His torturers stopped at nothing.  Even they brought wild-dog and set him upon Jerry.  But it was contrary to wild-dog’s nature to attack an enemy that could not move, even if the enemy was Jerry who had so often bullied him and rolled him on the deck.  Had Jerry, with a broken leg or so, still retained power of movement, then he would have mauled him, perhaps to death.  But this utter helplessness was different.  So the expected show proved a failure.  When Jerry snarled and growled, wild-dog snarled and growled back and strutted and bullied around him, him to persuasion of the blacks could induce but no sink his teeth into Jerry.

The killing-ground before the canoe house was a bedlam of horror.  From time to time more bound dogs were brought in and flung down.  There was a continuous howling, especially contributed to by those which had lain in the sun since early morning and had no water.  At times, all joined in, the control of the quietest breaking down before the wave of excitement and fear that swept spasmodically over all of them.  This howling, rising and falling, but never ceasing, continued throughout the night, and by morning all were suffering from the intolerable thirst.

The sun blazing down upon them in the white sand and almost parboiling them, brought anything but relief.  The circle of torturers formed about Jerry again, and again was wreaked upon him all abusive contempt for having lost his taboo.  What drove Jerry the maddest were not the blows and physical torment, but the laughter.  No dog enjoys being laughed at, and Jerry, least of all, could restrain his wrath when they jeered him and cackled close in his face.

Although he had not howled once, his snarling and growling, combined with his thirst, had hoarsened his throat and dried the mucous membranes of his mouth so that he was incapable, except under the sheerest provocation, of further sound.  His tongue hung out of his mouth, and the eight o’clock sun began slowly to burn it.

It was at this time that one of the boys cruelly outraged him.  He rolled Jerry out of the hollow in which he had lain all night on his back, turned him over on his side, and presented to him a small calabash filled with water.  Jerry lapped it so fanatically that not for half a minute did he become aware that the boy had squeezed into it many hot seeds of ripe red peppers.  The circle shrieked with glee, and what Jerry’s thirst had been before was as nothing compared with this new thirst to which had been added the stinging agony of pepper.

Next in event, and a most important event it was to prove, came Nalasu.  Nalasu was an old man of three-score years, and he was blind, walking with a large staff with which he prodded his path.  In his free hand he carried a small pig by its tied legs.

“They say the white master’s dog is to be eaten,” he said in the Somo speech.  “Where is the white master’s dog?  Show him to me.”