Authors: George England
The two white barbarians followed, peering with those strange, pinkish
eyes of theirs, courageous still, yet utterly at a loss to know what
manner of thing they were now drawing near.
They burst through a thicket, waded a marshy swale and went splashing,
staggering and slipping among tufts of coarse and knife-edged grasses,
the haunt of unknown venomous reptiles.
Up a slope they won; and now, all at once the roar burst forth again
close at hand, a rending tumult, wild, earthshaking, inexpressibly
terrible.
All three stopped.
"Beatrice! Are you there? Answer!" shouted Stern.
Silence, save for a peculiar mumbling snuffle off ahead, among the
deeper shadows of a fern-tree thicket.
"Beatrice!"
No answer. With a groan Allan shot his light toward the thicket. He
seemed to distinguish something moving. To his ears now came a sound
of twigs and brushwood snapping.
Absolutely void of fear he pressed forward, and the two colonists with
him, their weapons ready. Stern held his revolver poised for instant
action. His heart was hammering, and his breath surged pantingly; but
within him his consciousness and soul lay calm.
For he knew one of two things were now to happen. Either that beast
ahead there in the gloom, or he, must die.
As the three pursuers steadily advanced, the thing roared once
more, and again they heard the hammering, drumming boom. Zangamon
whispered some unintelligible phrase.
Allan projected the light forward again, and at sight of a moving
mass, vague and intangible, among the gigantic fronds, leveled his
automatic.
But on the instant Bremilu seized his arm.
"O master! Do not throw the fire of death!" he warned. "You cannot
see, but we can! Do not throw the fire!"
"Why not? What
is
that thing?"
"It seems a man, yet it is different, master. It is all hair, and very
thick and strong, and hideous! Do not shoot, O Kromno!"
"Why not?"
"Behold! That strange man-thing holds the woman, Beatrice, in his left
arm. Of a truth, you may kill her, and not the enemy."
Allan steadied himself against a palm. His brain seemed whirling, and
for a moment all grew vague and like a dream.
She was there—Beatrice was there, and they could see her. There, in
the clutches of some monster, horrible and foul! Living yet?
Dead?
"Tell me! Does she live?"
"We cannot say, O Kromno. But do not shoot. We will creep close—we,
ourselves, will slay, and never touch the woman."
"No, no! If you do he'll strangle her—provided she still lives! Don't
go! Wait! Let me think a second."
With a tremendous effort Allan mastered himself. The situation far
surpassed, in horror, any he had ever known.
There not a hundred yards distant in the dense blackness was Beatrice,
in the grip of some unknown and hideous creature. Advance, Allan dared
not, lest the creature rend her to tatters. Shoot, he dared not.
Yet something must be done, and quickly, for every second, every
fraction of a second, was golden. The merest accident might now mean
death or life—life, if the girl still lived!
"Zangamon!"
"Yea, master?"
"Be very bold! Do my bidding!"
"Speak only the word, Kromno, and I obey!"
"Go you, then, very quietly, very swiftly, to the other side of these
great growing things—these trees, we call them. Then call, so that
this thing shall turn toward you. Thus, I may shoot, and perhaps not
kill the woman. It is the only way!"
"I hear, master. I go!"
Allan and Bremilu waited, while from the thicket came, at intervals,
the savage snuffling, with now and then a grumbling mutter.
All at once a call sounded from far ahead.
"Come!" commanded Allan. Together he and Bremilu crept through the
jungle toward the thicket.
Wide-eyed, yet seeing almost nothing, Allan crawled noiselessly,
automatic in hand. The Merucaan slid along, silent as an Apache.
"Tell me if you see the thing again—if you see it turn!" whispered
Stern. "Tell me, for you can see."
Now the distance was cut in half; now only a third of it remained.
Before Stern it seemed a fathomless pit of black was opening. Under
the close-woven arches of the giant fern-trees the night was
impenetrable.
And as yet he dared not dart the light-beam into that pit of darkness,
for fear of precipitating an unthinkable tragedy—if, indeed, the
horror had not already been cons summated.
But now Bremilu gripped his arm. Afar, on the other side of the
thicket, they heard a singular commotion, cries, shouts, and the
vigorous beating of the fern-trees.
"The thing has turned, master!" the Merucaan exclaimed, at Allan's
side. "Now throw the fire-death! Etvur! Quickly, throw!"
Stern swept the thicket with his beam.
"Ah! There—
there!
"
The light caught a moving, hairy mass of brown—a huge, squat,
terrible creature, its back now toward them. At one side Stern saw a
vague blackness—the long, unbound hair of Beatrice!
He glimpsed a white arm dangling limp; and in his breast the heart
flamed at white-heat of rage and passion.
But his hand was steel. Never in his life had he drawn so fine a bead.
"Hold the light for me!" he whispered, passing it to his companion. "I
want both hands for this!"
Bremilu held the beam true, blinking strangely with his pink eyes.
Stern, resting his pistol hand in the hollow of his left elbow,
sighted true.
A fraction of a hair to the left, and the bullet might crash through
the brain of Beatrice!
"Oh, God—if there be any God—speed the shot true—" he prayed, and
fired.
A hideous yell, ripping the night to shreds, burst in a raw and rising
discord through the forest—a scream as of a damned soul flung upon
the brimstone.
Then, as he glimpsed the white arm falling and knew the thing had
loosed its grip, the light died. Bremilu, starting at the sudden
discharge close to his ear, had pressed the ivory button.
Stern snatched for the flash-lamp, fumbled it, and dropped it there
among the lush growths underfoot.
Before he could more than stoop to feel for it a heavy crash through
the wood told that the thing was charging.
With bubbling yells it came, trampling the undergrowth, drumming on
its huge breast, gibbeting with demoniac rage and pain—came swiftly,
like the terrific things that people nightmares.
Behind it, shouts echoed. Stern heard the voice of Zangamon as, spear
in hand, the Merucaan pursued.
He raised his revolver once more, but dared not fire.
Yet only an instant he hesitated, in the fear of killing Zangamon.
For, quick-looming through the darkness, a huge bulk, panting,
snarling, chattering, sprang—an avalanche of muscle, bone, fur, mad
with murder—rage.
Crack!
spoke the automatic, point-blank at this rushing horror, this
blacker shadow in the blackness.
The fire-stab revealed a grinning white-fanged face close to his own,
and clutching hands, and terrible, thick, hairy arms.
Then something hurled itself on Stern; something bore him
backward—something beside which his strength was as a
baby's—something vast, irresistible, hideous beyond all telling.
Stern felt the flesh of his left arm ripped up. Crushed, doubled,
impotent, he fell.
And at his throat long fingers clutched. A fetid, stinking breath
gushed hot upon his face. He heard the raving chatter of ivories,
snapping to rend him.
Up sprang another shadow. High it swung a weapon. The blow thudded
hollow, smashing, annihilating.
Hot liquid gushed over Allan's hand as he sought to beat the monster
back.
Then, fair upon him, fell a crushing weight.
Swooning, he knew no more.
The bright beam of the flash-lamp in his face roused Allan to a
consciousness that he was bruised and suffering, and that his left arm
ached with dull insistence. Dazed, he brought it up and saw his sleeve
of dull brown stuff was dripping red.
Beside him, in the trampled grass, he vaguely made out a hairy bulk,
motionless and huge. Bremilu was kneeling beside his master, with
words of cheer.
"It is dead, O Kromno! The man-beast is dead! My stone ax broke its
skull. See, now it lies here harmless!"
The currents of thought began to flow once more. Allan struggled up,
unmindful of his wounds.
"Beatrice!
Where is the girl?
" he gasped.
As though by way of answer, the tall growths swayed and crackled, and
through them a dim figure loomed—a man with something in his arms.
"Zangamon!" panted Allan, springing toward him. "Have you got her? The
girl—is she alive?"
"She lives, master!" replied a voice. "But as yet she remains without
knowledge of aught."
"Wounded? Is she wounded?"
Already he had reached Zangamon, and, injured though he was, had taken
the beloved form in his arms.
"Beatrice! Beatrice!" he called, pressing kisses to her brow, her
eyes, her mouth—still warm, thank God!
He sank down among the underbrush and gathered her to his breast,
cradling her, cherishing her to him as though to bring back life and
consciousness.
To her heart he laid his ear. It beat! She breathed!
"The light, here! Quick!"
By its clear ray he saw her hair disheveled; her coarse mantle of
brown stuff ripped and torn, and on her throat long scratches.
Bruises showed on her hands and arms, as from a terrible fight she had
put up against the monster. And his heart bled; and to his lips rose
execrations, mingled with the tenderest words of pity and love.
"We must get her back to the cave at once!" he exclaimed. "Quick!
Break branches. Make a litter—a bed—to carry her on! Everything
depends on getting her to shelter now!"
But the two Merucaans did not understand. All this was beyond their
knowledge. Ignoring his hurts, Allan laid the girl down very gently,
and with them set to work, directing the making of the litter.
They obeyed eagerly. In a few minutes the litter was ready-made of
fern-tree branches thickly covered with leaves and odorous grasses.
On this he placed the girl.
"You, Zangamon, take these boughs here. Bremilu, those others. Now I
will hold the light. Back to the cave, now—quick!"
"We need not the light, master. We see better without it. It dazzles
our eyes. Use it for yourself. We need it not!" exclaimed Bremilu,
stooping above the body of the dead monster to recover his ax.
Involuntarily Allan turned the beam upon the horrible creature. There
stood Bremilu, his foot upon the hairy shoulder, tugging hard at the
ax-handle. Thrice he had to pull with all his might to loosen the
blade which had buried itself deep in the shattered skull.
"A giant gorilla, so help me!" he cried, shuddering. "My God,
Beatrice—what a ghastly terror you've been through!"
Still grinning ferociously, in death, with blood-smeared face and
glazed, staring eyes, the creature shocked and horrified even Allan's
steady nerves. He gazed upon it only a moment, then turned away.
"Enough!" said he. "To the cave!"
A quarter-hour had passed before they reached shelter again. Allan
bade the Merucaans heap dry wood on the embers in the cavern, while he
himself laid Beatrice upon the bed.
With a piece of their brown cloth dipped in one of the water-jars he
bathed her face and bruised throat.
"Fresh water! Fetch a jar of fresh water from the river below!" he
commanded Zangamon.
But even as the white barbarian started to obey, the girl stirred,
raised a hand, and feebly spoke.
"Allan—oh—are you here again? Allan—my love!"
He strained her to his breast and kissed her; and his eyes grew hot
with tears.
"Beatrice!"
Her arms were round his neck, and their lips clung.
"Hurt? Are you hurt?" he cried. "Tell me—how—"
"Allen! The monster—is he dead?" she shivered, sitting up and staring
wildly round at the cave walls on which the fresh-built fire was
beginning to throw dancing lights.
"Dead, yes. But hush, Beta! Don't think of that now. Everything's all
right—you're safe! I'm here!"
"Those men—"
"Two of our own Folk. I brought them back with me—just in time,
darling. Without them—"
He broke short off. Not for worlds would he have told her how near the
borderland she had been.
"You heard my shouts? You heard our signal?"
"Oh—I don't know Allan. I can't think, yet—it's all so terrible—so
confused—"
"There, there, sweetheart; don't think about it any more. Just lie
down and rest. Go to sleep. I'll watch here beside you. You're safe.
Nothing can hurt you now!"
She lay back with a sigh, and for a while kept silence while he sat
beside her, his uninjured arm beneath her head.
His one ambition, now that he found she was not seriously hurt in
body, was to keep her from talking of the horrible affair—from
exciting herself and rehearsing her terrors. Above all, she must be
quieted and kept calm.
At last, in her own natural voice, she spoke again.
"Allan?"
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"I owe you my life once more! If I was yours before, I'm ten times
more yours now!"
He bent and kissed her, and presently her deepened breathing told him
she had drifted over the borderline into the sleep of exhaustion.
He blessed her strength and courage.
"No futility here," thought he. "No useless questions or hysterics; no
scene. Strong! Gad, but she's strong! She realized she was safe and I
was with her again; that sufficed. Was there ever another woman like
her since the world began?"
Only now that the girl slept did he pay attention to the two Merucaans
who, sitting by the cave door, were regarding him with troubled looks.