Charles Beadle

“ After the ant style, but five feet thick, two columns of the spiders were advancing under cover of the outer scrub and grass, like the claws of pincers, behind the party.
As Tony and Plessons turned to follow, Bodiker, losing his nerve, misjudged the distance and landed right into the middle of them. Beneath his boot squirted red blood. He shrieked and leaped madly for safety, dropping his rifle and scrambling up the cliff, never stopping his cries nor his speed until he had passed Sawyer on the crest. Then, plumping down, he began madly to unlace his left boot. ”

“ Scrambling along the rugged crest, they came soon to the jointure of the cape and the hill, where there was an indubitable trail made by human footseps.
“W’ites, them blokes,” pronounced Plessons. “And by cripes, look at that! He must be ten feet high!”
He stood pointing to the spoor of a boot a little off the track, which was blurred by many feet—a fresh mark that was at least twenty-odd inches long.
“Giants!” exclaimed Tony. “Oh, rot! There aren't any white giants; and if they were natives they’d be barefoot.” ”

“ That white handkerchief—there over on the rock where Sawyer threw it.”
“Oh! The handkerchief! Why, you see, Tony,” said Bodiker with the air of one patiently explaining the obvious, “we saw them too from the top. Of course we didn’t know you were so close, and I thought it would be the best thing to do. Find out who they were, you know, instead of trying to kill each other. And besides, old man, for all we knew they might have got you at any moment. It’s always best to be peaceable.”
“Bet your life it is!” retorted Tony, trying to fathom what motive was behind the attempt. ”