monster was gorging.

"For God's sake, Henry, take me with you, this evening, as you
promised," Helen was imploring Daly. "I can't stay here any longer. My
father--I wish now I had listened to him in the first place, long ago."
Daly did not hear her. He had risen to his feet and holding his head
back was drawing in great acrid breaths. His florid face went white.
"What is that?" he said hoarsely. Through the thick forest red tongues
broke out, sweeping towards them. Helen clutched Daly's arm, screaming.
He shook her off and turned to flee out by the church. There, too, red
tongues were leaping, curling back on themselves in long derisive
snarls. Daly turned upon her. "You ..."

The two enemies met at the church, red tongue leaping against red
tongue, crackling jaws breaking on crackling jaws, sizzling gullet
straining against sizzling gullet. A great noise like the rending of a
thousand fibres, a clap of red thunder, as the body of beast met the
body of beast, and both lay crumpled upon the ground together, their
long bodies writhing, bruised, red jaws snapping, red tongue eating red
tongue.

Upon them leaped the band of men spreading out the whole length of the
bodies and beat, beat, incessantly, desperately, tongue after tongue,
hour after hour, beat, beat. Lingeringly the enemy died, a hard death.
Three days it was dying and it had watchers in plenty. Whenever a red
tongue leaped into life, some one was there to lay it low. In the
night-time the men watched, and in the day the women and girls. The men
talked. "We will build it up again in brick," they said. "That is safer
and it looks better, too." The women talked, too. "I hope Abe will get
in some of those new lace curtains," they said.

Meanwhile families gathered themselves together. Those whose homes were
gone encamped picnic fashion in the schoolhouse or were taken in by
those whose houses were still standing. Two persons were missing when
the muster of the town was finally taken. They were Helen Barton and Mr.
Daly. Jim Dunn said he wasn't sure but he thought Daly left on the
morning train. Daly's wife said he told her he was not going until
evening.

They searched for Helen far and wide. No trace of her was ever found.
Her father stood in front of the Sunday School on the Sunday following
the death of the enemy and made an eloquent appeal for better life in
the town. "The wages of sin is death," he declared, "death of the soul
always, death of the body