THE PIPES OF VICTORY 109

warded? Come! Have no fear of the music. Let us
attack before it is too late!”

Thus encouraged, but wondering still, the warriors
stole forward until at last they saw the lame lad sit-
ting upon a log behind a clump of berry bushes, blow-
ing into a strange reed instrument, even as Quahl had
said. They also saw the invaders huddled upon the
beach below, and knew that the crippled lad had held
them there under the enchantment of his music—
knew that he had saved the village from attack.

Happy was Kagan’s heart when he saw his tribes-
men stealing down the trail. Joyfully he played until
they reached the beach and raced across the sand with
their wild war-cries. Careless of concealment then,
he stood up, the better to watch the scene below, and
thus became a target for the keen eyes of the enemy
chief, who sent an avenging arrow speeding upward,
and shouted with triumph when the music ended upon
a high discordant note and the figure of the musician
slumped down behind the bushes.

There Kagan’s people found him when, the battle
over, they returned with many captives; found him
pierced by an arrow, with Dagal sobbing wildly by
his side. As Quahl lifted him, Kagan opened his eyes
and spoke to the weeping girl.

“Do not cry, Dagal,” he begged earnestly. “I am
not badly hurt. I shall soon be well again.”

“He is right,” the head shaman agreed, extracting