She noticed presently that their captors often
cast apprehensive glances in the direction of the birds and on
numerous occasions seemed to be addressing the winged denizens of
the forest.
One incident made a marked impression on her. The man who immediately
preceded her was a fellow of powerful build, yet, when a brilliantly
colored parrot swooped downward toward him, he dropped upon his knees
and covering his face with his arms bent forward until his head
touched the ground. Some of the others looked at him and laughed
nervously. Presently the man glanced upward and seeing that the
bird had gone, rose to his feet and continued along the trail.
It was at this brief halt that Smith-Oldwick was brought to her
side by the men who had been supporting him. He had been rather
badly mauled by one of the lions; but was now able to walk alone,
though he was extremely weak from shock and loss of blood.
"Pretty mess, what?" he remarked with a wry smile, indicating his
bloody and disheveled state.
"It is terrible," said the girl. "I hope you are not suffering."
"Not as much as I should have expected," he replied, "but I feel
as weak as a fool. What sort of creatures are these beggars, anyway?"
"I don't know," she replied, "there is something terribly uncanny
about their appearance."
The man regarded one of their captors closely for a moment and
then, turning to the girl asked, "Did you ever visit a madhouse?"
She looked up at him in quick understanding and with a horrified
expression in her eyes.
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