"I've been turned into a beast," he said wryly. "Look here, Bell. There were as many as ten and fifteen of us in that cage at one time--men the deputies sent up for the purpose. We were allowed to go mad, one and two at a time, for the edification of the populace, to keep the _camaradas_ scared. And those of us who weren't going mad just then used to have to band together and kill them. That cage has been the most awful hell on earth that any devil ever contrived. They put three women in there once, with their hands already writhing.... Ugh!..." Bell's face was cold and hard is if carved from marble. "I haven't lived through it," said the white man harshly, "by being soft. And I've got less than no time to live--sane, anyhow. I was thinking of shooting you in the back, because the young lady--" He laughed as Bell's revolver muzzle stirred. "I'm telling you," said the white man in ghastly merriment, "because I thought--I thought One-Fourteen had set me the example of ditching the Service for his own life. But now it's different." * * * * * He pointed. "There's a launch in that house, with one of these outboard motors. It was used to keep up communication with the boat gangs that sweat the heavy supplies up the river. It'll float in three inches of water, and you can pole it where the water's too shallow to let the propeller turn. This rabble will mob you if you try to take it, because it'll have taken them just about this long to realize that they're deserted. They'll think you are a deputy, at least, to have dared release me. I'm going to convince them of it, and use this gun to give you a start. I give you two hours. It ought to be enough. And then...." Bell nodded. "I'm not Service," he said curtly, "but I'll see it's known." The white man laughed again. "'Some sigh for the glories of this world, and some for a prophet's paradise to come,'" he quoted derisively. "I thought I was hard, Bell, but I find I prefer to have my record clean in the Service--where nobody will ever see it--than to take what pleasure I might snatch before I die. Queer, isn't it? Old Omar was wrong. Now watch me bluff, flinging away the cash for credit of doubtful value, and all for the rumble of a distant drum--which will be muted!" * * * * * They were surrounded by swarming, fawning, frightened _camaradas_ who implored the Senhor to tell them if he were a deputy of The Master, and if he were here to make sure nothing evil befell them. They worked for The Master, and they desired nothing save to labor all their lives for The Master, only--only--The Master would allow no evil to befall them? The white man waved his arms grandiloquently.