CHAPTER IV
_The Golden God Speaks_
For a while the man on the floor in his weakness rambled on as in adelirium.
"Ah, Dios!" he muttered. "There's a knife in every hand." Thenfollowed an incoherent succession of phrases, but out of them the twodistinguished this, "Millions upon millions in jewels and gold." Then,"But the God is silent. His lips are sealed by the blood of thetwenty."
After this the thick tongue stumbled over some word like "Guadiva,"and a little later he seemed in his troubled dreams to be strugglingup a rugged height, for he complained of the stones which fretted hisfeet. Wilson managed to pour a spoonful of brandy down his throat andto rebandage the wound which had begun to bleed again. It was clearthe man was suffering from great weakness due to loss of blood, but asyet his condition was not such as to warrant Wilson in summoning asurgeon on his own responsibility. Besides, to do so would beseriously to compromise himself and the girl. It might be difficultfor them to explain their presence there to an outsider. Should theman by any chance die, their situation would be such that their onlysafety would lie in flight. To the law they were already fugitives andconsequently to be suspected of anything from petty larceny tomurder.
To have forced himself to the safe with all the pain which walkingcaused him, the wounded man must have been impelled by some strong andunusual motive. It couldn't be that he had suspected Wilson and Jo oftheft, because, in the first place, he must have seen at a glance thatthe safe was undisturbed; and in the second, that they had not takenadvantage of their opportunity for flight. It must have been somethingin connection with this odd-looking image, then, at which he had beenso eager to look. Wilson returned to the next room. He picked the idolfrom the floor. As he did so the head snapped back into place. Hebrought it out into the firelight.
It looked like one of a hundred pictures he had seen of just suchcuriosities--like the junk which clutters the windows of curiodealers. The figure sat cross-legged with its heavy hands folded inits lap. The face was flat and coarse, the lips thick, the nose squatand ugly. Its carved headdress was of an Aztec pattern. Thecheek-bones were high, and the chin thick and receding. The girlpressed close to his side as he held the thing in his lap with an oddmixture of interest and fear.
"Aren't its eyes odd?" she exclaimed instantly.
They consisted of two polished stones as clear as diamonds, asbrightly eager as spiders' eyes. The light striking them caused themto shine and glisten as though alive.
The girl glanced from the image to the man on the floor who looked nowmore like a figure recumbent upon a mausoleum than a living man. Itwas as though she was trying to guess the relationship between thesetwo. She had seen many such carved things as this upon her foreignjourneys with her father. It called him back strongly to her. Sheturned again to the image and, attracted by the glitter in the eyes,took it into her own lap.
Wilson watched her closely. He had an odd premonition of danger--afeeling that somehow it would be better if the girl had not seen theimage. He even put out his hand to take it away from her, but wasarrested by the look of eagerness which had quickened her face. Hercheeks had taken on color, her breathing came faster, and her wholeframe quivered with excitement.
"Better give the thing back to me," he said at length. He placed onehand upon it but she resisted him.
"Come," he insisted, "I'll take it back to where I found it."
She raised her head with a nervous toss.
"No. Let it alone. Let me have it."
She drew it away from his hand. He stepped to her side, impelled bysomething he could not analyze, and snatched it from her grasp. Herlips quivered as though she were about to cry. She had never lookedmore beautiful to him than she did at that moment. He felt a wave oftenderness for her sweep over him. She was such a young-looking girlto be here alone at the mercy of two men. At this moment she looked soridiculously like a little girl deprived of her doll that he wasinclined to give it back to her again with a laugh. But he paused. Shedid not seem to be wholly herself. It was clear enough that the imagehad produced some very distinct impression upon her--whether of anature akin to her crystal gazing he could not tell, although hesuspected something of the sort. The wounded man still lay prone uponthe rug before the fire. His muttering had ceased and his breathingseemed more regular.
"Please," trembled the girl. "Please to let me take it again."
"Why do you wish it?"
"Oh, I--I can't tell you, but----"
She closed her lips tightly as though to check herself.
"I don't believe it is good for you," he said tenderly. "It seems tocast a sort of spell over you."
"I know what it is! I know if I look deep into those eyes I shall seemy father. I feel that he is very near, somehow. I must look! Imust!"
She took it from his hands once more and he let it go. He was curiousto see how much truth there was in her impression and he felt that hecould take the idol from her at any time it seemed advisable to do so.In the face of this new situation both of them lost interest in thewounded man. He lay as though asleep.
The girl seated herself Turk fashion upon the rug before the grateand, holding the golden figure in her lap, gazed down into thesparkling stones which served for eyes. The light played upon thedull, raw gold, throwing flickering shadows over its face. The thingseemed to absorb the light growing warmer through it.
Wilson leaned forward to watch her with renewed interest. The contrastbetween the tiny, ugly features of the image and the fresh,palpitating face of the girl made an odd picture. As she sat so, thelifeless eyes staring back at her with piercing insistence, it lookedfor a moment like a silent contest between the two. She commanded andthe image challenged. A quickening glow suffused her neck and thecolor crept to her cheeks. To Wilson it was as though she radiateddrowsy waves of warmth. With his eyes closed he would have said thathe had come to within a few inches of her, was looking at the thingalmost cheek to cheek with her. The room grew tense and silent. Hereyes continued to brighten until it seemed as though they reflectedevery dancing flame in the fire before her. Still the color deepenedin her cheeks until they grew to a rich carmine.
Wilson found himself leaning forward with quickening breath. Sheseemed drifting further and further away from him and he sat fixed asthough in some trance. He noted the rhythmic heave of her bosom andthe full pulsation at the throat. The velvet sheen of the hair at hertemples caught new lights from the flames before her and held hiseyes like the dazzling spaces between the coals. Her lips moved, butshe spoke no word. Then it was that, seized with a nameless fear forthe girl, Wilson rose half way to his feet. He was checked by acommand from the man upon the floor.
"For the love of God, do not rouse her. She sees! She sees!"
The stranger struggled to his elbow and then to his knees, where heremained staring intently at the girl, with eyes aglow. Then the girlherself spoke.
"The lake! The lake!" she cried.
Wilson stepped to her side. He placed a hand firmly upon hershoulder.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She lifted eyes as inscrutable as those of the image. They were slowmoving and stared as blankly at him as at the pictures on the wall. Hebent closer.
"Comrade--comrade--are you all right?"
Her lips moved to faint, incoherent mutterings. She did not seem to bein pain, and yet in travail of some sort.
The stranger, pale, his forehead beaded with the excitement of themoment, had tottered to his feet He seized Wilson's arm almostroughly.
"Let her alone!" he commanded. "Can't you see? Dios! the imagespeaks!"
"The image? have you gone mad?"
"No! No!" he ran on excitedly. "Listen!"
The girl's brow was knitted. Her arms and limbs moved restlessly. Shelooked like one upon the point of crying at being baffled.
"There is a mist, but I can see--I--I can see----"
She gave a little sob. This was too much for Wilson. He reached forthe image, but he had not take
n a step before he heard the voice ofthe stranger.
"Touch that and I shoot."
The voice was cold and steady. He half turned and saw that the man hadregained his weapon. The hand that held it was steady, the eyes backof it merciless. For one moment Wilson considered the advisability ofspringing for him. But he regained his senses sufficiently to realizethat he would only fall in his tracks. Even a wounded man is not to betrifled with when holding a thirty-two caliber revolver.
"Step back!"
Wilson obeyed.
"Farther!"
"_For the love of God, do not rouse her. She sees! Shesees!_"]
He retreated almost to the door into the next room. From that momenthis eyes never left the hand which held the weapon. He watched it forthe first sign of unsteadiness, for the first evidence of weakness orabstraction. He measured the distance between them, weighed to anicety every possibility, and bided his time. He wanted just themerest ghost of a chance of reaching that lean frame before the steeldevil could spit death. What it all meant he did not know, but it wasclear that this stranger was willing to sacrifice the girl to furtherany project of his into which she had so strangely fallen. It was alsoclear to him that it did the girl no good to lose herself in such atrance as this. The troubled expression of her face, the piteous cryin her voice, her restlessness convinced him of this. When she hadspoken to him of crystal gazing, he had thought of it only as aharmless amusement such as the Ouija board. This seemed different,more serious, either owing to the surroundings or to some reallybaneful influence from this thing of gold. And the responsibility ofit was his; it was he who had led the girl in here, it was even he whohad placed the image in her hands. At the fret of being forced tostand there powerless, the moisture gathered on his brow.
The stranger knelt on one knee by the girl's side, facing the door andWilson. He placed one hand upon her brow and spoke to her in an eventone that seemed to steady her thoughts. Her words became moredistinct.
"Look deep," he commanded. "Look deep and the mists will clear. Lookdeep. Look deep."
His voice was the rhythmic monotone used to lull a patient into ahypnotic trance. The girl responded quickly. The troubled expressionleft her face, her breathing became deeper, and she spoke moredistinctly. Her eyes were still upon those of the image as though thelatter had caught and held them. She looked more herself, save for thefact that she appeared to be even farther away in her thoughts thanwhen in normal sleep.
"Let the image speak through you," ran on the stranger. "Tell me whatyou see or hear."
"The lake--it is very blue."
"Look again."
"I see mountains about the lake--very high mountains."
"Yes."
"One is very much higher than the others."
"Yes! Yes!"
"The trees reach from the lake halfway up its sides."
"Go on!" he cried excitedly.
"There they stop and the mountain rises to a point."
"Go on!"
"To the right there is a large crevice."
The stranger moistened his lips. He gave a swift glance at Wilson andthen turned his gaze to the girl.
"See, we will take a raft and go upon the lake. Now look--look hardbelow the waters."
The girl appeared troubled at this. Her feet twitched and she threwback her head as though for more air. Once more Wilson calculated thedistance between himself and that which stood for death. He found itstill levelled steadily. To jump would be only to fall halfway, andyet his throat was beginning to ache with the strain. He felt withinhim some new-born instinct impelling him to her side. She stoodsomehow for something more than merely a fellow-creature in danger. Hetook a quicker interest in her--an interest expressing itself now ina sense of infinite tenderness. He resented the fact that she wasbeing led away from him into paths he could not follow--that she wasat the beck of this lean, cold-eyed stranger and his heathenish idol.
"Below the waters. Look! Look!"
"No! No!" she cried.
"The shrine is there. Seek it! Seek it!"
He forced the words through his teeth in his concentrated effort todrive them into the girl's brain in the form of a command. But forsome reason she rebelled at doing this. It was as though to go belowthe waters even in this condition choked her until she must gasp forbreath. It was evidently some secret which lay there--the location ofsome shrine or hiding place which he most desired to locate throughher while in this psychic state, for he insisted upon this while shestruggled against it. Her head was lifted now as though, beforefinally driven to take the plunge, she sought aid--not from anyonehere in the room, but from someone upon the borders of the lake where,in her trance, she now stood. And it came. Her face brightened--herwhole body throbbed with renewed life. She threw out her hand with acry which startled both men.
"Father! Father!"
The wounded man, puzzled, drew back leaving for a moment the otherunguarded. Wilson sprang, and in three bounds was across the room. Hestruck up the arm just as a finger pressed the trigger. The woundedman fell back in a heap--far too exhausted to struggle further. Wilsonturned to the girl and swept the image out of her lap to the floorwhere it lay blinking at the ceiling. The girl, blind and deaf to thisstruggle, remained sitting upright with the happy smile of recognitionstill about her mouth. She repeated over and over again the glad cryof "Father! Father!"
Wilson stooped and repeated her name, but received no response. Herubbed her forehead and her listless hands. Still she sat therescarcely more than a clay image. Wilson turned upon the stranger withhis fists doubled up.
"Rouse her!" he cried. "Rouse her, or I'll throttle you!"
The man made his feet and staggered to the girl's side.
"Awake!" he commanded intensely.
The eyes instantly responded. It was as though a mist slowly fadedfrom before them, layer after layer, as fog rises from a lake in themorning. Her mouth relaxed and expression returned to each feature.When at length she became aware of her surroundings, she looked likean awakened child. Pressing her fingers to her heavy eyes, she glancedwonderingly about her. She could not understand the tragical attitudeof the two men who studied her so fixedly. She struggled to her feetand regarded both men with fear. With her fingers on her chin, shecowered back from them gazing to right and left as though looking forsomeone she had expected.
"Father!" she exclaimed timidly. "Are you here, father?"
Wilson took her arm gently but firmly.
"Your father is not here, comrade. He has not been here. You--youdrowsed a bit, I guess."
She caught sight of the image on the floor and instantly understood.She passed her hands over her eyes in an effort to recall what she hadseen.
"I remember--I remember," she faltered. "I was in some foreignland--some strange place--and I saw--I saw my father."
She looked puzzled.
"That is odd, because it was _here_ that I saw him yesterday."
Her lips were dry and she asked Wilson for a glass of water. A pitcherstood upon the table, which he had brought up with the other things.When she had moistened her lips, she sat down again still a bitstupid. The wounded man spoke.
"My dear," he said, "what you have just seen through the medium ofthat image interests me more than I can tell you. It may be that I canbe of some help to you. My name is Sorez--and I know well that countrywhich you have just seen. It is many thousand miles from here."
"As far as the land of dreams," interrupted Wilson. "I think the girlhas been worried enough by such nonsense."
"You spoke of your father," continued Sorez, ignoring the outburst."Has he ever visited South America?"
"Many times. He was a sea captain, but he has not been home for yearsnow."
"Ah, Dios!" exclaimed Sorez, "I understand now why you saw soclearly."
"You know my father--you have seen him?"
He waived her question aside impatiently. His strength was failing himagain and he seemed anxious to say what he had to say before he wasunable.
"Listen!" he began, fighting hard to preserve his consciousness. "Youhave a power that will lead you to much. This image here has spokenthrough you. He has a secret worth millions and----"
"But my father," pleaded the girl, with a tremor in her voice. "Can ithelp me to him?"
"Yes! Yes! But do not leave me. Be patient. The priest--the priest isclose by. He--he did this," placing his hand over the wound, "and Ifear he--he may come again."
He staggered back a pace and stared in terror about him.
"I am not afraid of most things," he apologized, "but that devil he iseverywhere. He might be----"
There was a sound in the hall below. Sorez placed his hand to hisheart again and staggered back with a piteous appeal to Wilson.
"The image! The image!" he gasped. "For the love of God, do not lethim get it."
Then he sank in a faint to the floor.
Wilson looked at the girl. He saw her stoop for the revolver. Shethrust it in his hand.
The Web of the Golden Spider Page 5