by Anthology
Although they could hear the gentle lapping of the water almost at their feet, they could not see it. They could see absolutely nothing, in fact, except a dark blur behind them which denoted trees and a few twinkling stars far above. Strive hard as he could, Hardin could see nothing of the Condor, although he knew that the great seaplane must be lying almost within a stone's throw of them.
Occasionally the stillness was broken by the croaking of frogs, and once the guttural cries of some marauding beast awoke the echoes, but for the most part it was very quiet, being as yet too early for the normal life of the jungle to begin its nightly rounds. With the moon-rise many creatures would begin to travel which until then would remain hidden in their lairs. It was the most peaceful hour of the night.
Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible stir among them and Batu squatted down beside Hardin.
"Bamangani are camping near the beach," he whispered. "Very many of them, tuan; I could not count them in the dark. Pretty quick moon will rise and they will all sleep. Then we can swim out to Condor. No fear here; they cannot track us in the dark."
"You know where the Condor is then---you've located her?" Hardin asked eagerly.
"Yes, tuan; over that way." Batu pointed somewhere into the night. "You'll see when the moon comes."
The night breeze swept over them, rustling the dense foliage, fashioning the lake mists into fantastic shapes that threw strange shadows on the inky surface of the water as the slowly rising moon made it possible to see a little. From time to time the frogs broke out in a sudden chorus of croaking, then grew silent again; a heron cried from afar as something disturbed its rest, and from overhead came the beat of wings as hundreds of waterfowl moved to their feeding grounds.
At last the straining eyes of the fugitives could make out a dark shadowy bulk on the surface of the water, some three hundred feet away, which they knew must be the Condor, although it was little more than a shapeless blur in the uncertain light.
Stripping off their outer clothing, Hardin and Batu laid their rifles and revolvers on the ground and stepped into the tepid water.
"Do be careful, dear," Irene whispered anxiously, as her husband started to wade away from the beach.
"Of course," he answered. "We'll reconnoiter carefully before we go aboard, and if the plane is deserted, as I hope and believe, we'll be back for you in a jiffy. It is not at all probable that any of the Bamangani are spending the night on board---anyhow, they're all asleep by this time."
So, unarmed save for the long knife which Batu carried at his waist, the two men moved out into the deep water and began to swim toward the seaplane. They swam very slowly and quietly, for stealth was far more important just then than speed, but the distance was short and within a few minutes they found themselves inside the black shadows cast by the Condor's planes. Here they treaded water, listening and straining their eyes for a sight or sound of the enemy.
They heard or saw nothing, however, and, satisfied at length that the bird-boat was as deserted as it seemed, they swam closer and made a complete circle of the hull before they halted under the stern. Here Batu grasped the end of a long rod which acted as a brace for one of the planes and pulled himself up over the side.
For a few minutes all was silent; then the Dyak returned and extended an arm to his companion. "Nobody here, tuan," he whispered. "Bamangani all gone just like we thought. Big flying boat very much taboo; they not stay here at night."
Hardin climbed out of the water. "Good!" he exclaimed. "Now, if they haven't damaged the engines, we'll soon be out of this. We must hurry. They must have discovered our flight from the cave long ago, and the camp on the beach may be aroused any minute. We'll go after Mrs. Hardin and the doctor first thing."
As he spoke they were both moving forward toward the spot where the engines were situated, eager to see if they were still in working order, when suddenly a rifle shot split the stillness. On the heels of this came several confused shouts; then shrill and clear above other sounds Hardin heard Irene shriek wildly.
With hardly a pause in his stride the banker rushed to the side of the sea-plane, sprang overboard, and began to swim furiously toward the spot where he had left his wife and her uncle.
As his feet touched bottom he could dimly make out a struggling mass near the edge of the trees, a little to his left, and he darted toward this instantly, shouting encouragement as he ran.
Before he was entirely free of the water, however, a dozen hairy figures sprang down upon him from the bank. For a few seconds he fought wildly, furiously, fought as a man fights when he is fighting for something even dearer than life, but he was unarmed and outnumbered more than ten to one.
Buried under a pile of struggling bodies, he went down in the shallow water, half rose to his feet once more, but was pulled down again by twenty powerful hands. Then something heavy fell on his head, sparks swam dizzily in his eyes, and everything turned black.
CHAPTER VII.
- THE SHADOW OF DEATH.
WHEN the light of returning consciousness came back to him, Hardin lay still for many minutes trying to figure out just what had happened and where he was. At last, as understanding fully returned and a partial realization of past events seeped into his mind, he became dimly aware of a pale anxious face that hovered close above him. It was very sweet, that face, and for a little he watched it idly, content to lie still, for he felt strangely weak and languid.
His clearing gaze gradually made out the features of the face, and all at once it dawned upon him that he knew them. Pale and wan, distorted and unnatural-looking as it was, the face was the face of his wife. There was no color even in her lips. Her eyes were staring with grief and dread.
She saw the dawning light of recognition in his eyes. "Tommy!" she breathed. "Tommy! Tommy, dear! You haven't left me! You're not going to leave me? Oh, my dear, my dear!"
"Who--what's the matter? Irene! Oh, I remember now!"
Hardin sat up and looked around him. For a little his head reeled and terrible pains shot through his temples, but after that first effort his vision cleared rapidly. As soon as he could control his faculties he realized that it was half dark and that he was in a chamber of some kind, lighted dimly by the flare of a fire which burned a few feet away.
His wife put her arm around his shoulders and bent over him tenderly. "Don't try to move yet," she admonished; "you've had a terrible blow on the head. Here, drink this." She held a gourd of cool water to his lips.
He drank gratefully, thirstily; then he pushed the cup away and smiled. "I'm all right, dear," he said. "I've been hurt worse than this many a time. But where are we? How--they attacked you there on the beach, and I was--"
"I know," she interrupted him. "They followed us from the cave, and when I screamed you tried to rescue me. But never mind that now. We're in a native hut. You've been unconscious for hours--ever since last night--and the ape-men have brought us up here from the beach to their village. Uncle is lying over there." She pointed toward a dark blotch a few yards away. "He's feverish and very weak. They left me to nurse you both. They seem to be saving us for something; I don't know what."
"And Batu? What of Batu?" Hardin asked. "He was with me on the plane when we heard you scream."
"I've seen nothing of him," she answered; "but there was shouting in the camp long after we were captured. Perhaps they killed him, or perhaps he escaped. I don't know."
"Well, we'll hope for the best," he said, trying to be optimistic, although in his heart he thought it very likely that the faithful Dyak had been killed. "And you've been in this awful hole all alone," he went on, squeezing her hand. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight," she told him, glancing at her wrist watch. "Oh, Tom, it has been terrible! I thought you were going to die, you were unconscious so long, and uncle has slept nearly all the time. Those awful creatures have not offered to hurt any of us since we were captured; they've just grinned and jabbered among themselves, but I'm sure they are planning some hor
rible end for us all. This hut is only a little way from the crater of the volcano; that must be why it is so terribly hot, and the mountain has been making the most awful noises all day."
"I know; I understand," said Hardin, stroking her hand; "but never mind all that now. We're still alive, and while life lasts there's always hope. Batu may have escaped, and he's a whole host in himself, especially in a case of this sort. We mustn't lose courage, dear, whatever we do. Ah!"
The exclamation was called forth by a sound of steps outside and the abrupt appearance of two men who pushed through the mat of woven reeds which covered the doorway of the hut and came to a halt on the opposite side of the fire.
At sight of them Irene uttered a stifled cry, and her husband stood up hastily, staring at the newcomers in surprise, for never before had they seen such men as those who now confronted them.
One, a man in the prime of life, was a Bamangani warrior, evidently a high chief, for he was decked in all the savage war gear which could distinguish an aboriginal. He was enormously tall for a man of his race, being nearly as tall as Hardin himself, tremendously muscled, and, like all the ape-men, nearly covered with curly reddish hair. In his right hand he held a club of some dark wood about three feet long, with a spike-studded knob as large as a man's head.
On his left arm was a small shield of closely woven reeds, on which were painted a mass of strange hieroglyphics. The upper part of his body was perfectly naked, and several bands of white and yellow paint encircled his torso at intervals of about six inches. A loin cloth of soft leather was tied around his waist so as to serve the purpose of a belt, and through it were stuck, on the right and left sides respectively, a long double-edged knife, and a sumpitan, or blow gun, with its pouch of poisoned darts.
Perhaps the most startling feature of his attire consisted of a large headdress of many-colored feathers, which began at his chin and ran up both sides of his head to meet at the top, completely framing his face, so that his devilish countenance seemed to peer from behind a screen.
His companion was his direct antithesis in every way. He was a mere dwarf in stature, thin and wrinkled, with an enormous head from which plaited white hair fell down over his shoulders. His eyes were bright and deep sunken; his face was narrow and vulturelike. Except for his snow-white hair, however, he did not look exceedingly old, for there was an elastic spring to his movements, and his flesh, though wrinkled, was firm. On the other hand, middle age was evidently far behind him; indeed, from his appearance it was impossible to guess with any degree of accuracy the number of his years.
Unlike the other members of his tribe, he was almost hairless, and his small body was shrouded in a kind of blanket which reached below his knees. He carried no weapons of any kind, but as he stood in the center of the hut, staring down into the fire without a blink, there was something about him which inspired the captives with a feeling of awe. From that instant they feared him far more than they did his ferocious-looking bodyguard.
For a space after the arrival of this strangely assorted pair there was silence in the hut. Aroused by their entrance, Doctor Dumont sat up and looked about him, while Hardin and his wife looked first at the natives and then at each other, wondering what the visit portended. Looking beyond the two, they could dimly make out half a dozen armed warriors near the doorway, who gazed curiously into the hut as they fingered their heavy spears.
The old man suddenly seemed to wake up and become aware of the presence of the captives, for, ceasing his contemplation of the flickering fire, he turned his bright eyes upon them and scanned them deliberately. Somehow, his eyes reminded Hardin of those of a snake, although they were not prominent, but sunken and almost covered by bushy brows.
"Whence come ye, and why have ye killed so many of our young men?" he asked abruptly, in a shrill, high-pitched voice, speaking in Malay, a language which both Doctor Dumont and Hardin understood fairly well.
"From America, a great country far across the sea," the banker answered instantly, pleased to find that they had a medium of communication. "As for killing your young men, as you call them, you should know the reason better than we. We came in peace, bringing many presents for your headmen, but we were set upon and beaten by warriors. We have done nothing but defend ourselves."
The old man eyed the speaker thoughtfully for a moment, evidently digesting his reply. "And the thing in which ye came," he went on at last; "what manner of thing is that which flies like a bird? Surely, ye are devils, for none but devils may ride the air. Even I, Makosi, who am older than any man and learned beyond most, have never seen such a thing."
"It is a flying machine, a new invention among our own people," Hardin explained in halting Malay. "There is nothing devilish about it, as I can show you if you will set us free. As I said before, we have come in peace; it is through no fault of ours that there has been fighting. My friend there"--he glanced toward the biologist--"is a great scholar; he has come to study the Fire Flower which grows on the edge of the Pit of Flame. Once, many years ago, we were here before, and when we left the Bamangani were our friends. Why should we be set upon and made captives now? We have done no wrong. Set us free and we will go hence as we came since your people are no longer glad to see us."
Makosi smiled cunningly at this and his little eyes seemed to bore into Hardin like gimlets.
"So," he said, nodding his great head, "ye are those who came before and departed with the Rose Taboo. They told me of you, and had I not been far away then--. But enough of this. Know ye that it is written that white strangers shall come and be offered up to Dnata in atonement for the wrong done years ago. Those who took the flower shall give their lives that the flower may return. Prepare ye, O white men, and ye, O white woman, for at to-morrow's dawn ye shall be cast living into the Pit of Flame. It is written. I, Makosi, the ancient, high priest of Dnata, proclaim it, and so it shall come to pass. I have spoken." He broke into a shrill, fiendish laugh that made the hut resound with echoes.
While Hardin was searching for some answer and not finding it, the dwarf suddenly ceased his untimely mirth, caught his robe about him with one clawlike hand, grunted something in a sharp undertone to his companion, who had been standing at his side all the time like a wooden Indian, and turned to march out of the hut.
In the doorway he paused for an instant to sweep the chamber with one last glance from his reptilian eyes; then, closely followed by his guard, he pushed through the curtains and disappeared.
"Very pleasant old gentleman, isn't he?" Hardin remarked, turning to his companions. "From what he says, I gather that we are in for something serious at dawn."
Doctor Dumont nodded hopelessly. "I'm afraid we're doomed," he admitted. "These native priests, or witch doctors, hold their people under their thumbs, and we seem to have broken some religious superstition which can be atoned for only by our deaths. Well, so far as I am concerned it only hastens matters a little. I am old, and this wound of mine is deeper than we thought, but for you young people it is different. We should never have come here. I see that now--now that it is too late."
"Oh, Tommy!" Irene threw herself into her husband's arms half weeping. "What shall we do? We can't die in this terrible place. The mere thought of that awful volcano and those horrible men drives me crazy. Surely, surely, there is some way out."
Hardin ground his teeth together in despair as he did what he could to soothe her. Some way out! He could think of none. So far as he could see, Doctor Dumont was right--they were doomed. Nothing but a miracle could save them, and he had little faith in miracles. Nevertheless, he did what he could to keep up his wife's spirits.
"Come, come, dear," he said; "we mustn't let ourselves go to pieces. You've been wonderfully brave so far. Keep up your courage for just a little longer. Remember Batu has not been captured; if he had been that old toad would certainly have mentioned it, and the last we knew he was unhurt and in full charge of the Condor. Batu is a mighty resourceful chap; he won't quit without a struggle."
CHAPTER VIII.
- THE ONLY CHANCE.
IT was a terrible sight which greeted them when, hemmed in by a score of armed warriors and escorted by Makosi and the gigantic young chief, the three captives stepped out of the hut and turned their eyes toward the slope which led up to the volcano. It was dawn, but the air was so full of gray, flaky ashes and clouds of smoke and steam that it was hard to see for any distance. Already the ground was covered an inch deep with the soft ashes, which fell constantly like snow.
Rumblings as of distant thunder filled the air and the ground shook at intervals as the fiery monster in the womb of the mountain heaved and struggled. Occasionally, tall jets of steam spouted skyward from the crater, and then fell back with a hissing noise, like the hiss of a million snakes.
It was an awe-inspiring sight, and the captives almost forgot their own peril in contemplation of those natural forces beside which any efforts of man always seem so puny. They were, however, pushed onward by their guards, to whom this natural spectacle seemed insignificant in comparison with the one of their own making which they knew would soon take place.
Led by a group of chanting, hideously bedecked ape-men, whom they took to be priests, the three prisoners were forced up the wide and rocky gorge that extended from the Bamangani village to the lip of the crater. From this point a narrow path wound upward to the flat top of a pinnacle which reared up some two hundred feet higher than the volcano.
Here, on an almost flat surface a hundred yards wide, about two hundred of the natives were already gathered, many of them of great size and all of them horrible to look upon. There was a kind of discipline among them, for none of them tried to break through the double line which they had formed, and along this line, between ranks of the shaggy red creatures, the captives were marched until they reached a small cleared area at the extreme edge of the pinnacle. In this open space, which, owing to the overhanging formation of the rocks, projected slightly into the void above the crater, they were halted and surrounded by a band of priests and spearmen.