Hand in hand they retraced their steps down the steep cliff, across the little valley toward the forest and the sea. Nadara walked very close to Thandar, her hand snuggled in his and her shoulder pressed tightly against his side, for she was afraid of the new life among the strange creatures of civilization. At the far side of the valley, just before one enters the forest, there grows a thick jungle of bamboo--really but a narrow strip, not more than a hundred feet through at its greatest width; but so dense as to quite shut out from view any creature even a few feet within its narrow, gloomy avenues. Into this the two plunged, Thandar in the lead, Nadara close behind him, stepping exactly in his footprints--an involuntary concession to training, for there was no need here either of deceiving a pursuer, or taking advantage of easier going. The trail was well-marked and smooth-beaten by many a padded paw. It wound erratically, following the line of least resistance--it forked, and there were other trails which entered it from time to time, or crossed it. The hundred feet it traversed seemed much more when measured by the trail. The two had come almost to the forest side of the jungle when a sharp turn in the path brought Thandar face to face with a huge, bear-like man. The fellow wore a g-string of soft hide, and over one shoulder dangled an old and filthy leopard skin--otherwise, he was naked. His thick, coarse hair was matted low over his forehead. The balance of his face was covered by a bushy red beard. At sight of Thandar his close set, little eyes burned with sudden rage and cunning. From his thick lips burst a savage yell--it was the preliminary challenge. Ordinarily a certain amount of vituperation and coarse insults must pass between strangers meeting upon this inhospitable isle before they fly at one another's throat. "I am Thurg," bellowed the brute. "I can kill you," and then followed a volley of vulgar allusions to Thandar's possible origin, and the origin of his ancestors. "The bad men," whispered Nadara. With her words there swept into the man's memory the scene upon the face of the cliff that night a year before when, even in the throes of cowardly terror, he had turned to do battle with a huge cave man that the fellow might not prevent the escape of Nadara. He glanced at the right forearm of the creature who faced him. A smile touched Thandar's lips--the arm was crooked as from the knitting of a broken bone, poorly set. "You would kill Thandar--again?" he asked tauntingly, pointing toward the deformed member. Then came recognition to the red-rimmed eyes of Thurg, as, with another ferocious bellow, he launched himself toward the author of his old hurt. Thandar met the charge with his short stick of pointed hard wood--his "sword" he called it. It entered the fleshy part of Thurg's breast, calling forth a howl of pain and a trickling stream of crimson. Thurg retreated. This was no way to fight. He was scandalized.