Life still remained in his rugged body.  Even the cruel test of the last hour had not taken that from him.  The sturdy heart still beat, and the breath still whispered through his lips:  there was life in plenty to afford such sport as Ray and Chan might have for him.

The last, least quality of redemption—­such magic and beauty as might have been wrought by the firelight dancing over the moonlit glade—­was quite gone now.  The powers of wickedness were in the ascendency, and this was only the abode of horror.  Yet it was all tragically true, not a nightmare from which she would soon waken.  This was the remote heart of Back There—­a primeval land where the demons of lust and death walked unrestrained—­and the shadow of the moonlit trees fell dark upon her.

The back logs were burning dully now, and the coals were red, and Chan and Ray took seats on a huge, dead spruce to talk over their further plans.  It was all easy enough.  They could linger here, living mostly on meat, until the rising waters of the Yuga could carry them down to the Indian villages.  Their methods and procedure in regard to Ben were the only remaining questions.

For a few minutes they took little notice of the prone figures at the far edge of the fading firelight.  In their hands they were as helpless as Jeffery Neilson, left already by the receding radiance to the soft mercy of the shadows.  Attention could be given them soon enough.  Their own triumph was beginning to give way to deep fatigue.

Ben and Beatrice had talked softly at first, accepting their fate at last and trying to forget all things but the fact of each other’s presence.  They had kept the faith to-night, they had both been true; and perhaps they had conquered, in some degree, the horror of death.  His right hand held hers close to his lips, and only she could understand the message in its soft pressure, and the gentle, kindly shadows in his quiet eyes.  But presently her gaze fastened on some object in the grass beside him.

He did not understand at first.  He knew enough not to attract his enemies’ attention by trying to turn.  The girl relaxed again, but her hand throbbed in his, and her eyes shone somberly as if the luster of some strange, dark hope.

“What is it?” he asked whispering.

“I see a way out—­for us both,” she told him.  She knew he would not misunderstand and dream that she saw an actual avenue to life and safety.  “Don’t give any sign.”

“Then hurry,” he urged.  “They may be back any instant.  What is it?”

“A way to cheat ’em—­to keep them from torturing you—­and to save me—­from all the things they’ll do to me—­when you’re dead.  Oh, Ben—­you won’t fail me—­you’ll do it for me.”

He smiled, gently and strongly.  “Do you think I’d fail you now?”

“Then reach your good arm on the other side—­soft as you can.  There’s a knife lying there—­your own knife—­they knocked out of my hand.  They’ll jump at the first gleam.  You know what to do—­first me, in the throat—­then yourself.”