g of our enemies, who, accustomed though they were to the
ferocity of terrible creatures, seemed awed by the sight of this
strange beast from another world battling at the side of his equally
strange master. Yet they were no cowards, and only by teamwork did
Nobs and I overcome them at last. We would rush for a man,
simultaneously, and as Nobs leaped for him upon one side, I would
strike at his head with the stone hatchet from the other.

As the last man went down, I heard the running of many feet approaching
us from the direction of the plaza. To be captured now would mean
death; yet I could not attempt to leave the village without first
ascertaining the whereabouts of Ajor and releasing her if she were held
a captive. That I could escape the village I was not at all sure; but
of one thing I was positive; that it would do neither Ajor nor myself
any service to remain where I was and be captured; so with Nobs, bloody
but happy, following at heel, I turned down the first alley and slunk
away in the direction of the northern end of the village.

Friendless and alone, hunted through the dark labyrinths of this savage
community, I seldom have felt more helpless than at that moment; yet
far transcending any fear which I may have felt for my own safety was
my concern for that of Ajor. What fate had befallen her? Where was
she, and in whose power? That I should live to learn the answers to
these queries I doubted; but that I should face death gladly in the
attempt--of that I was certain. And why? With all my concern for the
welfare of my friends who had accompanied me to Caprona, and of my best
friend of all, Bowen J. Tyler, Jr., I never yet had experienced the
almost paralyzing fear for the safety of any other creature which now
threw me alternately into a fever of despair and into a cold sweat of
apprehension as my mind dwelt upon the fate on one bit of half-savage
femininity of whose very existence even I had not dreamed a few short
weeks before.

What was this hold she had upon me? Was I bewitched, that my mind
refused to function sanely, and that judgment and reason were dethroned
by some mad sentiment which I steadfastly refused to believe was love?
I had never been in love. I was not in love now--the very thought was
preposterous. How could I, Thomas Billings, the right-hand man of the
late Bowen J. Tyler, Sr., one of America's foremost captains of
industry and the greatest man in California, be in love w