,” replied Roof. “But I will be friends with Thandar. We will hunt together and cave together. Roof and Thandar are brothers.”
He stooped, and gathering a handful of grass advanced toward the American. Thandar did likewise, and when each had taken the peace offering of the other and rubbed it upon his forehead the ceremony of friendship was complete—simple but none the less effectual, for each knew that the other would rather die than disregard the primitive pact.
“You said that all were not killed, Roof,” said Thandar, the ceremony over. “What do you mean?”
“All were not killed by the Great Nagoola,” replied the bad man. “Thurg was not killed, nor was she who was Thandar’s mate—she whom Thurg would have stolen.”
“What?” Thandar almost screamed the question. “Nadara not dead?”
“Look,” said Roof, and he led the way to the foot of the cliff. “See!”
“Yes,” replied Thandar, “I had noticed that body, but what of it?”
“It was Thurg,” explained Roof. “He sought to reach your mate, who had taken refuge in that cave far above us. Then came some strange men who made a great noise with sticks and Thurg fell dead—the loud noise had killed him from a great distance. Then came the strange men and she whom you call Nadara went away with them.”
“In which direction?” cried Thandar. “Where did they take her?”
“They took her to the strange cliff in which they dwelt—the one in which they came. Never saw man such a thing as this cliff. It floated upon the face of the water. About its face were many tiny caves, but the people did not come out of these they came from the top of the cliff, and clambering down the sides floated ashore in hollow things of wood. On top of the cliff were two trees without leaves, and only very short, straight branches. When the cliff went away black smoke came out of it from a short black stump of a tree between the two trees. It was a very wonderful thing to see; but the most wonderful of all were the noise-sticks that killed Thurg and Nagoola a long way off.”
Not half of Roof’s narrative did Thandar hear. Through his brain roared and thundered a single mighty thought: Nadara lives! Nadara lives! Life took on a new meaning to him now. He trembled at the thought of the chances he had been taking. Now, indeed, must he live. He leaped up and down, laughing and shouting. He threw his arms about the astonished Roof, whirling the troglodyte about in a mad waltz. Nadara lives! Nadara lives!
Once again the sun shone, the birds sang, nature was her old, happy, carefree self. Nadara was alive and among civilized men. But then came a doubt.
“Did Nadara go willingly with these strangers,” he asked Roof, “or did they take her
