It was a farce, rather than a
fight.
We brought our spears down on the swarm of heads and backs
without even troubling to take aim. They pressed against our
legs; we waded through as though it were a current of water.
Those we hit either fell or ran; they waited for no second blow.
Desiree had ceased her cries.
"They won't hurt you!" Harry had shouted. "Where's your spear?"
"Gone. They came on me before I had time to get it."
"Then kick 'em, push 'em--anything. They're nothing but pigs."
They had the senseless stubbornness of pigs, at least. They
seemed absolutely unable to realize that their presence was not
desired till they actually felt the spear--utterly devoid even of
instinct.
"So this is what you captured for us at the risk of your life!" I
shouted to Harry in disgust. "They haven't even sense enough to
squeal."
We finally reached Desiree's side and cleared a space round her.
But it took us another fifteen minutes of pushing and thrusting
and indiscriminate massacre before we routed the brutes. When
they did decide to go they lost no time, but scampered away
toward the water with a sliding, tumbling rush.
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