Korak, momentarily forgetful of his bloody mission, permitted the
fingers of his spear hand to relax a little their grasp upon the
shaft of his formidable weapon. It slipped, almost falling; but
the occurrence recalled The Killer to himself. It reminded him
of his purpose in slinking stealthily upon the owner of the voice
that had attracted his vengeful attention. He glanced at the spear,
with its well-worn grip and cruel, barbed head. Then he let his
eyes wander again to the dainty form below him. In imagination
he saw the heavy weapon shooting downward. He saw it pierce the
tender flesh, driving its way deep into the yielding body. He saw
the ridiculous doll drop from its owner's arms to lie sprawled and
pathetic beside the quivering body of the little girl. The Killer
shuddered, scowling at the inanimate iron and wood of the spear as
though they constituted a sentient being endowed with a malignant
mind.
Korak wondered what the girl would do were he to drop suddenly from
the tree to her side. Most likely she would scream and run away.
Then would come the men of the village with spears and guns and set
upon him.
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