Suddenly, a fearful shriek exploded from the interior of the dwelling. There was the sickening sound of a final, brutal blow, followed by a grunt—muted but still audible—of grim satisfaction. Then nought but a complete and ominous silence.

An awful hush fell upon the scene. Not a single member of the multitudinous crowd seemed capable of the act of respiration. A long, agonized moment passed, as the entire throng stood as immobile as stone, every eye remaining fixed on the front of the shanty. All at once, a hand emerged and gripped the frame of the door—and a large, wildly dishevelled figure staggered out into the open air, clutching a dripping knife.

A few feet away from my observation post, a well-dressed matron emitted a shriek, then collapsed into her companion’s arms at the sight of this tattered—this bleeding—this ravaged apparition.

It was the severely contused and lacerated, but seemingly victorious, figure of—Hans Neuendorf!

CHAPTER 6

It might be supposed that—in light of the hostility that existed between Crockett and myself—his ignominious defeat under such highly public circumstances would have infused me with the keenest satisfaction. But such was not the case. So inwardly certain had I been of Crockett’s inevitable triumph that the sight of his wounded but still-ambulatory opponent struck me with the shock of a galvanic battery. My brain reeled. Dizziness overcame me. My hands, grasping the box-lid on either side of my body, began to tremble. Only the reflexive tightening of my fingers, which convulsively clutched at the raised wooden edge of the crate, prevented me from tumbling off my perch.

To be sure, the intense agitation I experienced at my first glimpse of Neuendorf was due in no small degree to the disquieting, indeed horrific, appearance of this singular being. Even from a distance, I was struck by the sheer, the overpowering ferocity of the man. He was not tall—certainly not more than five feet six inches high. But his limbs were of the most unsettling mold. His hands, especially, were so excessively thick, broad, and overgrown with coarse, matted hair as hardly to retain a human shape. His exceptionally long arms—as well as his strong, if somewhat stubby, legs—were bowed to the point of deformity, endowing him with a distinctly simian quality. His head was equally grotesque, being of enormous size and entirely bald.

Add to these inherently repulsive features the disfiguring effects of his violent confrontation with Crockett—his torn and bloody clothing—his bruised and swollen face—his partially detached left ear, which dangled by a ribbon of flesh from the side of his head—and it will readily be discerned why the sight of this appalling individual smote upon my soul with such unnerving force.