Nearer and nearer came the whistler; until the crunching of his feet could be heard upon the dead leaves.  Rolf pushed the hair out of his eyes, and settled himself to watch with a sigh of almost child-like pleasure.

“Here is sport!  Here is a chess game where the pieces are not of ivory.  I would not have missed this for a gold chain!” he told his companion.  “Imagine Kark’s face when they spring out upon him!  So intent is his mind upon your death, that he could walk into a pit with open eyes.  You can never be sufficiently thankful, Alwin of England, that the Fate which destroys your enemy, gives you also the privilege of sitting by and watching the fun.”

Uncertainty was on Alwin’s face, as he gazed down through the branches and saw the thrall’s white tunic suddenly appear among the green bushes.

He said slowly, “I do not dispute that it looks like the hand of fate—­and it is true that he is my enemy—­that it is his life or mine—­”

A wild yell of alarm cut him short.  One by one the lean brown men were gliding out of the bushes and forming in a silent circle around the thrall.  They offered him no harm; they did not even touch him; yet the apparition of their shrivelled bodies in their animal-hides, with their beast-faces looking out from under their bristling black locks, was enough to try stouter nerves than Kark’s.  Shriek after shriek of maddest terror rent the air.

Rolf smiled gently as he heard it.  “About this time our friend below is beginning to distinguish between death-wolves and death-foxes,” he observed.

Glancing at his comrade for a response to his amusement, his expression changed.  “What is it your intention to do?” he demanded sharply.

Alwin had drawn himself into a sitting posture; and with one hand was tugging at the handle of his knife.  He flushed shamefacedly at the question, nor did he look up as he answered it.

“I am going down to help the beast,” he said.  “I cannot remedy it if I am a fool.  I do not deny that Kark is a cur; yet he is white, as we are; and alone.  I cannot watch his murder.”

He brought his knife out with a jerk; and putting it between his teeth, prepared to turn and descend.

Before he could make the move, Rolf had swung down from the limb above and landed beside him.  Under his weight the boughs creaked so loudly that, but for the cover of Kark’s cries, the pair must surely have been discovered.

The Wrestler spoke without drawling or gentleness:  “Either you are a child or a silly fool.  Do you understand that it is your enemy that they are ridding you of?  What is it to you if he is chopped to pieces?  You shall not stir one finger to aid him.”

Forgetful of the dagger between his teeth, Alwin opened his mouth angrily.  The weapon slipped from his lips and fell, a shining streak along the tree-trunk, and buried itself noiselessly in the soft sod between the roots.  The next instant, a scarf from Rolf’s neck was wound around the Saxon’s jaws; one of the Wrestler’s iron arms reached about him and gathered him up against the broad chest; one of the Wrestler’s great hands closed around his wrists like fetters of iron; and a muscular leg bent itself backward over his legs like a hoop of steel.  As well fight against steel or iron!