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He was very dead, that man; a great foot had trodden on his face, and it was flattened out, looking like a great black flat-fish in which a child, for fun, had punched holes for eyes and mouth and nose; it was curling up at the edges under the sun's rays, becoming converted into a cup. "B'selius," said Félix, with a laugh, indicating this thing as they passed it.
The two porters seemed less human than dogs, and Félix poisoned his sight. His dislike for this man had been steadily growing. The thought that Berselius had risked his life for this creature, and the remembrance of how he had pointed to the dead man with a grin and said "B'selius," had brought matters to a head in the mind of Adams, and turned his dislike into a furious antipathy.
Berselius, moving uneasily in his sleep, had flung out his arm; the clenched fist, like the emblem of power, struck the eye of the Zappo Zap, and quelled him as the sight of the whip quells a dog. B'selius was alive and able to clench his fist.
Sneak off with it in the night and vanish with it into his own country away to the northeast, leaving B'selius and his broken camp to fend for themselves. This determination was still unshaken; the thing held him like a charm, and he sat down, squatting in the grass with his knees drawn up to his chin and his eyes fixed westward, waiting for evening.
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