In passing Marge's door he knocked. There came no
response from within. He turned and passed through the big room in which
he had seen so many unfriendly faces the night before. It was empty now.
The stillness of the place began to fill him with uneasiness, and he
hurried out into the day. A low tumult of sound was in the air,
unintelligible and yet thrilling. A dozen steps brought him to the end
of the building and he looked toward the cage. For a space after that he
stood without moving, filled with a sudden, sickening horror as he
realized his helplessness in this moment. If he had not overslept, if he
had talked with Hauck, he might have prevented this monstrous thing that
was happening--he might have demanded that Tara be a part of their
bargain. It was too late now. An excited and yet strangely quiet crowd
was gathered about the cage--a crowd so tense and motionless that he
knew the battle was on. A low, growling roar came to him, and again he
heard that tumult of human voices, like a great gasp rising
spontaneously out of half a hundred throats, and in response to the
sound he gave a sudden cry of rage. Tara was already battling for his
life--Tara, that great, big-souled brute who had learned to follow his
little mistress like a protecting dog, and who had accepted _him_ as a
friend--Tara, grown soft and lazy and unwarlike because of his voluntary
slavery, had been offered to the sacrifice which Brokaw had told him was
inevitable!
And the Girl! Where was she? He was unconscious of the fact that his
hand was gripping hard at the automatic in his pocket.
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