CHAPTER XVI
_The Priest Takes a Hand_
How long this continued--this pressing forward, following the spittingfire of his hot rifle--Wilson could not tell. From the first he couldmake nothing out of the choking confusion of it all, finding hissatisfaction, his motive, his inspiration in the realization that hewas adding the might of his being to the force which was pounding themen who had dared to touch this girl. He was drunk with this idea. Hefought blindly and with the spirit of his ancestors which ought longsince to have been trained out of him. So foot by foot he fought hisway on and knew it not when brought to a standstill. Only when hefound himself being pressed back with the mass did he realize thatsomething had happened; reenforcements had arrived to the enemy. Butthis meant only that they must fight the harder. Turning, he urged themen to stand fast. They obeyed for a moment, but the increased forcewas too many for them; they were steadily beaten back. For a second itlooked as though they were doomed to annihilation, for once they werescattered among those narrow streets they would be shot down likedogs. At this point Wilson became conscious of the presence of agaunt figure, dressed in a long, black robe, bearing upon back andchest in gold embroidery the figure of a blazing sun.
He stood in front of the men a second gazing up at the sky. Even theenemy paused to watch him. Then turning to the hill men who hadwavered in the rear, he merely pointed his outstretched arm towardsthe enemy. The effect was instantaneous; they swept past themercenaries, swept past Wilson, yelling and screaming like a horde ofmaniacs. They waved queer knives and spears, brandished rifles, andthen, bending low, charged the frightened line of rifles before them.Wilson paused to look at this strange figure. He recognized himinstantly as the priest of whom he had heard so much and who hadplayed in his own life of late so important a part. The man wasstanding stock still, smiling slightly. Then with some dignity hemoved away never even looking back, as confident of the result asthough he were an instrument of Fate. If he had seen the man he hadstruck down in the house of Sorez, he gave no evidence of it. And onceagain Wilson found himself moving on steadily towards the old palace.
The men from the hills swept everything from before them; thesuperstitious enemy being driven as much by their fear as by the forceof the attack. Behind them came the mercenaries to the very gates ofthe palace. Here they were checked by a large oaken door. From thewindows either side of this puffs of smoke, fire-pierced, dartedviciously. The men behind Wilson answered, but their bullets onlyflattened against the granite surface of the structure. He realizedthat this was to be the centre of the struggle. They must carry thisat any cost. He heard oaths in the rear and turned to see Stubbswhipping on three men who were dragging the small Gatling gun broughtfrom the ship. It looked like a toy. As Stubbs stooped to adjust it,Wilson saw one of the men dart from the line and disappear into theopen doorway of a house to the right. Stubbs saw it, too, and now,suddenly turning, put two shots at the fellow's heels. Then he turnedto the gun, with a warning to the others. But he never finished it. Hesank to the street. Danbury rushed up from somewhere and bent overhim, but Stubbs was already getting to his feet.
"Damned thing only glanced," he growled, putting his hand to his head,"but--it came from behind!"
As he faced the men for a second, one man slunk back into the rear.Wilson raised his revolver, but Stubbs pushed it to one side.
"Later," he said.
The gun was wheeled into place and it became the center for all thefiring from the palace. In a few seconds it was pouring a steadystream of lead into the oaken door and splintering the lock into ahundred pieces. With a howl the men saw the barrier fall and pressedon. Danbury led them, but halfway he fell. Forty men swarmed overhim.
Once within the palace walls, Wilson and Stubbs found their handsfull. They realized as they charged through the outer guardroom anddown the dark, oak-furnished hall that this gang at their heels wouldbe difficult to control within the intricate mazes of this oldbuilding. But their attention was soon taken from this by a volleyfrom the antechamber to the right which opened into the old throneroom. The men rallied well and followed at their heels as they pressedthrough the door. They found here some twenty men. Wilson had emptiedhis revolver and found no time in which to reload.
He hurled himself upon the first man he saw and the two fell to thefloor where they tumbled about like small boys in a street fight. Theykicked and squirmed and reached for each other's throats until theyrolled into the anteroom where they were left alone to fight it out.Wilson made his feet and the other followed as nimbly as a cat. Thenthe two faced each other. The humor of the situation steadied Wilsonfor a moment. Shot after shot was ringing through the old building,men fighting for their lives with modern rifles, and yet here he stooddriven back to a savage, elemental contest with bare fists in a roombuilt a century before. It was almost as though he had suddenly beenthrust out of the present into the past. But the struggle was none theless serious.
His opponent rushed and Wilson met him with a blow which landedbetween the eyes. It staggered him. Wilson closed with him, but hefelt a pair of strong arms tightening about the small of his back. Inspite of all he could do, he felt himself break. He fell. The fellowhad his throat in a second. He twisted and squirmed but to no purpose.He tried a dozen old wrestling tricks, but the fingers only tightenedthe firmer. Cheek against cheek the two lay and the fingers withfierce zeal sank deeper and deeper into Wilson's throat. He strainedhis breast in the attempt to catch a single breath. He saw thestuccoed ceiling above him slowly blur and fade. The man's weightpressed with cruel insistence until it seemed as though he weresupporting the whole building. He heard his deep gulping breathing,felt his hot breath against his neck.
The situation grew maddening because of his helplessness, thenterrifying. Was he going to die here in an anteroom at the hands ofthis common soldier? Was he going to be strangled like a clerk at thehands of a footpad? Was the end coming here, within perhaps a hundredyards of Jo? He threw every ounce in him into a final effort to throwoff this demon. The fellow, with legs wide apart, remained immovablesave spasmodically to take a tighter grip.
The sounds were growing far away. Then he heard his name called andknew that Stubbs was looking for him. This gave him a new lease oflife. It was almost as good as a long breath. But he couldn'tanswer--could make no sound to indicate where he was. The call cameagain from almost beside the door. Then he saw Stubbs glance in amongthe shadows and move off again. He kicked weakly at the floor. Then heheaved his shoulders with a strength new-born in him, and the fellow'stired fingers weakened,--weakened for so long as he could take onefull breath. But before he could utter the shout the merciless fingershad found their grip once more. The man on top of him, now halfcrazed, snapped at his ear like a dog. Then he pressed one knee intothe pit of Wilson's stomach with gruelling pain. He was becomingdesperate with the resistance of this thing beneath him.
Once again Stubbs appeared at the door. Wilson raised his leg andbrought it down sharply. Stubbs jumped at the sound and looked in moreclosely. He saw the two forms. Then he bent swiftly and brought thebutt of his revolver down sharply on the fellow's temple. What hadbeen a man suddenly became nothing but a limp bundle of bones. Wilsonthrew him off without the slightest effort. Then he rolled over anddevoted himself to the business of drinking in air--great gulps of it,choking over it as a famished man will food.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
"No."
"Can ye stand up?"
"In a minute."
"Pretty nigh the rocks that time."
"He--had a grip like iron."
"Better keep out in the open sea where ye can be seen."
Wilson struggled up and, except for a biting pain in his throat, soonfelt himself again.
"Where's Danbury?" he asked.
"Dunno. But we can't stop to look for him. That gang has gone wild.Guess we've pretty nigh cleaned out the place an' now they are runnin'free."
"Won't Otaballo reach here soon?"
"Can'
t tell. If he doesn't he won't find much left but the walls. I'mgoin' arter them an' see what I can do."
"Better keep your eyes open. They'll shoot you in a minute."
"Mebbe so, mebbe not."
He led the way along an intricate series of corridors to a broadflight of stairs. Above there was a noise like a riot.
"If I can git 'em inter one room--a room with a lock on 't," hegrowled.
As they hurried along, Wilson caught glimpses of massive furniture,gilded mirrors, costly damask hangings brought over three hundredyears before when this was the most extravagant country on the face ofthe earth. They took the broad stairs two at a time, and had almostreached the top when Wilson stopped as though he had been seized bythe shoulder. For, as distinctly as he had heard Stubbs a moment ago,he heard Jo call his name. He listened intently for a repetition. Fromthe rooms beyond he heard the scurrying of heavy feet, hoarseshouting, and the tumble of overturned furniture. That was all. Andyet that other call still rang in his ears and echoed through hisbrain. Furthermore, it had been distinct enough to give him a sense ofdirection; it came from below. He hesitated only a second at thoughtof leaving Stubbs, but this other summons was too imperative to beneglected even for him. He turned and leaped down the stairs to thelower floor.
In some way he must find the prison and in some other way get the keysand go through those cells. If he could find some member of the palaceforce, this would be simple. He wandered from one room to another butstumbled only over dead men. The wounded had crawled out of sight andthe others had fled. A medley of rooms opened from the long halls andWilson ran from one of these to another. Finally, in one he caught aglimpse of a skulking figure, some underling, who had evidentlyreturned to steal. In a second he was after him. The chase led througha half dozen chambers, but he kept at the fellow's heels like a houndafter a fox. He cornered him at the end of a passageway and pinned himagainst the wall.
In the little Spanish he had picked up Wilson managed to make thefellow understand that he wished to find his way to the prison. Butthe effect of this was disastrous, for the man crumbled in his hands,sinking weak-kneed to the floor where he began to beg for mercy.
"It's not for you. I have friends there I wish to free."
"For the love of God, go not near them. It is death down there."
"Up," cried Wilson, snatching him to his feet. "Lead the way or Ishoot."
He placed the cold muzzle of his revolver against the nape of thefellow's neck and drew a shriek from him.
"No! No! Do not shoot! But do not go there!"
"Not another word. On, quickly!"
"I do not know where,--I swear I do not know, signor!"
But hearing the sharp click of the weapon as Wilson cocked it, he ledthe way. They passed the length of several corridors which broughtthem to an open courtyard on the further side of which lay a low,granite building connected with the palace proper by a series of othersmall buildings. The fellow pointed to an open door.
"In there, signor. In there."
"Go on, then."
"But the signor is not going to take me in there? I pray,--see, I prayon my knees not."
He slumped again like a whipped dog and Wilson in disgust and not thenunderstanding his fear, kicked him to his feet. The fellow trembledlike one with the ague; his cheeks were ashen, his eyes wide andstartled. One would have thought he was on his way to his execution.Half pushed by Wilson, he entered the door to what was evidently anouter guardroom, for it contained only a few rough benches, anoverturned table which in falling had scattered about a pack of greasycards and a package of tobacco. Out of this opened another door setin solid masonry, and this, too, stood ajar as though all the guardshad suddenly deserted their posts, as doubtless they had at the firstsound of firing. Still forcing his guide ahead, they went through thisdoor into a smaller room and here Wilson made a thorough search forkeys, but without result. It was, of course, possible that below hemight still find a sentry or turnkey; but even if he did not, he oughtat least to be able to determine definitely whether or not she werehere. Then he would return with men enough to tear the walls down ifnecessary.
They passed through an oak and iron door out of this room and down aflight of stone steps which took them into the first of the dampunder-passageways leading directly to the dungeons themselves. The airwas heavy with moisture and foul odors. It seemed more like a vaultfor the dead than a house of the living. Wilson had found and lighteda lantern and this threw the feeblest of rays ahead. Before him hisprisoner fumbled along close to the wall, glancing back at every stepto make sure his captor was at his heels.
So they came to a second corridor running in both directions at rightangles from that in which they stood. He remained very still for amoment in the hope that he might once more hear the voice which wouldgive him some hint of which way to turn. But the only sound thatgreeted him was the scratch of tiny feet as a big rat scurried by. Heclosed his eyes and concentrated his thought upon her. He had heardthat so people had communicated with one another and he himself hadhad proof enough, if it were true that she was here. But he found itimpossible to concentrate his thoughts in this place,--even to keephis eyes closed.
Then the silence was pierced by a shriek, the sweat-starting,nerve-racked cry of a man in awful pain. It was not an appeal formercy, or a cry for assistance, but just a naked yell wrung from athroat grown big-veined in the agony of torture. Wilson could thinkof only one thing, the rats. He had a vision of them springing atsome poor devil's throat after he had become too weak to fightthem off. The horrible damp air muffled the cry instantly. He heard anoath from his guide and the next second the fellow flew past himlike a madman and vanished from sight toward the outer door. For asecond Wilson was tempted to follow. The thought of Jo turned himinstantly. He leaped to the left from where the cry had come,holding the lantern above his head. His feet slipped on the slimy oozecovering the clay floors, but by following close to the wall hemanaged to keep his feet. So he came to an open door. Within, he sawdimly two figures, one apparently bending over the other which layprostrate. Pushing in, he thrust the lantern closer to them. He hadone awful glimpse of a passion-distorted face; it was the Priest! Itsent a chill the length of him. He dropped the lantern and shotblindly at the form which hurled itself upon him with the flash ofa knife.
Wilson felt a slight sting upon his shoulder; the Priest's knife hadmissed him by the thickness of his shirt. He closed upon the skinnyform and reached for his throat. The struggle was brief; the other wasas a child before his own young strength. The two fell to the floor,but Wilson got to his feet in an instant and picking up the otherbodily hurled him against the wall. For a second he tasted revenge,tingled with the satisfaction of returning that blow in the dark. Thepriest dropped back like a stunned rat.
The light in the overturned lantern was still flickering. Snatching itup he thrust it before the eyes of the man who now lay groaning in theaftermath of the agony to which he had been subjected. The lanternalmost dropped from his trembling fingers as he recognized in the facedistorted with pain, Don Sorez. In a flash he realized that the Priesthad another and stronger reason for joining this expedition than mererevenge for his people; doubtless by a wile of some sort he had causedthe arrest of these two, and then had led the attack upon the prisonfor the sake of getting this man as completely within his power as hehad thought him now to be. The torture was for the purpose of forcingthe secret of the hiding place of the image. For a second Wilson feltalmost pity for the man who lay stretched out before him; he must havesuffered terribly. But he wasted little thought upon this; the girlwas still to be located. Wilson saw his eyes open. He stooped:
"Can you hear?" he asked. "Is the girl in this place?"
The thin lips moved, but there was no distinct response.
"Make an effort. Tell me, and I will get you out of here too."
The lips fluttered as though Sorez was spurred by this promise to asupreme effort.
"The key--he has it."
"Who?"
Wilson followed the eyes and saw the brass thing lying near thePriest.
He turned again to Sorez--
"Can you tell me anything about where she is? Is she near you?"
"I--don't know."
There was nothing for it but to open each door in order. It was ofcourse likely that the two had been thrust into nearby cells, but hadthese been filled she might have been carried to the very end of thepassageway. He fitted the ponderous brass thing into the first lock.It took a man's strength to turn the rusty and clumsy bolt, but itfinally yielded. Again it took a man's strength to throw open the doorupon its rusted hinges. A half savage thing staggered to the thresholdand faced him with strange jabbering. Its face and hands were cruellylacerated, its eyes bulging, its tattered remnants of clothes foul.Wilson faced it a second and then stepped back to let it wanderaimlessly on down the corridors.
The cold sweat started from his brow. Supposing Jo had gone mad? Ifthe dark, the slime, the rats, could do this to a man, what wouldthey not do to a woman? He knew her; she would fight bravely and long.There would be no whimpering, no hysterics, but even so there would bea point where her woman's strength would fail. And all the while shemight be calling for him and wondering why he did not come. But he_was_ coming,--he _was_! He forced the key into the next door andturned another creaking lock. And once again as the door opened he sawthat a thing not more than half human lay within. Only this time itcrouched in a far corner laughing horribly to itself. It glared at himlike some animal. He couldn't let such a thing as that out; it wouldhaunt him the rest of his life. It was better that it should laugh onso until it died. He closed the door, throwing against it all hisstrength with sudden horror. God, he might go mad himself before hefound her!
At the end of a dozen cells and a dozen such sights, he worked in afrenzy. The prison now rang to the shrieking and the laughter of thosewho wandered free, and those who, still half sane, but savage, foughtwith their fellows, too weak to do harm. The farther he went the morehopeless seemed the task and the more fiercely he worked. He began tosicken from the odors and the dampness. Finally the bit of metal stuckin one of the locks so fast that he could not remove it. He twisted itto the right and to the left until his numbed fingers were upon thepoint of breaking. In a panic of fear he twisted his handkerchief inthe handle and throwing all his weight upon it tried to force it out.Then he inserted the muzzle of his revolver in the key handle andusing this for a lever tried to turn it either way. It was in vain; itheld as firmly as though it had been welded into the lock. In a ragehe pounded and kicked at the door. Then he checked himself.
If ever he hoped to finish his task, he must work slowly and calmly.With his back to the door, he rested for so long a time as a man mightcount five hundred. He breathed slowly and deeply with his eyesclosed. Then he turned and began slowly to work the key back andforth, in and out. It fell from the lock. He reinserted it and after afew light manipulations, turned it carefully to the right. The boltsnapped back. He opened the door.
Within, all was dark. The cell seemed empty. In fact, he was about toclose the door and pass on to the next cell, when he detected a slightmovement in the corner. He entered cautiously and threw his light inthat direction. Something--a woman--sat bolt upright watching him asone might watch a vision. He moved straight forward and when withintwo feet paused, his heart leaping to his throat, his hand grown soweak that he dropped the lantern.
"Jo!" he gasped tremblingly, still doubting his own senses.
"David. You--you came!"
He moved forward, arms outstretched, half fearing she would vanish.
The Web of the Golden Spider Page 17