A long recital it was, but deeply interesting, and the eyes of the giant glowed with admiration as the baronet proceeded. “Ye are men indeed,” he cried, when the story was finished, and once more gripped Seymour’s hand. “Fairhair, thou and I must be brethren, for thou art a man after my own heart. What say ye?” “Gladly,” answered the baronet, smiling at the Ayuti’s quaint reference to his golden hair and beard. “By what name are ye called?” “I am Chenobi, which should have been king of the city of Ayuti,” was the reply; “but I am the last of my race, a king without subjects. See, Fairhair, let us cast this carrion into the gulf of fire, that Nordhu discover not the manner of your escape.” With that the Ayuti commenced to pitch the bodies of the slain wolf-men over the brink of the abyss. Overcoming his repugnance with an effort, Seymour aided him in his horrible task, the Yankee also lending a hand when he had made Wilson comfortable. Then suddenly, at a moment when all seemed to be well, when all danger appeared to be past, a catastrophe happened that appalled them. Silas had stooped to grasp a corpse which lay almost on the verge of the gulf, when, without a scrap of warning, the savage--who had evidently been playing ’possum in hope of effecting his escape--grabbed for his ankles. Taken entirely by surprise, the Yankee tripped, lost his balance, and fell headlong over the brink. The Ayuti was the first to recover from the shock of this terrible thing. With a roar of fury, he strode forward, gripped the shivering savage by his girdle, and swung him, screaming madly, far out into the abyss. Fascinated, the adventurers watched his fall. Twice he turned over in mid-air, then his body seemed to shrivel up in that terrible heat, and it was naught but a cinder that struck the glowing sea below. “The dog!” Chenobi cried, a fearful passion blazing in his eyes, “the cursed dog, may----” A startled cry from Seymour checked his further utterance. “Great heaven! Look!” Shading their eyes from the glare, his friends looked over the brink, the Ayuti, though not understanding the words, following their example. On a ledge in the wall of the abyss, twenty feet below, lay the senseless form of Haverly. His limbs dangled perilously over the edge of the narrow shelf, and it was apparent to all that the slightest movement would precipitate him into the molten billows which rolled far beneath. At any moment he might come to and attempt to sit up; then--his comrades shivered at the thought. Yet how was his deliverance to be accomplished? Even had they a rope, who would dare to descend into that fiery gulf, to dangle over that flaming sea? Chenobi answered the question in a fashion that sent a thrill through the three spectators of his daring action.