by Anthology
Here, above the clouds of hot vapor and drifting ashes which some current of air swept down around both sides of the pinnacle, the priests, led by Makosi, struck up a new chant. Evidently the sacrifice of the captives was to be the consummation of some great religious orgy, for they persisted in their mummery in spite of the intense heat and the noxious vapors which the eddying air currents occasionally carried over them.
When the chanting ceased, Makosi stepped to the very brink of the pinnacle and waved his long arms out over the void, saying something meanwhile in a loud voice; and as he did this Hardin noticed from the corner of his eye that the onlookers gesticulated and rolled their eyes in a perfect ecstasy of religious fervor.
Suddenly the dwarf stepped backward and turned to grunt an order to the young chieftain, who stood midway between him and the captives. Seeing the latter wheel about, Hardin braced himself for the final struggle, for he guessed that their time had come, and he meant to die fighting. Tense as a bowstring, he was in the act of launching himself at the throat of the chief, when there was a sudden wild shout from the ape-men, and Irene clutched convulsively at her husband's arm.
Then, loud and clear above the noises of the volcano and the terrified shouts from the assembled ape-men, came the sound of a steady, droning buzz. At first, so intent had he been on what was taking place directly in front of him, Hardin did not comprehend the meaning of the sound; then, like a flash of light, came quick realization, and he looked upward, following the gaze of the Bamangani, who had huddled together and were staring into the sky with popping eyes.
Coming out of the east, directly in the path of the rising sun which bathed its snowy planes and metal trimmings in a golden sheen, was the Condor. At an elevation of perhaps two thousand feet, the seaplane was headed straight for the volcano, and even as Hardin looked upward it began to climb higher in a huge spiral, while the hum of its exhaust became a steady roar.
For a moment Hardin watched it in a kind of daze, wondering if he could believe his own senses; then he realized that Irene was shouting into his ear.
"It's Batu, Tommy!" she cried wildly. "It's Batu in the Condor! We're saved, dear. We're saved! We're saved!" She was almost sobbing in her delighted frenzy, so great was the shock of the reaction of the strain she had been under.
Her words brought Hardin back to earth with a jerk. All at once he was cool and alert again. In one lightning glance his eyes took in the scene around them. The Bamangani, temporarily scared half out of their senses by the sudden apparition of this strange monster of the air, were huddled like sheep at one side of the pinnacle top. Nearer at hand Makosi and his priests were standing spellbound, uncertain whether to run or pray to their heathen gods, and half a dozen paces from them was the Herculean young chief, oblivious of everything except the sight above him.
For just an instant Hardin hesitated. Impossible as the thing appeared at first glance, Batu, he knew, meant to attempt the feat of landing on top of the pinnacle. Already the Dyak was rising, gauging his distance for that final dropping swoop which must not miss. The thing he meant to try was possible, just possible, Hardin thought, for the pinnacle top was flat and barely broad enough for a landing place, but the slightest miscalculation or deviation from its course would mean the wreck of the seaplane.
Dexterous in the manipulation of the Condor as he knew Batu to be, the banker knew that the odds were against him. Under the most favorable conditions the place on which they stood would have taxed the nerve of the most skillful of aviators, were he foolhardy enough to attempt to make a landing there, but just now all the natural conditions were at their worst. The pinnacle was shrouded and half hidden in smoke and steam; the air directly above the crater--through which Batu must pass--was hot and sure to be full of tricky currents, and the landing itself was small and crowded with human beings. Still, there was a chance, the only chance to save three people from a terrible death, and the white man knew that Batu would not hesitate.
Eyes straining upward, Hardin waited and watched until he saw the long pontoons beneath the seaplane move up against the hull, while in their place appeared the wheels which were used for landing on solid ground. When this happened he knew that Batu was on the verge of dropping downward, and without waiting to see more he gathered himself together and leaped at the Bamangani chieftain, who had not taken his eyes from the Condor since its first appearance.
CHAPTER IX.
- THE DYAK'S CREED.
WHEN Hardin and Batu were startled by the rifle shot and Irene's screams for help, the Dyak had been a little in front of his companion and almost in the act of lowering himself into the cockpit where the twin engines were situated. In this part of the seaplane it was very dark, and although he turned instantly Batu could not see his employer. He heard him, however, run to the side and dive overboard, and he followed as quickly as he could, but he was just far enough behind to be still some twenty yards from the beach when the sounds of a tremendous struggle and the subsequent silence told him that Hardin had been overcome.
For a while he treaded water there in the dark, listening and straining his eyes for some clew to what was going on. He heard a few guttural remarks among the Bamangani which told him that all of his friends had been made prisoners; then he saw a number of dark forms leave the beach and heard a rustling of the vines which showed that the ape-men had proceeded inland. From this he guessed that the captives had been carried to the camp, from which they would probably be next day transported to the Bamangani village at the base of the volcano. Satisfied that he could do nothing to help his friends just then, the Dyak turned around and slowly swam back to the Condor.
When he climbed on board and sat down his eyes stared hard and his nostrils twitched nervously. He was feeling very, very sad, and for the first time since they had reached the island he was frightened; also he was exceedingly angry. For a little while he sat still in the darkness, trying to collect himself; then as he became calmer he began to think.
Since the ape-men evidently intended to take their prisoners to their village he felt fairly sure that they would do them no further injury for the present. He was well acquainted with their method of procedure in such cases, and he guessed that the captives were to be preserved for some great sacrifice, which, unless the customs of the Bamangani had been changed during the past few years, would undoubtedly be held at the hour of sunrise.
Reasoning further, he decided that at least twenty-four hours must elapse before the sacrifice could be held, since it would take nearly that long to carry the victims inland and arrange for the public ceremonies so dear to the Bamangani priests.
Arriving at this conclusion, Batu stood up and shook himself. If his deductions were correct, and he felt confident that they were, he had a little over twenty-four hours in which to rescue his friends, or, if he failed, to die with them. Just how he was to attempt this rescue single-handed he did not know at the moment; that would come later on. First, he must overhaul the seaplane and have everything in readiness for an instant start, for there must be no delay once his final plans were made.
He went to the forward part of the hull and listened carefully for several minutes, hearing nothing but the croaking of the frogs and the other commonplace sounds of the jungle night. Apparently the ape-men had no intention of visiting the seaplane that night, but since there was so much at stake Batu took nothing for granted.
After an instant's hesitation, he lowered himself into the water and swam ashore again. Here, making use of all the woodcraft and jungle lore which a long line of ancestors trained in the art had handed down to him, he prowled about for nearly three hours.
Just what he learned during this nocturnal excursion he never told, but when he returned at last to the Condor his eyes were glistening with the light of a set purpose. He had made up his mind as to just what he should do, and with characteristic energy he set to work.
Safe inside the seaplane, he switched on the electric lights, which were supplied by a powerful
storage battery in the hull, and made an inspection of the interior of the ship. The light would, of course, warn the ape-men of his presence on board, but it would also increase their susperstitious awe of the bird-boat, and the Dyak was confident that they would not try to attack him before daylight. By that time, if all went well, he would be able to take care of himself.
Except for a considerable disorder among its movable furnishings, he was elated to find that the Condor had suffered very little at the hands of the Bamangani. The untutored savages had probably been too much in awe of the seaplane to tamper with it much, for the engines were in perfect order and the huge fuel tanks below the floor of the hull had not been touched. Even some rifles and revolvers, which had been locked in a chest in the cabin were intact, and when he had strapped a heavy automatic pistol around his waist Batu felt better.
Satisfied that the plane was in running order, he went into the little kitchen and ate a hearty meal of canned foods. Then he went on deck again.
By this time the first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to lighten the sky, and the island was shrouded in a thick mist which cut off his view of the shore like a wall. There was not a sign of life anywhere; not a sound came through the fog; and after a long look in all directions the Dyak went below and started the engines.
For several minutes, his head cocked to one side, he listened with critical ears for the faintest irregularity in their popping roar, and when he could discover none he grinned to himself. Then, paying no heed whatever to a confused shouting from the direction of the beach which signified that the Bamangani had been aroused by the noise, he pulled up the anchor, stowed it away, and slipped into the driving seat. Ten minutes later, without taking to the air at all, he swung the seaplane around the end of the island and came to a halt midway between the horns of a large cove.
After a glance around had assured him that everything was snug, he lay down on a bunk in the inclosed cabin and deliberately went to sleep. He knew that he had done all that could be done for the time being, his plans were all made for the rescue he meant to attempt when the hour was ripe, and in the meantime, since he was sure that the Bamangani, thinking he had fled, would never find him, he was conserving his strength for the desperate venture which would mean either life or death to both himself and his friends.
It lacked about half an hour of dawn on the following morning when Batu carefully maneuvered the Condor until he was clear of all possible entanglements. Then he gave the engines more gas and still more. Their cacophonic buzz rose to a deafening roar, and the slender pontoons began to cut through the black water with increasing speed.
For some yards the spume blew upon and spattered the glass windows of the cabin. Then the lifting power of the planes made itself felt, and the seaplane skimmed the surface of the lake instead of plowing through it. The speed gradually increased, and suddenly the feel of the water against the pontoons ceased. The Condor was riding the air with a smooth and easy motion that was steady and firm.
Batu spiraled slowly to four thousand feet and headed straight for the volcano. It was near the twin peaks of the mountain that the Bamangani village was situated, and he meant to circle above them until he could discern what was going on below and choose a landing place for the great machine which was so responsive to his will.
Never had he known the Condor's powerful motors to sound a sweeter roar than they did on this morning when so many lives depended on their perfect operation. Desperate as he knew his venture to be, the Dyak grinned with the exultant delight of a born birdman as he settled down into his seat and peered ahead.
A light westerly wind, laden with sulphurous fumes from the volcano, drove against the plane as it attained the higher levels and straightened out for its flight. Batu was not flying any faster than was necessary to keep his craft under perfect control. From where he sat the island seemed only a misty, unfathomable blotch below him. He would need more light by which to descend, and he did not wish to bungle matters by too much haste. First, he must circle around the mountain and locate his objective; then, just as the sun came over the horizon behind him, he would swoop down, trusting to luck and the superstitious fear the sight of the Condor would arouse in the ape-men to give him an opportunity to pick up his friends.
At best he would be taking a desperate, almost an impossible, chance, for the landing alone would be a hazardous thing in that rocky, tree-filled region, but no fear of personal hurt could daunt him. It was his creed never to forgive an enemy nor to turn his back on a friend, and he would not shirk now when the time came to practice it.
CHAPTER X.
- "SURE, MIKE!"
AS the dawn broke, the great plane was circling over the mountain at a five-thousand-foot altitude. Even at that height the fumes from the steaming crater were noticeable, and occasionally the Condor encountered "pockets" in the heated atmosphere which caused it to side-slip and buck dangerously. Clever maneuvering, however, outrode these, and presently Batu was able to distinguish the village of the Bamangani and a number of moving dots which he knew were men.
When he saw that these dots were all traveling toward the top of the mountain to join a dark mass of people who were gathered together on the flat apex of the highest pinnacle, he caught his breath sharply. He guessed instantly what that gathering meant, and even before Irene's golden hair drew his gaze to where the three prisoners were grouped, he knew what he would have to do.
Circling once more, he studied the pinnacle top as carefully as he could in the circumstances. He saw that it was flat and comparatively smooth, and large enough perhaps to accommodate the Condor if he was very, very careful; he saw, too, that he would have to fly perilously close to the steaming crater; but he did not hesitate.
He completed his circle, dropping until the altometer at his side showed only twenty-five hundred feet; then, with the rising sun directly behind him, he drove straight for the crater. At just the right distance from his goal he pushed a lever, and the plane began to tip forward until to the throng below it seemed to be standing on its nose; then Batu shut off his power and shot downward.
For an instant of sickening suspense it seemed to Irene, who alone of the three prisoners had not taken her eyes from the plane, that Batu had miscalculated. It looked as if the Condor were going straight on down into the fiery maw of the crater, but just then the Dyak pulled a lever, and the plane shot up a little to settle the next instant as gently as a falling leaf in the very center of the pinnacle top.
There was a crash and a chorus of wild cries as the tip of one of the wings knocked down a dozen ape-men who had been too spellbound to get out of the way. Then silence followed.
"Quick, tuan," shouted Batu, springing over the side as the plane came to a standstill, automatic in hand. "Come quick!"
Hardin did not hear him, however. He was locked in a death struggle with the Bamangani chief, who, furious at the turn things had taken, was fighting like a madman. Never before in his life had Hardin such good reason to be thankful for his strong body and perfect physical condition as he had at that moment. Taken partly unawares though he had been, the big ape man was proving himself a terribly tough customer.
Three times already the two had gone to the ground together and risen again, and even yet the odds were with neither man. What the chief lacked in science he made up in brute strength and agility, and if Hardin had not managed to disarm him at the very first onslaught, the white man would certainly have been killed.
Just as the Condor landed, however, the banker secured a favorite wrestling hold and began to put forth his great strength. At first the ape man fought stubbornly; the muscles and sinews stood out in knots on both men as they strove, the one to break, the other to keep his hold; but flesh and blood could not endure the strain, and suddenly he collapsed and fell down unconscious.
Picking up the club which his adversary had dropped, Hardin whirled about. "Into the plane, hurry!" he cried, running to his wife. "Quick, before they wake up!"
He was rushing Irene and the wounded scientist toward the Condor, when Makosi, who had been staring like a man in a trance at the wonders enacted before his eyes, seemed suddenly to come to life. Waving his arms wildly, the man began to scream at his people, fairly frothing at the mouth in his rage and excitement.
As his words fell on their ears, some of the Bamangani began to pluck up heart, and a few launched spears at the fugitives as they hurried toward the plane. They gave up and fell back, however, when Batu turned his automatic loose upon them, and a few seconds later the entire party was safe inside the cabin.
As the plane rose into the air and the island fell rapidly away below them, Hardin gathered his wife into his arms. "Phee-u!" he exclaimed, setting her down at last. "That was certainly a close thing. Thank God you're alive, dear."
"I shall," she answered soberly; "but first I'm going to thank Batu."
"Batu!" Hardin turned to glance at the Dyak, who, imperturbable as the Sphinx, was guiding the rushing plane in the direction of the coast. For a moment the white man watched him in silence, and his eyes were very tender. Then he spoke.
"Pretty close thing, wasn't it, Batu?" he said.
The Dyak turned and flashed a grin at them over his shoulder. "Sure, Mike!" he answered.
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Contents
OPERATION EARTHWORM
by Joe Archibald