Darkness and Dawn

by George England

  Allan sought and quickly found the aperture made by the smith through the limestone.

  "Evidently he'd been planning this coup for a long time," thought he. "The great catastrophe of the land-slide broke the last bonds of order and restraint, and gave him his opportunity. Well, it's his last villainy! I'll have this passageway cemented up. That's all the monument he'll ever get. It's more than he deserves!"

  He returned to Beatrice. The girl still lay there, moaning a little in her fevered sleep. Allan watched her in anguish.

  "Oh, if she should die—if she should die!" thought he, and felt the sweat start on his forehead. "She must not! She can't! I won't let her!"

  A touch on his arm aroused him from his vigil. Turning, he saw Gesafam.

  "The child, O Kromno, hungers. It is crying for food!" Allan thought. He saw at once the impossibility of letting the boy come near its mother. Some other arrangement must be made.

  "Ah!" thought he. "I have it!"

  He gestured toward the door.

  "Go," he commanded. "Go up the path, to the palisaded place. Take this rope. Bring back, with you a she-goat. Thus shall the child be fed!"

  The old woman obeyed. In a quarter-hour she had returned, dragging a wild goat that bleated in terror.

  Then, while she watched with amazement, Allan succeeded in milking the creature; though he had to lash securely all four feet and throw it to the cave-floor before it would submit.

  He modified the milk with water and bade the old woman administer it by means of a bit of soft cloth. Allan, Junior, protested with yells, but had to make the best of hard necessity; and, after a long and painful process, was surfeited and dozed off. Gesafam put him to bed on the divan by the fire.

  "A poor substitute," thought Allan, "but it will sustain life. He's healthy; he can stand it—he's got to. Thank God for that goat! Without it he might easily have starved."

  He tied the animal at the rear of the cave, and had Gesafam fetch a good supply of grass. Thus for the present one problem at least was solved.

  Beatrice's condition remained unchanged. Now and then she called for water, which he gave her plentifully. Once he thought she recognized him, but he could not be certain.

  And day wore on; and now the hour of noon was at hand. Allan knew that other duties called him. He must go down among the Folk and save them, too, if possible.

  Eating a little at random and making sure as always that his pistols were well loaded, he consigned Beatrice and the child into the old woman's keeping and left the cave.

  On the terrace he stopped a moment, gazing triumphantly at the bloodmarks now thickly coagulated down the rocks.

  Then, out over the canyon and the forest to northward he peered. His eyes caught the signal-fires he knew must be there now, not ten miles away; and with a nod he smiled.

  "They've certainly trailed me close, the devils!" sneered he. "Since the minute they first attacked my two men and me, trying to repair the disabled Pauillac in that infernal valley so far to northward, they haven't given me an hour's respite! Before night there'll be war! Well, let them come. The quicker now the better!"

  Then he turned, and with a determined step, still clad in his grotesque rags, descended toward the caves of the Folk, such as still were left.

  Where all had been resistance and defiant surliness before, now all had become obedience and worship. He understood enough of the barbarian psychology to know that power, strength and dominance—and these alone—commanded respect with the Folk.

  And among them all, those who had not seen as well as those that had, the sudden, dramatic, annihilating downfall of H'yemba had again cemented the bonds of solidarity more closely than ever.

  The sight of that arch-rebel's body hurled from the parapet had effectually tamed them, every one. No longer was there any murmur in their caves, no thought save of obedience and worship.

  "It's not what I want," reflected Allan. "I want intelligent cooperation, not adulation. I want democracy! But, damn it! if they can't understand, then I must rule a while. And rule I will—and they shall obey or die!"

  Quickly he got in touch with the situation. From cave to cave he went, estimating the damage. At the great gap in the terrace he stood and carefully observed the wreckage in the river-bed below.

  He visited the hospital-cave, administered medicines, changed dressings and labored for his Folk as though no shadow of rebellion ever had come 'twixt them and him. The news of Bremilu's death moved him profoundly. Bremilu had been one of his two most competent and trusted followers, and Allan, too, felt a strong personal affection for the man who had saved his life that first night at the cliffs.

  Beside the body he stood, in the morgue-cave whither it had been borne. With bowed head the master looked upon the man; and from his eyes fell tears; and in his heart he felt a vacant place not soon to be made whole.

  With profound emotion he took Bremilu's cold hand in his—the hand that had so deftly and so powerfully stricken down the gorilla—and for a while held it, gazing on the dead man's face.

  "Good-by," said he at length. "You were a brave heart and a true. Never shall you be forgotten. Good-by!"

  He summoned a huge fellow named Frumuos, now the most intelligent of the Folk remaining, and together they directed the work of carrying the bodies up to the cliff-top and there burying them.

  By the middle of the afternoon some semblance of order and control had become organized in the colony. He returned to Cliff Villa, leaving strict orders for Frumuos to call him in case of need.

  Very beautiful the world was that afternoon. In the soft south wind the fronded palms across the river were bowing and nodding gracefully. Overhead, dazzling clouds drifted northward.

  It seemed to him he could almost hear the rustle of the dry undergrowth, parched by the past fortnight of exceptionally hot weather; but, above all, rose the eternal babble of the rapids. High in air, a vulture wheeled its untiring spirals. At sight of it he frowned. It reminded him of the Pauillac, now wrecked far beyond the horizon, where the Horde had trapped him. He shuddered, for the memories of the past week were infinitely horrible, and he longed only to forget.

  With a last glance at the scene, over which the ominous threads of smoke now drifted in considerable numbers, he frowned. He reentered the villa.

  "No matter what happens now," he muttered, "I've got to snatch a few minutes rest. Otherwise, I'm liable to drop in my tracks. And, above all, I must try to pull through. For on me, and me alone, now everything depends!"

  He sat down by the bed again, too stupefied by the toxins of fatigue and exhaustion to do more than note that Beatrice was, at any rate, no worse.

  Human effort and emotion had, in fact, reached their extreme climax in him. He felt numb all over, in body, mind and soul. A weaker man would have succumbed long ago to but half the hardships he had struggled through. Now he must rest a bit.

  "Bring water, Gesafam!" he commanded. When she had obeyed, he let her wash his wounds and dress them with leaves and ointment. Then he himself bandaged them, his head nodding, eyes already drooping shut from moment to moment.

  His head sank on the bed, and one hand sought the girl's. Despite his wonderful vitality and strength, Allan was on the verge of collapse.

  Vague and confused thoughts wandered through his unsettled brain.

  What was the destiny of the colony to be, now that the Pauillac was lost and so many of the Folk wiped out? Were there any hopes of ultimate success? And the Horde, what of that? How long a respite might be counted on before the inevitable, decisive battle?

  A score, a hundred questions, more and more illusory, blent and faded and reformed in his overtaxed mind.

  Then, blessed as a balm, sleep took him.

  A violent shaking roused him from dead slumber. Old Gesafam stood there beside him. She had him by the arm.

  "Waken, O master!" she was crying. "O Kromno, rouse! For now there is great need!"

  Dazed, he started up.

  "
What—what is it now? More trouble?"

  She pointed toward the door.

  "Beyond there, master! Beyond the river there be many moving creatures! Darts and arrows have begun to fall against the cliff. See, one has even come into the cave! What shall be done, master?"

  Broad awake now, Allan ran to the door and peered out.

  Daylight was fading. He must have slept an hour or two; it had seemed but a second. In the west the sun was burning its way toward the horizon, through a thick set of haze that cloaked the rim of the earth.

  "Here, master! See!"

  Stooping, she picked up a long, slight object and handed it to him.

  "One of their poisoned darts, so help me!" he exclaimed. "Cast that into the fire, Gesafam. And have a care lest it wound you, for the slightest scratch is death!"

  While she, wondering, obeyed, he hastily reconnoitered the situation.

  He had felt positive the Horde, after his escape from it by devious and terrible ways, would track him down.

  He had known the army of the hideous little beast-folk, that for a year now had been slowly gathering from north and east for one final assault, would eventually find Settlement Cliffs and there make still another attempt to crush him and his.

  But, knowing all this, knowing even that the whole region beyond the river now swarmed with these ghastly monstrosities, the actuality appalled him.

  Now that the attack was really at hand, he felt a strange and sudden sense of helplessness.

  And with a bitter curse he shook his fist at the dark forest across the canyon where—even as he looked—he saw a movement of crouching, furtive things; he heard a dull thump-thump as of clubs beating hollow logs.

  "You devils!" he execrated. "Oh, for a ton of Pulverite to drop among you!"

  "Look, master, look! The bridge! The bridge!"

  He turned quickly as old Gesafam pointed up-stream.

  There, clearly outlined against the sky, he saw a dozen—a score of little, crouching figures emerge from the forest on the north bank, and at a clumsy run defile along the swaying footpath high above the rapids.

  Chapter XXVII - War!

  *

  At sight of the advance-guard of the Horde now already loping, crouched and ugly, over the narrow bridge to Settlement Cliffs Allan's first impulse was one of absolute despair.

  He had expected an attack ere night, but at least he had hoped an hour's respite to recover a little of his strength and to muster all the still valid men of the Folk for resistance. Now, however, he saw even this was to be denied him. For already the leaders of the Horde scouts had passed the center of the bridge.

  Three or four minutes more and they would be inside the palisade, upon the cliff!

  "God! If they once get in there, we're gone!" cried Allan. "We're cut off from everything. Our animals will be slaughtered. The boy will die! They can bombard us with rocks from aloft. It means annihilation!"

  Already he was running up the path toward the palisade. Not one second was to be lost. There was no time even to call a single man of the Folk to reenforce him. Single-handed and alone he must meet the invaders' first attack.

  Panting, sweating, stumbling, he scrambled up the steep terrace. And as he ran his thoughts outdistanced him.

  "Fool that I was to have left the bridge!" choked he. "My first act when I set foot on solid land should have been to cut the ropes and drop the whole thing into the rapids! I might have known this would happen—fool that I was!"

  The safety, the life, of the whole colony, including his wife and son, now depended solely on his reaching the southern end of the bridge before the vanguard of the Horde.

  With a heart-racking burst of energy he sprang to the defence, and as he ran he drew his hunting-knife.

  Reeling with exhaustion, spent, winded, yet still in desperation struggling onward, he won the top of the cliff, swung to the left along the path that led to the bridge, and—more dead than alive—rushed onward in a last, supreme effort.

  Already he saw the Anthropoids were within a hundred feet of the abutment. He could plainly see their squat, hideous bodies, their hairy and pendent arms, and the ugly shuffle of their preposterous legs, as at their best speed they made for the cliff.

  Three or four poisoned darts fell clicking on the stones about him. Howls and yells of rage burst from the file of beast-men.

  One of the horrible creatures even—with apelike agility—sprang up into the guy ropes of the bridge, clung there, and discharged an arrow from its bamboo blow-gun, chattering with rage.

  Stern, running but the faster, plugged him with a forty-four. The Anthropoid, still clinging, yowled hideously, then all at once dropped off and vanished in the depths.

  Full drive, Allan hurled himself toward the entrance of the bridge. It seemed to him the beasts were almost on him now.

  Plainly he could hear the slavering click of their tushes and see the red, bleared winking of their deep-set eyes.

  Now he was at the rope-anchorage, where the cables were lashed to two stout palms.

  He emptied his automatic point-blank into the pack.

  Pausing not to note effects, he slashed furiously at the left-hand rope.

  One strand gave. It sprang apart and began untwisting. Again he hewed with mad rage.

  "Crack!"

  The cable parted with a report like a pistol-shot. From the bridge a wild, hideous tumult of yells and shrieks arose. The whole fabric, now unsupported on one side, dropped awry. Covered from end to end with Anthropoids, it swayed heavily.

  Had men been on it, all must have been flung into the rapids by the shock. But these beast-things, used to arboreal work, to scaling cliffs, to every kind of dangerous adventuring, nearly all succeeded in clinging.

  Only three or four were shaken off, to catapult over and over down into the foaming lash of the river.

  And still, now creeping with hideous agility along the racked and swinging bridge that hung by but a single rope, they continued to make way, howling and screaming like damned souls.

  One gained the shore! At Allan it bounded, crouching, ferocious, deadly. He saw the tiny, venomous lance raised for the throw.

  "Flick!"

  He felt a twitch on his arm. Was he wounded? He knew not. Only he knew that with blind rage he had flung himself on the second rope, and now with demon-rage was hacking at it desperately.

  The snapping whirl of the cable as it parted flung him backward.

  He had an instant's vision of the whole bridge-structure crumpling. Then it vanished. From the depths rose the most awful scream, quickly smothered, that he had ever heard.

  And as the bestial bodies went tumbling, rolling, fighting, down the rapids, he suddenly beheld the bridge footway hanging limp and swaying against the further cliff.

  "Thank God! In time, in time!" he panted, staggering like a drunken man.

  But all at once he beheld two of the Horde still there in front of him—the one that had flung the dart and another. They were advancing at a lope.

  Allan turned and fled.

  His ammunition was all spent, he knew that to face them was madness.

  "I must load up again," thought he. "Then I'll make short work of them!"

  Fortunately he could far outstrip them in flight. That, and that alone, had already saved him in the past week of horrible pursuit through the forests to northward. And quickly now he ran down the terrace again—down to the caves below. As he ran he shouted in Merucaan:

  "Out, my people! Out with you! Out to battle! Out to war!"

  Half way upward down to Cliff Villa he met Frumuos toiling upward. Him he greeted and quickly informed of the situation.

  "The bridge is down!" he panted. "I cut it! The further shore is swarming with enemies. Two have reached this side!"

  "What is this, O Kromno?" asked the man anxiously, pointing at Allan's shoulder. "Have they wounded you?"

  Allan looked and saw a poisoned dart hanging loosely in his left sleeve. As he moved he could feel th
e point rubbing against his naked skin.

  "Merciful Heaven!" he exclaimed. "Has it scratched me?"

  With infinite precautions he loosened and threw off his outer garment. He flung it, with the dart still adhering, down over the cliff.

  "Look, Frumuos!" he commanded. "Search carefully and see if there be any scratch on the skin!"

  The man obeyed, making a minute inspection through his mica eye-shields. Then he shook his head.

  "No, Kromno," he answered. "I see nothing. But the arrow came near, near!"

  Stern, tremendously relieved, gestured toward the caves.

  "Go swiftly!" he commanded. "Bring up every man who still can fight. All must have full burdens of cartridges. Even though the bridge be down, the enemy will still attack!"

  "But how, since the great river lies between?"

  "They can climb down those cliffs and swim the river and scramble up this side as easily as we can walk on level ground. Go swiftly! There is no time to lose!"

  "I go, master. But tell me, the two who have already reached this side—shall we not first slay them?"

  Allan thought. For the first time he now realized clearly the terrible peril that lay in these two Anthropoids already inside the limits of the colony.

  He peered up the pathway. No sign of them above. Their animal cunning had warned them not to descend to certain death.

  Now Allan knew they were at liberty inside the palisades, waiting, watching, constituting a deadly menace at every turn.

  In any one of a thousand places they could lie ambushed, behind trees or bushes, or in the limbs aloft, and thence, unseen, they could discharge an indefinite number of darts.

  It was now perilous in the extreme even to venture back to the palisade. Any moment might bring a flicking, stinging messenger of death. Those two, alone, might easily decimate the remaining men of the colony—and now each man was incalculably precious.

  "Go, Frumuos," Allan again commanded. "For the moment we must leave those two up there. Go, muster all the fighting men and bring them up here along the terrace. I must think! Go!"

  Suddenly, before the messenger had even had time to disappear round the first bend in the path, Allan found his inspiration.