For a moment the man upon the floor made no response, then

mumblingly came the words: "Food! Food!"

"Stop!" commanded the Englishman--the injunction might have been

barked from the muzzle of a pistol. It brought the man to a

sitting posture, his hands off the ground. He stopped swaying to

and fro and appeared to be startled into an attempt to master his

faculties of concentration and thought.

Bradley repeated his questions sharply.

"I am An-Tak, the Galu," replied the man. "Luata alone knows how

long I have been here--maybe ten moons, maybe ten moons three

times"--it was the Caspakian equivalent of thirty. "I was young

and strong when they brought me here. Now I am old and very weak.

I am cos-ata-lu--that is why they have not killed me.

If I tell them the secret of becoming cos-ata-lu they will

take me out; but how can I tell them that which Luata alone knows?

"What is cos-ata-lu?" demanded Bradley.

"Food! Food! There is a way out!" mumbled the Galu.

Bradley strode across the floor, seized the man by his shoulders

and shook him.

"Tell me," he cried, "what is cos-ata-lu?"

"Food!" whimpered An-Tak.

Bradley bethought himself. His haversack had not been taken

from him. In it besides his razor and knife were odds and ends

of equipment and a small quantity of dried meat. He tossed a small

strip of the latter to the starving Galu. An-Tak seized upon it

and devoured it ravenously. It instilled new life in the man.

"What is cos-ata-lu?" insisted Bradley again.

An-Tak tried to explain. His narrative was often broken by

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