I was lying in the shade of the enclosure wall, staring out to sea, when I was startled by something cold touching the skin of my heel, and starting round found the little pink sloth-creature blinking into my face.
He had long since lost speech and active movement, and the lank hair of the little brute grew thicker every day and his stumpy claws more askew.
He made a moaning noise when he saw he had attracted my attention, went a little way towards the bushes and looked back at me.
At first I did not understand, but presently it occurred to me that he wished me to follow him; and this I did at last,—slowly, for the day was hot.
When we reached the trees he clambered into them, for he could travel better among their swinging creepers than on the ground.
And suddenly in a trampled space I came upon a ghastly group.
My Saint-Bernard-creature lay on the ground, dead; and near his body crouched the Hyena-swine, gripping the quivering flesh with its misshapen claws, gnawing at it, and snarling with delight.
As I approached, the monster lifted its glaring eyes to mine, its lips went trembling back from its red-stained teeth, and it growled menacingly.
It was not afraid and not ashamed; the last vestige of the human taint had vanished.
I advanced a step farther, stopped, and pulled out my revolver.
At last I had him face to face.
The brute made no sign of retreat; but its ears went back, its hair bristled, and its body crouched together.
I aimed between the eyes and fired.
As I did so, the Thing rose straight at me in a leap, and I was knocked over like a ninepin. It clutched at me with its crippled hand, and struck me in the face. Its spring carried it over me.
I fell under the hind part of its body; but luckily I had hit as I meant, and it had died even as it leapt.
I crawled out from under its unclean weight and stood up trembling, staring at its quivering body.
That danger at least was over; but this, I knew was only the first of the series of relapses that must come.
I burnt both of the bodies on a pyre of brushwood; but after that I saw that unless I left the island my death was only a question of time.
The Beast People by that time had, with one or two exceptions, left the ravine and made themselves lairs according to their taste among the thickets of the island.
Few prowled by day, most of them slept, and the island might have seemed deserted to a new-comer; but at night the air was hideous with their calls and howling.
I had half a mind to make a massacre of them; to build traps, or fight them with my knife.
Had I possessed sufficient cartridges, I should not have hesitated to begin the killing.
There could now be scarcely a score left of the dangerous carnivores; the braver of these were already dead.
After the death of this poor dog of mine, my last friend, I too adopted to some extent the practice of slumbering in the daytime in order to be on my guard at night.
I rebuilt my den in the walls of the enclosure, with such a narrow opening that anything attempting to enter must necessarily make a considerable noise.
The creatures had lost the art of fire too, and recovered their fear of it.
I turned once more, almost passionately now, to hammering together stakes and branches to form a raft for my escape.
I found a thousand difficulties.
I am an extremely unhandy man (my schooling was over before the days of Slojd); but most of the requirements of a raft I met at last in some clumsy, circuitous way or other, and this time I took care of the strength.
The only insurmountable obstacle was that I had no vessel to contain the water I should need if I floated forth upon these untravelled seas.
I would have even tried pottery, but the island contained no clay.
I used to go moping about the island trying with all my might to solve this one last difficulty.
Sometimes I would give way to wild outbursts of rage, and hack and splinter some unlucky tree in my intolerable vexation.
But I could think of nothing.
And then came a day, a wonderful day, which I spent in ecstasy.
I saw a sail to the southwest, a small sail like that of a little schooner; and forthwith I lit a great pile of brushwood, and stood by it in the heat of it, and the heat of the midday sun, watching.
All day I watched that sail, eating or drinking nothing, so that my head reeled; and the Beasts came and glared at me, and seemed to wonder, and went away.
It was still distant when night came and swallowed it up; and all night I toiled to keep my blaze bright and high, and the eyes of the Beasts shone out of the darkness, marvelling.
In the dawn the sail was nearer, and I saw it was the dirty lug-sail of a small boat. But it sailed strangely.
My eyes were weary with watching, and I peered and could not believe them.
Two men were in the boat, sitting low down,—one by the bows, the other at the rudder.
The head was not kept to the wind; it yawed and fell away.
As the day grew brighter, I began waving the last rag of my jacket to them; but they did not notice me, and sat still, facing each other.
I went to the lowest point of the low headland, and gesticulated and shouted.
There was no response, and the boat kept on her aimless course, making slowly, very slowly, for the bay.
Suddenly a great white bird flew up out of the boat, and neither of the men stirred nor noticed it; it circled round, and then came sweeping overhead with its strong wings outspread.
Then I stopped shouting, and sat down on the headland and rested my chin on my hands and stared.
Slowly, slowly, the boat drove past towards the west.
I would have swum out to it, but something—a cold, vague fear—kept me back.
In the afternoon the tide stranded the boat, and left it a hundred yards or so to the westward of the ruins of the enclosure.