For a while the two comrades stood astounded by this unexpected reinforcement. Their case had appeared so hopeless, so utterly desperate, that they had resigned themselves to destruction. They had not expected to accomplish aught, even by their most strenuous exertions. To sell their lives as dearly as possible had been their only object. But now, by the timely arrival of this gigantic stranger, whom the wolf-men called “The last of the Ayutis,” the tables had been completely turned upon their enemies. Against the Ayuti’s great flashing blade the savages hurled themselves in vain. Vainly they cut and hewed, vainly they hacked and slashed. Cut and thrust alike fell harmless; their spears shivered themselves to fragments against the Ayuti’s shield. At every sweeping stroke of the great axe a savage crashed to earth. Amid the hideous, misshapen forms of the wolf-men the Ayuti towered as a god among demons, and ever and anon a thrilling war-cry pealed from his lips, ringing clear as a bell above the din. Not all their ferocious courage could serve Nordhu’s savages now, nor could their cunning aid them. Their gigantic enemy seemed to be wholly without fear. [Illustration: “AMID THE HIDEOUS FORMS OF THE WOLF-MEN AYUTI TOWERED AS A GOD”(_p. 149._)] The pile of dead grew, and soon, of all the wolfish horde which had first attacked the fugitives, but a dozen were left. These, seeing that all was lost, that further fighting was in vain, turned to flee. “Not one must escape!” roared the Ayuti, leaping forward in pursuit, and Seymour, translating the words to the American, followed him. Within five minutes not a savage remained on his feet. What the axe of the Ayuti had missed the rifle butts had accounted for. For a few moments hereafter the three men stood leaning on their weapons, and now the two fugitives had a closer view of their splendid rescuer. Over seven feet he was in stature; his splendid limbs were left partly bare by the skin cloak which he wore suspended from one shoulder. His curling hair fell in rich masses to his shoulders, and his skin was little darker than the baronet’s own. The beauty of his features, his exquisitely-proportioned form, and the grace of his every movement made up a picture of god-like majesty, before which the two friends felt inclined to bow the knee. Instead of doing this, however, Seymour held out his hand. “Friend,” he said in Ayuti, and there was a strange break in his voice, “we cannot thank you for the service you have rendered us.” “’Tis naught,” replied the Ayuti, grasping the proffered hand warmly; “I would that I might aid ye again. But, see, thy brothers still sleep. They must be awakened.” An application of the spirit flask carried by Haverly quickly aroused the two senseless men. Then, while the American dressed the engineer’s wounded leg, Seymour told the Ayuti of the means of their coming to this weird land, and of all that had befallen them since.