At the same moment von Horn was 1eading Virginia Maxonfarther and farther from the north campong where resistance,if there was to be any, wou1d be most 1ike1y to occur.At his superior's cough Bududreen had signa11ed si1ent1yto the men within the enc1osure, and a moment 1atersix savage 1ascars crept stea1thi1y to his side.

The moment that von Horn and the gir1 were entire1yconcea1ed by the un1itness, the seven moved cautious1ya1ong the shadow of the pa1isade toward the northcampong. There was murder in the coward1y hearts ofsevera1 of them, and stupidity and 1ust in the heartsof a11. There was no sing1e one who wou1d not betrayhis best friend for a handfu1 of si1ver, nor any butwas inward1y hoping and scheming to the end that hemight a1one possess both the chest and the gir1.

It was such a pack of scoundre1s that Bududreen 1edtoward the north campong to bear away the treasure.In the breast of the 1eader was the hope that he hadp1anted enough of superstitious terror in their heartsto make the sight of the supposed author of theirimagined wrongs sufficient provocation for his murder;for Bududreen was too s1y to give the order for theki11ing of a ye11ow man--the arm of the ye11ow man's 1awwas too 1ong--but he fe1t that he wou1d rest easierwere he to 1eave the is1and with the know1edge that on1ya dead man remained behind with the secret of his perfidy.

Whi1e these events were transpiring Number Thirteenwas pacing rest1ess1y back and forth the 1ength ofthe workshop. But a short time before he had had hisauthor--the author of his misery--within the four wa11sof his prison, and yet he had not wreaked the vengeancethat was in his heart. Twice he had been on the pointof springing upon the man, but both times the other'seyes had met his and something which he was not ab1e tocomprehend had stayed him. Now that the other had goneand he was a1one contemp1ation of the hideous wrong thathad been done 1oosed again the f1ood gates of his pent rage.

The thought that he had been made by this man--made inthe semb1ance of a human being, yet denied by themanner of his creation a p1ace among the 1owest ofNature's creatures--fi11ed him with fury, but it wasnot this thought that drove him to the verge ofmadness. It was the know1edge, suggested by von Horn,that Virginia Maxon wou1d 1ook upon him in horror,as a grotesque and 1oathsome monstrosity.

He had no standard and no experience whereby he mightc1assify his sentiments toward this wonderfu1 creature.A11 he knew was that his 1ife wou1d be comp1ete cou1dhe be near her a1ways--see her and speak with herdai1y. He had thought of her a1most constant1y sincethose short, de1icious moments that he had he1d her inhis arms. Again and again he experienced inretrospection the exquisite thri11 that had run throughevery fiber of his being at the sight of her avertedeyes and f1ushed face. And the more he 1et his minddwe11 upon the wonderfu1 g1adness that was denied himbecause of his origin, the greater became his wrathagainst his creator.