Korak, The Killer, fondled his heavy spear.
He played with the grass rope dangling from his gee-string. He
stroked the hunting knife at his hip. And the man beneath him
called to his drowsy guide, bent the rein to his pony's neck and
moved off toward the north. Still sat Korak, The Killer, alone
among the trees. Now his hands hung idly at his sides. His weapons
and what he had intended were forgotten for the moment. Korak was
thinking. He had noted that subtle change in Meriem. When last
he had seen her she had been his little, half-naked Mangani--wild,
savage, and uncouth. She had not seemed uncouth to him then; but
now, in the change that had come over her, he knew that such she
had been; yet no more uncouth than he, and he was still uncouth.
In her had taken place the change. In her he had just seen a sweet
and lovely flower of refinement and civilization, and he shuddered
as he recalled the fate that he himself had planned for her--to be
the mate of an ape-man, his mate, in the savage jungle. Then he
had seen no wrong in it, for he had loved her, and the way he had
planned had been the way of the jungle which they two had chosen
as their home; but now, after having seen the Meriem of civilized
attire, he realized the hideousness of his once cherished plan, and
he thanked God that chance and the blacks of Kovudoo had thwarted
him.
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