TIME'S FINGER 287 



below seemed softer and smoother and more fairyland- 

 like than in reaUty. 



Having indicated what he deemed to be the direct 

 route, and firmly resolving to take no risks by peering 

 into the domain of the " debil-debil," Wylo sat in the 

 shadow of a huge boulder whence he could command 

 a view of the entrance to the rock-bestrewn gorge. 

 Not more than eight hundred feet separated the spot 

 from the summit of the peak. A couple of hours at 

 most and I would be down again, and, semi-seriously, I 

 counselled Wylo to stop where he was until late in the 

 afternoon, and if I had not then appeared to return to the 

 camp, where he was to remain for a couple of days, when 

 he would be at liberty to make his way to the head of 

 the mangrove creek where the boat was anchored, with 

 the design of bringing help to kill the "debil-debil" 

 that detained me in his clutches. He was not too 

 cheerful in his parting injunctions. "No good you 

 fight 'm that fella. Suppose he catch 'm you, he kill 

 you one time — finis. No good me come back. Me 

 clear out quick !" 



In all seriousness he undertook to "sit down" for two 

 days, and finally imparted advice which might enable 

 me to out-manoeuvre the "debil-debil," and either 

 curb him or throw him out from his lair "with wondrous 

 potency." Up the gorge I would find a prickly bush, 

 from which I was to cut a leafy branch as a frontal 

 shield. Then, when the fiend swooped upon me, its 

 long arms and phant hands, furnished with needle-Kke 

 nails, would become embarrassed by the "nails," of the 

 branch, and while it howled and danced I could "kill'm 

 alonga leg" with the tomahawk. I was to be careful 

 not to look up, for the eye of the "debil-debil" was so 

 bright and hot that it burnt up mortal sight, leaving the 

 intruder a blind and hopeless victim. 



