“Yes,” replied Number Twelve, still looking at the whip. “You need not fear the whip,” said the young man. “I shall not use it on those who make no trouble. Wake the others and tell them what I have said. All must come with me—those who refuse shall feel the whip.” Number Twelve did as he was bid. The creatures mumbled among themselves for a few minutes. Finally Number Thirteen cracked his long whip to attract their attention. “Come!” he said. Nine of them shuffled after him as he turned toward the outer gate—only Number Ten and Number Three held back. The young man walked quickly to where they stood eyeing him sullenly. The others halted to watch—ready to spring upon their new master should the tide of the impending battle turn against him. The two mutineers backed away snarling, their hideous features distorted in rage. “Come!” repeated Number Thirteen. “We will stay here,” growled Number Ten. “We have not yet finished with Maxon.” A loop in the butt of the bull whip was about the young man’s wrist. Dropping the weapon from his hand it still dangled by the loop. At the same instant he launched himself at the throat of Number Ten, for he realized that a decisive victory now without the aid of the weapon they all feared would make the balance of his work easier. The brute met the charge with lowered head and outstretched hands, and in another second they were locked in a clinch, tearing at one another like two great gorillas. For a moment Number Three stood watching the battle, and then he too sprang in to aid his fellow mutineer. Number Thirteen was striking heavy blows with his giant hands upon the face and head of his antagonist, while the long, uneven fangs of the latter had found his breast and neck a half dozen times. Blood covered them both. Number Three threw his enormous weight into the conflict with the frenzy of a mad bull. Again and again he got a hold upon the young giant’s throat only to be shaken loose by the mighty muscles. The excitement of the conflict was telling upon the malformed minds of the spectators. Presently one who was almost brainless, acting upon the impulse of suggestion, leaped in among the fighters, striking and biting at Number Thirteen. It was all that was needed—another second found the whole monstrous crew upon the single man. His mighty strength availed him but little in the unequal conflict—eleven to one were too great odds even for those powerful thews. His great advantage lay in his superior intelligence, but even this seemed futile in the face of the enormous weight of numbers that opposed him. Time and again he had almost shaken himself free only to fall once more—dragged down by hairy arms about his legs.