It was over when he made his way through the ring of spectators.

The fight had ended as suddenly as it had begun, and Grouse Piet's wolf-dog lay in the centre of the cage with a severed jugular.
Miki looked as though he might be dying.

Durant had opened the door and had slipped a rope over his head, and outside the cage Miki stood swaying on his feet, red with blood, and half blind.

His flesh was red and bleeding in a dozen places, and a stream of blood trickled from his mouth.

A cry of horror rose to the young white man's lips as he looked down at him.
And then, almost in the same breath, there came a still stranger cry.
"Good God! Miki--Miki--Miki--" Beating upon his brain as if from a vast distance, coming to him through the blindness of his wounds, Miki heard that voice.
The VOICE! THE voice that had lived with him in all his dreams, the voice he had waited for, and searched for, and knew that some day he would find.