stopped in the sand close beside him. Then he heard a human voice.
It did not speak in words, but gave utterance to a strange and
unnatural cry. With a mighty effort Carrigan assembled his last
strength. It seemed to him that he brought himself up quickly, but
his movement was slow, painful--the effort of a man who might be
dying. The automatic hung limply in his hand, its muzzle pointing
to the sand. He looked up, trying to swing into action that mighty
weight of his weapon. And then from his own lips, even in his
utter physical impotence, fell a cry of wonder and amazement.

His enemy stood there in the sunlight, staring down at him with
big, dark eyes that were filled with horror. They were not the
eyes of a man. David Carrigan, in this most astounding moment of
his life, found himself looking up into the face of a woman.





III


For a matter of twenty seconds--even longer it seemed to Carrigan
--the life of these two was expressed in a vivid and unforgettable
tableau. One half of it David saw--the blue sky, the dazzling sun,
the girl in between. The pistol dropped from his limp hand, and
the weight of his body tottered on the crook of his under-elbow.
Mentally and physically he was on the point of collapse, and yet
in those few moments every detail of the picture was painted with
a brush of fire in his brain. The girl was bareheaded. Her face