To and fro flew Wieroos, going to and from the temple.
Others passed on foot across the open grounds, assisting
themselves with their great wings, so that they barely skimmed
the earth. To leave the mouth of the tunnel would have been
to court instant discovery and capture; but by what other
avenue he might escape, Bradley could not guess, unless he
retraced his steps up the stream and sought egress from the
other end of the city. The thought of traversing that dark
and horror-ridden tunnel for perhaps miles he could not
entertain--there must be some other way. Perhaps after dark
he could steal through the temple grounds and continue on
downstream until he had come beyond the city; and so he stood
and waited until his limbs became almost paralyzed with cold,
and he knew that he must find some other plan for escape.

A half-formed decision to risk an attempt to swim under water to
the temple was crystallizing in spite of the fact that any chance
Wieroo flying above the stream might easily see him, when again
a floating object bumped against him from behind and lodged
across his back. Turning quickly he saw that the thing was what
he had immediately guessed it to be--a headless and wingless
Wieroo corpse. With a grunt of disgust he was about to push it
from him when the white garment enshrouding it suggested a bold
plan to his resourceful brain. Grasping the corpse by an arm he
tore the garment from it and then let the body float downward
toward the temple. With great care he draped the robe about him;
the bloody blotch that had covered the severed neck he arranged
about his own head. His haversack he rolled as tightly as
possible and stuffed beneath his coat over his breast. Then he
fell gently to the surface of the stream and lying upon his back