The Fabulous Valley

by Dennis Wheatley

  The pistol which he had carried through the journey was still strapped to his hip and he could reach it, he thought, without disturbing that yellow length of coiled evil, but it would be impossible to shoot at it without wounding himself in the leg. If he suddenly threw himself from under it he felt that the chances were all against his being able to draw a bead upon its narrow head before it had bitten him.

  The awful tension was broken a moment later by the snake waking despite his care. It raised its head and began to uncoil itself lazily with a queer gliding motion. Tense with horror, he waited, expecting it to strike, but it slid gently off his legs and with a swift wriggle disappeared into an opening formed by two stones a few feet farther along the cave. It was apparently content at having enjoyed the hospitable warmth of his body during its night’s slumber.

  In frantic haste Michael knocked the top stones of the barrier out, and, clearing the rest, raced twenty yards down the slope. When he pulled up, shaking slightly from his horrible experience, he realised that he had left his water bags behind him. With cautious steps he approached the cave again and, peeping over the wall of rocks, saw that the snake had come out of his hole at the sound of his flying footsteps. It was a yellow Kalahari cobra, one of the few varieties of the species found outside India. Coiled on its. tail, it sat there watching him with its beady black eyes. Its head, raised a foot above the ground and arching back, swayed slightly from side to side and its long forked tongue flickered in and out with incredible swiftness. But he was in a far stronger position now as the barrier gave him chest-high protection and, seizing a big flat stone, he flung it as the snake reared up, crushing its head between his missile and the side of the cave.

  Having secured his water bottles and the belt with his small store of provisions, he sat down to a modest breakfast and then set out on a fresh attempt to rejoin Ernest and the out-span. On seeking for the entrance to the depression down which he had come the night before he was faced with a new difficulty. In the semi-darkness he had been unable to mark any distinguishing landmark, and all five of the hollows which formed a junction at that spot looked so similar that he did not know which to take. With an awful feeling of despondency he realised that he was completely lost in the heart of the great uninhabited mountain range.

  After some deliberation he decided that his best hope lay in taking the sun for a guide and trying to break out of the mountainous area back towards the plain. If he failed to find the outspan in the next twenty-four hours Ernest would have left the river and his last hope would be gone. By striking to the southward and sticking to the high ground as far as possible he would at least stand some chance of picking the convoy up on its return during the few days that his water would last out.

  That morning he trudged along a sandy hillside, then climbed a rocky barrier where he lunched and rested for a few hours in the shadow of a crag. In the afternoon he pushed doggedly on from valley to valley, often having to make wide detours, but gradually nearing the open ground of the southern Kalahari.

  That night he selected his resting place while he still had ample daylight and, having made certain that it contained no noisome occupants, he made another barrier in front of the entrance. As night drew on, the long-drawn howls of the prowling beasts echoed eerily through the stillness and once he heard the soft patter of padded feet and then long snuffling breaths as some large beast sniffed his scent only a few feet away on the far side of the heap of boulders which shut him in. He was so weary from his long day’s tramping that even while he strained his ears to listen for the noise again he fell asleep.

  In the two days that followed the conviction grew upon him that he would never look upon a human face again. His boots were cut to ribbons on the jagged rocks, so he bound pieces of the blanket round them to protect his bruised and bleeding feet a little. He stumbled wearily on from one ravine to another and examined horizon after horizon in a vain search for Ernest’s outspan. There were no streams or tracks, no wooded heights to vary the monotony of that hellish country, only endless vistas of scorching rock, boulders and pebbles beneath a sky of white-hot brass. The water bags which he had made out of the ground sheets proved a terrible disappointment. Their contents evaporated rapidly as the sun beat down upon his back, and more of their contents was lost in this manner than the amount he drank. By the third evening, only his water-bottle remained to him.

  At times, as he pushed one foot doggedly in front of another, he was even tempted to throw away the diamonds which weighed so heavily in his pockets but if he did so and relieved himself of their few pounds’ weight, it would not materially better the prospect of him being able to find his way out of this awful solitude. He felt that if he were doomed to die in that infernal region he might just as well carry them until the end.

  The heat was so overwhelming that for periods he became semi-delirious; singing to himself snatches of long-forgotten songs as he plodded on, his head reeling and his body one great ache from blisters, burns and bruises.

  It was in this state—his head hanging low upon his chest—his feet dragging mechanically, that he heard two rifle shots ring out. At first his mind was too far out of control to realise the fresh hope of succour that they brought him. He only stared about him vaguely. Nothing stirred within his area of vision but, recovering a little as the sound of the shots echoed and re-echoed along the gully, he suddenly grasped the fact that human beings must be near and, moreover, in the direction in which he was going.

  With stumbling steps he began to run, terrified now that they might move off in another direction before he could reach them. As he rounded a corner he saw a little group of figures half a mile away. He had lost his dark glasses in the underground river and his eyes were so strained and bloodshot from the long days in the frightful glare that he could not make out the figures clearly but he ran on towards them, shouting and waving wildly to attract their attention. Before he had covered a quarter of the distance his bandaged foot slipped upon a small boulder and, crashing forward, he struck his head against another, knocking himself senseless.

  When he came round he thought at first that he must have dreamed the whole episode, for the valley was once again empty as before, but the pain in his head soon assured him that he had actually fallen. Immediately he struggled to his knees he realised that the diamonds had gone from his pockets.

  The sun was considerably lower in the heavens, so he knew that he had been unconscious for some time; even so, the people who had robbed him and left him there to die could not have yet got any great distance. A mad, wild rage, which made his heart catch in his throat at the thought of the way in which he had been treated, filled him with a sudden renewal of energy and, completely forgetful that in his present state he could not have stood up to a well-grown girl, he set off at a brisk pace to pursue and attack his despoilers.

  At the bend where he had seen the figures he pulled up short as he nearly stumbled upon the bodies of Henry and the leopard. Both were dead, his uncle being terribly mutilated. He paused for a moment, quite bewildered by this fresh shock; then, seeing his uncle’s water-bottle, which was half-full of lime juice and water, he took a long pull at that glorious nectar and stumbled on.

  By five o’clock he found, with sudden overwhelming relief, that he had at last passed out of the clutches of those grim mountains and before him, gently sloping, lay the foothills with patches of sandy plain in the distance. His mind was so confused by his sufferings that the hopelessness of attempting the seven days’ march back to Noro Kei without transport, food or water never occurred to him, nor was he capable of seriously considering who the people were who had robbed him of the diamonds and left his uncle unburied. The figures of Philbeach, Sandy, Patricia, George, Darkie and all the others who had played any part in this desperate adventure danced a fantastic can-can in his head. The one thought that hammered in his mind was that he must catch up somehow in order to get back those diamonds which he had purchased at such a price in blood and toil.
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br />   Wild-eyed and haggard, he was still striding gamely forward when a voice hailed him from a nearby slope.

  ‘Hello you there! Come here a moment.’

  He swerved to the right and whipped out the gun which they had not troubled to remove from his hip then, blinking his eyes, stared at the man who was advancing towards him.

  ‘Hi! Steady on with that thing,’ called the man—then, with a sudden shout: ‘By Jove, it’s Michael!’

  Michael lurched forward a step, still pointing with the gun. ‘You’ve got my stones, you blackguard,’ he croaked. ‘Give them back to me or I’ll shoot you.’

  ‘You’re dippy,’ said another voice quite close behind him, ‘and if you don’t drop that gun I’ll plug you where you stand.’

  Swinging round, Michael saw that another khaki-clad figure held him covered with a rifle.

  The first man walked straight up to him and took him gently by the arm, as he said kindly: ‘You poor old boy, you look about all in—surely you know me?—I’m Sandy.’

  Michael passed a weary hand over his dust-encrusted face and then shook his head from side to side. ‘Of course I know you,’ he muttered huskily, ‘but I’ve been through the hell of a time. Everything in my head seems to be muddled up. Weren’t you with the crowd who pinched my haul of diamonds and left old Henry’s body to rot in the sun?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Sandy assured him. ‘But I can guess who did. Come on, Cornelius, let’s get back to camp.’

  The two of them practically carried Michael back to the niche between the two big rocks, where Sarie was just beginning to prepare the evening meal. Immediately she saw him she left it with an exclamation of pity at his terrible state.

  She forbade him to talk any more for the moment but used some of their precious water to bathe his face and the best part of a bottle of witch hazel on bandages to wrap round his blistered arms, then insisted that he must rest at least until dinner was ready.

  The cooling bandages, the brandy and water which they made him sip, and more than anything the incredible relief of finding himself once more among friendly humans, aided his recovery. After he had rested for the best part of an hour, Sarie came over to ask him if he felt up to joining them at dinner and by that time his mind had cleared to a reasonably normal state.

  Over the meal he told his story from the time when they had left Zwart Modder up to an hour before when Sandy had spotted him staggering along through the desert. Then Sarie gave him an account of all that had happened to her party.

  Michael’s brain had only just begun to function properly again and, immediately Sarie spoke of Philbeach and the lies he had told, his thoughts flew to Patricia.

  Actually, although he had no means of knowing it, she had fainted almost at the same moment as himself.

  When she came to she was lying on her back in the wagon upon the heap of matting that Henry had occupied for so many sweltering days. The wagon was jolting gently onwards and through the back of it Patricia could see sufficient of the landscape to know that they had turned southwards once more.

  At the sudden memory of her father’s terrible fate she raised herself with a loud cry. Philbeach rode up and, dismounting from his horse, hitched it to the back of the wagon, then climbed in beside her.

  ‘Don’t try to talk now,’ he told her with rough kindness, ‘you’ll feel better by and by.’ Then he gave her drink of water and, producing a little bottle with some tabloids from his pocket, made her take four of them.

  The drug was potent, for she had hardly begun to wonder if they had held up Michael after all, or if the shooting had been sufficient to warn him of his danger, when she dropped into a heavy sleep.

  When she awoke it was night. The camp fires were gleaming and she could hear Darkie and Ginger laughing together. Still half-dazed from the effect of the drug, though not sufficiently to prevent her remembering the shattering events of the afternoon, she sat up and climbed out of the wagon.

  Philbeach saw her at once and, as he strolled over, she suddenly realised with an awful quickening of her heart the full horror of her position.

  He came quiet close to her but did not touch her, and said amiably: ‘Feeling better now? I wouldn’t fret yourself about the old man too much. All of us have got to die some way and I reckon he had had his innings.’

  She nodded silently, and then he added quietly: ‘You and me’s going to be good friends from now on, aren’t we?’

  ‘I hope so,’ she replied almost in a whisper.

  ‘I hope so too. For your sake as well as mine,’ he went on firmly, ‘because it lies with you. Either you treat me decent from to-night on, and I’ll look after you, or else you’ll get what’s coming to you all the same, and when I’ve done with you I’ll hand you over for Darkie and Ginger to have a cut at. Now get back in the wagon and think it over.’

  23

  Blood is Thicker than Water

  As Sarie finished her story, Michael, filled with an awful apprehension for Patricia now, exclaimed:

  ‘There was only the old man there in the valley and the dead leopard,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Well, Patricia wasn’t with the Philbeach party when they passed here three hours back,’ Sandy assured him.

  ‘But the girl can’t have disappeared altogether,’ insisted Sarie. ‘Philbeach said that the same leopard attacked them both and if they didn’t trouble to bury the old man they wouldn’t bother about burying her either. When they passed us she must have been in the wagon.’

  ‘Good God!’ cried Michael, springing to his feet, ‘then she’s alone now in the hands of that devil.’

  Sarie looked across at Michael sharply. His face showed all the agony of mind which he was feeling and her thoughts flew to the other girl in quick comprehension of what she was likely to suffer at the hands of a man like Philbeach.

  ‘Poor kid,’ exclaimed Cornelius. ‘I wish to goodness we could do something about it but without horses we’re pinned down in this hell ourselves.’

  ‘We’ve got to do something about it,’ Michael cried, his eyes gleaming. ‘We’ve got to. They’re only three hours ahead, you say, so I’m going on.’

  Sandy caught his arm as he was about to start out there and then. ‘Steady on!’ he said quietly. ‘You haven’t got a hope in hell even if you were strong enough to walk it, which you aren’t. It’ll be dark in less than an hour and the leopards would get you for a certainty.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Michael protested passionately. ‘I’ve been too near death to worry about it any more. I’m going to take my chance on reaching her.’

  ‘We are all pretty near death anyhow,’ Cornelius remarked grimly. ‘The rest of the old wagon and the packing-cases will just about keep the fires going to-night. We shall be up against it in real earnest about a couple of dozen miles south of here in a few days’ time.’

  ‘Then let’s start now,’ Michael urged.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sandy shot a covert glance at Sarie, ‘I’d like to, Michael, but our chances are pretty slender as it is and I’m not taking one single risk I haven’t got to at the moment.’

  Sarie caught his glance and knew that it was her he was thinking of so she said slowly: ‘I’m willing. If we do get out of this alive I shall never be able to get that poor girl out of my mind unless we make some attempt to reach her.’

  An argument developed in which Cornelius, also thinking of his sister, backed Sandy up although he was secretly willing to have gone himself if they considered that his lameness would not be too great a drag upon the pace of the party. It was then that Michael suddenly thought of the aeroplane.

  ‘Tell me more about your crash,’ he said to Cornelius quickly. ‘What actually did happen?’

  The young Dutchman told him and added, with a shake of his head: ‘There’s no hope there, I’m afraid, unless you can find me a new inlet valve spring growing in this filthy desert.’

  ‘It does sound pretty hopeless,’ Michael agreed, ‘but I’d like to have a look a
t it all the same because as it happens I qualified as an engineer, so it’s just possible that I might be able to think of something.’

  Darkness had almost fallen so they took some lengths of wood to act as torches in case they had to linger there for any length of time, and then walked the half-mile to the stranded plane.

  With quick, efficient fingers Michael set to work on the engine. When he reached the broken spring he examined it carefully.

  ‘I think I can do it,’ he muttered with sudden excitement.

  ’Ach, how?’ Cornelius inquired, a trifle sceptically.

  ‘Look!’ Michael held up the two halves of the spiral. ‘When the broken ends come together they dovetail and screw into each other if pressure is put upon them, so the spring goes down to half its usual size without taking up any resistance; but by placing the rings at the top and bottom together in the middle, they cannot pass each other and the spring remains its normal length whatever pressure you put upon it.’

  ‘By Jove, you’re right!’ exclaimed Sandy.

  For an hour and a half they laboured in the darkening shadows, and for the latter part by torchlight. Then, at last, when they tested the engine it sprang into life with an even roar which thrilled every one of them and heralded new hope.

  As Michael cut it off a voice suddenly addressed them out of the gloom.

  ‘Well, the world is a small place, I always do say. Fancy finding friends in a place like this.’

  ‘By all that’s marvellous!’ Michael exclaimed. ‘It’s Ernest. Good Lord! I am glad to see you. Where’s that wagon of ours?’

  ‘Cripes!’ ejaculated Ernest. ‘So you’re here too!—I’d almost given you up for a gone-er.’ Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘The wagon’s back there, about a hundred yards away. I should have camped for the night half an hour ago only that I happened to see your torches. But where’s brother George?’

  There was a sudden awful silence, which was broken at last by Alichael, who muttered: ‘I’m afraid poor George …’