The Pulp Fiction Megapack

by Robert Leslie Bellem

  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 horrible 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 th
is 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.”

  Hopefully as he spoke, however, Hardin was far from believing his own words. For all he really knew to the contrary, Batu might be dead, and even if the Dyak were alive there was nothing that he could do alone against the whole tribe of ape-men. Deep down in his heart the banker felt that they were hopelessly trapped. Still, he did his best to encourage his companions while they waited for the dawn. If they had to die, he wanted them all to do so bravely.

  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.

  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 fro
m 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.