Without a word he turned and fled toward the jungle.
Von Horn walked quickly to the workshop. The door
hung open. Through the dark interior he strode straight to
the opposite door which let upon the court of mystery.
On a nail driven into the door frame hung a heavy bull whip.
The doctor took it down as he raised the strong bar
which held the door. Then he stepped through into
the moonlit inner campong--the bull whip in his right hand,
a revolver in his left.

A half dozen misshapen monsters roved restlessly about
the hard packed earth of the pen. The noise of the
battle in the adjoining enclosure had aroused them from
slumber and awakened in their half formed brains vague
questionings and fears. At sight of von Horn several
of them rushed for him with menacing growls, but a
swift crack of the bull whip brought them to a sudden
realization of the identity of the intruder, so that
they slunk away, muttering and whining in rage.

Von Horn passed quickly to the low shed in which the
remainder of the eleven were sleeping. With vicious
cuts from the stinging lash he lay about him upon the
sleeping things. Roaring and shrieking in pain and
anger the creatures stumbled to their feet and lumbered
awkwardly into the open. Two of them turned upon their
tormentor, but the burning weapon on their ill protected
flesh sent them staggering back out of reach, and in
another moment all were huddled in the center of the campong.