by H. G. Wells
3. THE VALLEY OF SPIDERS
Towards mid-day the three pursuers came abruptly round a bend in thetorrent bed upon the sight of a very broad and spacious valley. Thedifficult and winding trench of pebbles along which they had trackedthe fugitives for so long, expanded to a broad slope, and with a commonimpulse the three men left the trail, and rode to a little eminence setwith olive-dun trees, and there halted, the two others, as became them,a little behind the man with the silver-studded bridle.
For a space they scanned the great expanse below them with eager eyes.It spread remoter and remoter, with only a few clusters of sere thornbushes here and there, and the dim suggestions of some now waterlessravine, to break its desolation of yellow grass. Its purple distancesmelted at last into the bluish slopes of the further hills--hills itmight be of a greener kind--and above them invisibly supported, andseeming indeed to hang in the blue, were the snowclad summits ofmountains that grew larger and bolder to the north-westward as the sidesof the valley drew together. And westward the valley opened until adistant darkness under the sky told where the forests began. But thethree men looked neither east nor west, but only steadfastly across thevalley.
The gaunt man with the scarred lip was the first to speak. "Nowhere," hesaid, with a sigh of disappointment in his voice. "But after all, theyhad a full day's start."
"They don't know we are after them," said the little man on the whitehorse.
"SHE would know," said the leader bitterly, as if speaking to himself.
"Even then they can't go fast. They've got no beast but the mule, andall to-day the girl's foot has been bleeding---"
The man with the silver bridle flashed a quick intensity of rage on him."Do you think I haven't seen that?" he snarled.
"It helps, anyhow," whispered the little man to himself.
The gaunt man with the scarred lip stared impassively. "They can't beover the valley," he said. "If we ride hard--"
He glanced at the white horse and paused.
"Curse all white horses!" said the man with the silver bridle, andturned to scan the beast his curse included.
The little man looked down between the melancholy ears of his steed.
"I did my best," he said.
The two others stared again across the valley for a space. The gaunt manpassed the back of his hand across the scarred lip.
"Come up!" said the man who owned the silver bridle, suddenly. Thelittle man started and jerked his rein, and the horse hoofs of the threemade a multitudinous faint pattering upon the withered grass as theyturned back towards the trail....
They rode cautiously down the long slope before them, and so camethrough a waste of prickly, twisted bushes and strange dry shapes ofhorny branches that grew amongst the rocks, into the levels below.And there the trail grew faint, for the soil was scanty, and the onlyherbage was this scorched dead straw that lay upon the ground. Still, byhard scanning, by leaning beside the horses' necks and pausing ever andagain, even these white men could contrive to follow after their prey.
There were trodden places, bent and broken blades of the coarse grass,and ever and again the sufficient intimation of a footmark. And oncethe leader saw a brown smear of blood where the half-caste girl may havetrod. And at that under his breath he cursed her for a fool.
The gaunt man checked his leader's tracking, and the little man on thewhite horse rode behind, a man lost in a dream. They rode one afteranother, the man with the silver bridle led the way, and they spokenever a word. After a time it came to the little man on the white horsethat the world was very still. He started out of his dream. Besides thelittle noises of their horses and equipment, the whole great valley keptthe brooding quiet of a painted scene.
Before him went his master and his fellow, each intently leaning forwardto the left, each impassively moving with the paces of his horse; theirshadows went before them--still, noiseless, tapering attendants; andnearer a crouched cool shape was his own. He looked about him. What wasit had gone? Then he remembered the reverberation from the banks of thegorge and the perpetual accompaniment of shifting, jostling pebbles.And, moreover--? There was no breeze. That was it! What a vast, stillplace it was, a monotonous afternoon slumber. And the sky open andblank, except for a sombre veil of haze that had gathered in the uppervalley.
He straightened his back, fretted with his bridle, puckered his lipsto whistle, and simply sighed. He turned in his saddle for a time, andstared at the throat of the mountain gorge out of which they had come.Blank! Blank slopes on either side, with never a sign of a decent beastor tree--much less a man. What a land it was! What a wilderness! Hedropped again into his former pose.
It filled him with a momentary pleasure to see a wry stick of purpleblack flash out into the form of a snake, and vanish amidst the brown.After all, the infernal valley WAS alive. And then, to rejoice him stillmore, came a little breath across his face, a whisper that came andwent, the faintest inclination of a stiff black-antlered bush upon alittle crest, the first intimations of a possible breeze. Idly he wettedhis finger, and held it up.
He pulled up sharply to avoid a collision with the gaunt man, who hadstopped at fault upon the trail. Just at that guilty moment he caughthis master's eye looking towards him.
For a time he forced an interest in the tracking. Then, as they rode onagain, he studied his master's shadow and hat and shoulder, appearingand disappearing behind the gaunt man's nearer contours. They had riddenfour days out of the very limits of the world into this desolate place,short of water, with nothing but a strip of dried meat under theirsaddles, over rocks and mountains, where surely none but these fugitiveshad ever been before--for THAT!
And all this was for a girl, a mere wilful child! And the man had wholecityfuls of people to do his basest bidding--girls, women! Why in thename of passionate folly THIS one in particular? asked the little man,and scowled at the world, and licked his parched lips with a blackenedtongue. It was the way of the master, and that was all he knew. Justbecause she sought to evade him....
His eye caught a whole row of high plumed canes bending in unison, andthen the tails of silk that hung before his neck flapped and fell. Thebreeze was growing stronger. Somehow it took the stiff stillness out ofthings--and that was well.
"Hullo!" said the gaunt man.
All three stopped abruptly.
"What?" asked the master. "What?"
"Over there," said the gaunt man, pointing up the valley.
"What?"
"Something coming towards us."
And as he spoke a yellow animal crested a rise and came bearing downupon them. It was a big wild dog, coming before the wind, tongue out, ata steady pace, and running with such an intensity of purpose that hedid not seem to see the horsemen he approached. He ran with his nose up,following, it was plain, neither scent nor quarry. As he drew nearer thelittle man felt for his sword. "He's mad," said the gaunt rider.
"Shout!" said the little man, and shouted.
The dog came on. Then when the little man's blade was already out, itswerved aside and went panting by them and past. The eyes of the littleman followed its flight. "There was no foam," he said. For a space theman with the silver-studded bridle stared up the valley. "Oh, comeon!" he cried at last. "What does it matter?" and jerked his horse intomovement again.
The little man left the insoluble mystery of a dog that fled fromnothing but the wind, and lapsed into profound musings on humancharacter. "Come on!" he whispered to himself. "Why should it be givento one man to say 'Come on!' with that stupendous violence of effect.Always, all his life, the man with the silver bridle has been sayingthat. If _I_ said it--!" thought the little man. But people marvelledwhen the master was disobeyed even in the wildest things. Thishalf-caste girl seemed to him, seemed to every one, mad--blasphemousalmost. The little man, by way of comparison, reflected on the gauntrider with the scarred lip, as stalwart as his master, as brave and,indeed, perhaps braver, and yet for him there was obedience, nothing butto give obedience duly and stoutly...
The gaunt face looked interrogation.
"They don't like this wind," said the little man, and dropped behind asthe man with the silver bridle turned upon him.
"It's all right," said the gaunt-faced man.
They rode on again for a space in silence. The foremost two rodedowncast upon the trail, the hindmost man watched the haze that creptdown the vastness of the valley, nearer and nearer, and noted how thewind grew in strength moment by moment. Far away on the left he saw aline of dark bulks--wild hog perhaps, galloping down the valley, but ofthat he said nothing, nor did he remark again upon the uneasiness of thehorses.
And then he saw first one and then a second great white ball, a greatshining white ball like a gigantic head of thistle-down, that drovebefore the wind athwart the path. These balls soared high in the air,and dropped and rose again and caught for a moment, and hurried onand passed, but at the sight of them the restlessness of the horsesincreased.
Then presently he saw that more of these drifting globes--and then soonvery many more--were hurrying towards him down the valley.
They became aware of a squealing. Athwart the path a huge boar rushed,turning his head but for one instant to glance at them, and then hurlingon down the valley again. And at that, all three stopped and sat intheir saddles, staring into the thickening haze that was coming uponthem.
"If it were not for this thistle-down--" began the leader.
But now a big globe came drifting past within a score of yards of them.It was really not an even sphere at all, but a vast, soft, ragged, filmything, a sheet gathered by the corners, an aerial jelly-fish, as itwere, but rolling over and over as it advanced, and trailing long,cobwebby threads and streamers that floated in its wake.
"It isn't thistle-down," said the little man.
"I don't like the stuff," said the gaunt man.
And they looked at one another.
"Curse it!" cried the leader. "The air's full of it up there. If itkeeps on at this pace long, it will stop us altogether."
An instinctive feeling, such as lines out a herd of deer at the approachof some ambiguous thing, prompted them to turn their horses to the wind,ride forward for a few paces, and stare at that advancing multitudeof floating masses. They came on before the wind with a sort of smoothswiftness, rising and falling noiselessly, sinking to earth, reboundinghigh, soaring--all with a perfect unanimity, with a still, deliberateassurance.
Right and left of the horsemen the pioneers of this strange army passed.At one that rolled along the ground, breaking shapelessly and trailingout reluctantly into long grappling ribbons and bands, all three horsesbegan to shy and dance. The master was seized with a sudden unreasonableimpatience. He cursed the drifting globes roundly. "Get on!" he cried;"get on! What do these things matter? How CAN they matter? Back tothe trail!" He fell swearing at his horse and sawed the bit across itsmouth.
He shouted aloud with rage. "I will follow that trail, I tell you!" hecried. "Where is the trail?"
He gripped the bridle of his prancing horse and searched amidst thegrass. A long and clinging thread fell across his face, a grey streamerdropped about his bridle-arm, some big, active thing with many legs randown the back of his head. He looked up to discover one of those greymasses anchored as it were above him by these things and flapping outends as a sail flaps when a boat comes, about--but noiselessly.
He had an impression of many eyes, of a dense crew of squat bodies, oflong, many-jointed limbs hauling at their mooring ropes to bring thething down upon him. For a space he stared up, reining in his prancinghorse with the instinct born of years of horsemanship. Then the flatof a sword smote his back, and a blade flashed overhead and cut thedrifting balloon of spider-web free, and the whole mass lifted softlyand drove clear and away.
"Spiders!" cried the voice of the gaunt man. "The things are full of bigspiders! Look, my lord!"
The man with the silver bridle still followed the mass that drove away.
"Look, my lord!"
The master found himself staring down at a red, smashed thing on theground that, in spite of partial obliteration, could still wriggleunavailing legs. Then when the gaunt man pointed to another mass thatbore down upon them, he drew his sword hastily. Up the valley now it waslike a fog bank torn to rags. He tried to grasp the situation.
"Ride for it!" the little man was shouting. "Ride for it down thevalley."
What happened then was like the confusion of a battle. The man withthe silver bridle saw the little man go past him slashing furiously atimaginary cobwebs, saw him cannon into the horse of the gaunt man andhurl it and its rider to earth. His own horse went a dozen paces beforehe could rein it in. Then he looked up to avoid imaginary dangers, andthen back again to see a horse rolling on the ground, the gaunt manstanding and slashing over it at a rent and fluttering mass of grey thatstreamed and wrapped about them both. And thick and fast as thistle-downon waste land on a windy day in July, the cobweb masses were coming on.
The little man had dismounted, but he dared not release his horse. Hewas endeavouring to lug the struggling brute back with the strength ofone arm, while with the other he slashed aimlessly, The tentacles of asecond grey mass had entangled themselves with the struggle, and thissecond grey mass came to its moorings, and slowly sank.
The master set his teeth, gripped his bridle, lowered his head, andspurred his horse forward. The horse on the ground rolled over, therewere blood and moving shapes upon the flanks, and the gaunt man,suddenly leaving it, ran forward towards his master, perhaps ten paces.His legs were swathed and encumbered with grey; he made ineffectualmovements with his sword. Grey streamers waved from him; there wasa thin veil of grey across his face. With his left hand he beat atsomething on his body, and suddenly he stumbled and fell. He struggledto rise, and fell again, and suddenly, horribly, began to howl,"Oh--ohoo, ohooh!"
The master could see the great spiders upon him, and others upon theground.
As he strove to force his horse nearer to this gesticulating, screaminggrey object that struggled up and down, there came a clatter of hoofs,and the little man, in act of mounting, swordless, balanced on his bellyathwart the white horse, and clutching its mane, whirled past. And againa clinging thread of grey gossamer swept across the master's face.All about him, and over him, it seemed this drifting, noiseless cobwebcircled and drew nearer him....
To the day of his death he never knew just how the event of that momenthappened. Did he, indeed, turn his horse, or did it really of its ownaccord stampede after its fellow? Suffice it that in another secondhe was galloping full tilt down the valley with his sword whirlingfuriously overhead. And all about him on the quickening breeze, thespiders' airships, their air bundles and air sheets, seemed to him tohurry in a conscious pursuit.
Clatter, clatter, thud, thud--the man with the silver bridle rode,heedless of his direction, with his fearful face looking up now right,now left, and his sword arm ready to slash. And a few hundred yardsahead of him, with a tail of torn cobweb trailing behind him, rode thelittle man on the white horse, still but imperfectly in the saddle.The reeds bent before them, the wind blew fresh and strong, over hisshoulder the master could see the webs hurrying to overtake....
He was so intent to escape the spiders' webs that only as his horsegathered together for a leap did he realise the ravine ahead. And thenhe realised it only to misunderstand and interfere. He was leaningforward on his horse's neck and sat up and back all too late.
But if in his excitement he had failed to leap, at any rate he had notforgotten how to fall. He was horseman again in mid-air. He came offclear with a mere bruise upon his shoulder, and his horse rolled,kicking spasmodic legs, and lay still. But the master's sword drove itspoint into the hard soil, and snapped clean across, as though Chancerefused him any longer as her Knigh
t, and the splintered end missed hisface by an inch or so.
He was on his feet in a moment, breathlessly scanning the onrushingspider-webs. For a moment he was minded to run, and then thought of theravine, and turned back. He ran aside once to dodge one drifting terror,and then he was swiftly clambering down the precipitous sides, and outof the touch of the gale.
There under the lee of the dry torrent's steeper banks he might crouch,and watch these strange, grey masses pass and pass in safety till thewind fell, and it became possible to escape. And there for a long timehe crouched, watching the strange, grey, ragged masses trail theirstreamers across his narrowed sky.
Once a stray spider fell into the ravine close beside him--a full footit measured from leg to leg, and its body was half a man's hand--andafter he had watched its monstrous alacrity of search and escape for alittle while, and tempted it to bite his broken sword, he lifted up hisiron-heeled boot and smashed it into a pulp. He swore as he did so, andfor a time sought up and down for another.
Then presently, when he was surer these spider swarms could not dropinto the ravine, he found a place where he could sit down, and sat andfell into deep thought and began after his manner to gnaw his knucklesand bite his nails. And from this he was moved by the coming of the manwith the white horse.
He heard him long before he saw him, as a clattering of hoofs, stumblingfootsteps, and a reassuring voice. Then the little man appeared, arueful figure, still with a tail of white cobweb trailing behind him.They approached each other without speaking, without a salutation. Thelittle man was fatigued and shamed to the pitch of hopeless bitterness,and came to a stop at last, face to face with his seated master. Thelatter winced a little under his dependant's eye. "Well?" he said atlast, with no pretence of authority.
"You left him?"
"My horse bolted."
"I know. So did mine."
He laughed at his master mirthlessly.
"I say my horse bolted," said the man who once had a silver-studdedbridle.
"Cowards both," said the little man.
The other gnawed his knuckle through some meditative moments, with hiseye on his inferior.
"Don't call me a coward," he said at length.
"You are a coward like myself."
"A coward possibly. There is a limit beyond which every man must fear.That I have learnt at last. But not like yourself. That is where thedifference comes in."
"I never could have dreamt you would have left him. He saved your lifetwo minutes before.... Why are you our lord?"
The master gnawed his knuckles again, and his countenance was dark.
"No man calls me a coward," he said. "No. A broken sword is better thannone.... One spavined white horse cannot be expected to carry two mena four days' journey. I hate white horses, but this time it cannot behelped. You begin to understand me?... I perceive that you are minded,on the strength of what you have seen and fancy, to taint my reputation.It is men of your sort who unmake kings. Besides which--I never likedyou."
"My lord!" said the little man.
"No," said the master. "NO!"
He stood up sharply as the little man moved. For a minute perhaps theyfaced one another. Overhead the spiders' balls went driving. There was aquick movement among the pebbles; a running of feet, a cry of despair, agasp and a blow....
Towards nightfall the wind fell. The sun set in a calm serenity, andthe man who had once possessed the silver bridle came at last verycautiously and by an easy slope out of the ravine again; but now he ledthe white horse that once belonged to the little man. He would have goneback to his horse to get his silver-mounted bridle again, but he fearednight and a quickening breeze might still find him in the valley, andbesides he disliked greatly to think he might discover his horse allswathed in cobwebs and perhaps unpleasantly eaten.
And as he thought of those cobwebs and of all the dangers he had beenthrough, and the manner in which he had been preserved that day, hishand sought a little reliquary that hung about his neck, and he claspedit for a moment with heartfelt gratitude. As he did so his eyes wentacross the valley.
"I was hot with passion," he said, "and now she has met her reward. Theyalso, no doubt--"
And behold! Far away out of the wooded slopes across the valley, but inthe clearness of the sunset distinct and unmistakable, he saw a littlespire of smoke.
At that his expression of serene resignation changed to an amazed anger.Smoke? He turned the head of the white horse about, and hesitated. Andas he did so a little rustle of air went through the grass about him.Far away upon some reeds swayed a tattered sheet of grey. He looked atthe cobwebs; he looked at the smoke.
"Perhaps, after all, it is not them," he said at last.
But he knew better.
After he had stared at the smoke for some time, he mounted the whitehorse.
As he rode, he picked his way amidst stranded masses of web. For somereason there were many dead spiders on the ground, and those that livedfeasted guiltily on their fellows. At the sound of his horse's hoofsthey fled.
Their time had passed. From the ground without either a wind to carrythem or a winding sheet ready, these things, for all their poison, coulddo him little evil. He flicked with his belt at those he fancied cametoo near. Once, where a number ran together over a bare place, he wasminded to dismount and trample them with his boots, but this impulse heovercame. Ever and again he turned in his saddle, and looked back at thesmoke.
"Spiders," he muttered over and over again. "Spiders! Well, well.... Thenext time I must spin a web."