"Old Gesafam! Heaven above! Wounded! What does this mean?"
Starting back, he stared in horror at the old woman, stunned and motionless, with the blood coagulating along an ugly cut on her forehead.
Then, as though a prescience had swept his being, he sprang to the bed.
"My son! My boy! Where are you?" he shouted hoarsely.
With a shaking hand he flung down the bedclothes of finely woven palm fiber.
"My boy! My boy!"
The bed was empty. His son had disappeared.