King Kong (1932) (11 page)

When the meat-eater finally stretched out in death, Kong drew close and gazed down with loud cheeps of pleasure. He waggled the broken jaws with satisfaction and looked over toward Ann as though to invite her praise. Ann, however, could indicate neither praise nor horror. Her over-taxed emotions had once more sent her into unconsciousness. Trapped by the trunk which stood barely clear of her curving breast, she lay as motionless as the great creature Kong had killed.

Driscoll lifted his head half above the margin of the ravine to watch. He could scarcely contain himself when Kong lumbered over and touched Ann solicitously. But he had reasoned his course out and he stood by it. Ann had come unhurt so far. Her one chance for continued safety depended upon his own ability to keep track of her and upon Kong's temper. If he managed to trail the beast-god, and if he did not provoke him to a furious outburst, Ann might be saved by the party Denham was to bring back.

Driscoll was the more inclined to keep quiet because of his growing conviction that Kong had completely forgotten him. The apelike creature did not make a single motion back toward the cave. With all his interest focussed upon Ann, he curved his arms about the tree as he had curved them about the bridge log. Carefully, by deliberate inches, he lifted the great weight and swung it to one side. Only when it was clear of Ann did he lower it back to the ground, and then as gently as he had lifted it; and when the heavy tree-trunk was carried aside he lumbered back anxiously. As he raised Ann, his broad throat made curious consoling sounds. Carefully, and as easily as a man might have raised a doll, he rested his prize against a shoulder and turned down the slope.

Driscoll, behind the edge of the ravine, sensed a clear purpose back of the departure. Freed at last of all pursuit, victorious over the last of a succession of enemies, Kong, the mate felt sure, was going directly now to the home he had not been able to reach before. No longer fretted by the small noisy man-things who had trailed him from the altar, safely past the morass into which the tricerotops had driven him, and secure from the hungry pursuit of the meat-eater, he was bearing his prize home.

Driscoll clambered cautiously to firm ground. Advancing a little he made sure of Kong's line of flight and no less sure that it was not too fast for him to keep up with. Then he turned around and looked for Denham. The latter was up on the far side of the bank, waiting. At his feet lay a great coil of vine rope. He grinned down at it.

"I got it ready while the fight was on," he said. "I figured that if Kong lost, maybe you could get Ann, and I could get one end of this to you, and we could do something."

For the first time since he had left the village, Driscoll felt a surge of the old affection for his employer. Denham was, and no doubt about it, a man you could tie to. He got you into trouble, plenty. But he never stopped trying to get you out.

"The stuff may come in handy yet," he agreed, and smiled. "Leave it right there. And you shove back to the village."

"I hate like hell to leave you, Jack."

"What else can you do?" Driscoll asked. "The two of us can't catch Kong. We've got to have bombs to do that. You go get them. I'll mark the trail from here. And we'll save Ann as sure as anything you know."

"I guess that's the only way out."

"Sure it is."

Denham stood looking at the resolute young face across the ravine.

"O.K., Jack, good luck!" he said and wheeling around went back at a trot toward the stream from which the dinosaur had pursued them.

"See you later - maybe," Driscoll called; and waved goodbye, as Denham vanished into the woods.

A distant crashing sounded in the heavy brush far down the slope. Driscoll nodded. That would be Kong, headed for his hide-away. Close to the tree in which Ann had rested, lay the meat-eater's body. Already vultures were on the thing, half a dozen of them, and more were coming. From over the edge of the ravine the sharp reptilian head of a giant lizard announced that the scent of fresh food had drifted deep down to the hungry things which lived in the slime below. Driscoll shivered and went gladly on the trail of his larger enemy.

The brush which grew thick upon the Plain of the Altar rose more often than not above Denham's waist as he dragged his weary feet along. Sometimes when it grew especially tall, or when he bent in a moment of unusual fatigue, it concealed him entirely. Night was well forward, too. A dozen factors made his slow-moving, exhausted figure hard to pick up, even from the high vantage point of the wall. Sharp eyes, however, were watching. The smoky flames of torches marked the niche where a dozen sailors kept vigilant guard down by the gate, ready to pull its great doors wide. Other torches, flickering on high, told of more men leaning forward to peer from the rampart And one of these last sighted the solitary walker long before he got to the cleared ground around the altar.

"Yo-ho! Denham!"

It was Englehorn who called. His white cap swung dimly in a wide encouraging circle. The torches became trailing arcs of flame as the crew joined in the shout.

"Yo-ho-o-o-o! Yo-ho-o-o-o, away there!"

The figures on the wall vanished, reappearing almost at once to swell the ranks at the gate. The gate swung wide, and the loud shout rang on until Denham had struggled through the last fringe of brush and had slogged past the altar. Then, however, silence fell, as abruptly as the shout had risen. The whole group at the gate stood taut, gazing in bewilderment over Denham's head when the darkness there failed to reveal any others following.

Englehorn recovered first. Dropping his torch, he ran out and got an arm under Denham's sagging shoulders.

"I've got you," he murmured, and all but carried his friend to a bench inside the gate.

"Where are the others?" a sailor wanted to know.

"Let that wait!" Englehorn ordered brusquely. "Get some whiskey and some food. And close the gate."

"No!" Denham cut in. "Leave the gate open. If Driscoll comes, he'll come in a hurry."

"Where is Driscoll?"

"Where's Miss Ann?" Lumpy added.

"I said, let that wait," Englehorn emphasized. "Where's the whiskey?"

While the bottle stood tilted against Denham's mouth, the eyes of the Skipper and the rest searched his torn clothing, his cut and bruised flesh, his grey face. They waited fearfully for a beginning of the dark account of adventure they felt was impending.

Englehorn did not move the bottle until the liquor had dropped to an imaginary line drawn by a generously measuring thumb. With the final swallow, Denham shuddered, and wiping his mouth slowly with the back of his hand leaned against the captain's hard thigh.

"I could do with that grub you spoke of," he said.

Englehorn nodded and cocked a commanding eye. The man he picked out went reluctantly. He half swung back as the others crowded around for Denham's next word, but Englehorn's sharp "Shove along!" kept him going.

Denham straightened on his bench as the whiskey took hold and faced his crew squarely.

"Well!" he said. "There's no use trying to give it to you softly. Here's the story. Everyone's wiped out, except Driscoll and possibly Ann. And I'm asking for volunteers to go back after them. Who is coming with me?"

His audience, eyes shining under the smoky torches, gazed down uncomprehendingly.

"What do you mean, wiped out?"

"You mean something's happened?"

"I mean ..." The words caught in his throat and Denham stopped to swallow. "I mean wiped out," he plunged on. "Wait till I tell you what we ran into.

"That black, hairy brute you saw go off with Miss Darrow is only the beginning of what this hell-made island has to offer. And the men I took out last night didn't miss anything."

He paused, to order his mind, and then told them as briefly as a profound sense of responsibility would let him what had happened. Reaching the tragic crisis upon the log bridge he gave every detail.

"I want you to know just what you'll be up against," he said, "when you decide to go back with me."

"I ain't sure I get it all," one of the sailors said. "How ..." he ended lamely in a mumble of words.

"You want to know how I got clear?" Denham asked. "Is that it? How I and Driscoll got away?" His nod of agreement had all his normal tolerance, as he set out patiently to explain the happenstance which had placed him in a position to leap to safety, and Driscoll in one of equal advantage while the rest were trapped between the tricerotop and Kong.

"I don't mean to claim any credit," he emphasized. "If I had kept a proper eye on the bombs we'd all be safe, including Miss Darrow. But just the same it was because I was trying to see the others safely across that I happened to be off the log. And as for Driscoll, at the time he went over to the far side of the ravine, he was taking a far bigger risk than anyone who stayed behind."

The man who had put the question nodded solemnly, and the others were plainly in agreement.

"You couldn't have helped what happened," Englehorn murmured. "No matter what you did."

"Not a nickel's worth," Denham said confidently. "I'll tell you the truth. I'll never forget I was the one to take them into it. But nobody can say I let them down. And if I weren't here now, Driscoll and Ann wouldn't have a Chinaman's chance."

"We'll never see them again," Lumpy declared blackly.

"The hell we won't!" Denham shouted, and stood up. "We'll see 'em both. And quick! Skipper, I want a case of bombs fetched. I'm backtrailing on the jump." He looked around and repeated his earlier question. "Who is coming with me?"

"Lemme go, Mr. Denham," Lumpy begged.

"If I can't get stouter, younger men, you can go and welcome," Denham said frankly. He looked up at the others. "How about it?"

The whole lot of them stepped forward in a confusion of assent ... casual, reckless, indifferent or jovial, according as each man reacted to the sharp stimulant of danger.

"I'll string along."

"Hell's bells! Why not?"

"Seein' it don't cost anything."

"Might as well."

"I guess I owe the mate this one."

"Miss Ann sewed some buttons on my shirt once."

Having had their say, their faces fell into a common sobriety. They had no illusions about what they would face if they went out, and as they remembered what had happened to their comrades their humor and bravado died away.

Englehorn was among the volunteers, along with a persistent Lumpy, but Denham waved these two back.

"I've got enough without you," he said to Lumpy, "and as for you, Skipper, you draw the same billet. You stay here and keep the gate."

"I'm fresher than you," Englehorn pointed out.

"But I know the trail."

"You could draw me a map."

"Skipper! I wouldn't let the freshest man in all the Indian Ocean take my place," Denham said wryly. "Not even if he was the best map reader in the seven seas."

"I wouldn't either, in your shoes, Mr. Denham," the Skipper responded with understanding heartiness.

Denham nodded, and turned to the food the commandeered cook had brought up. As he ate, he gave his orders.

"Get me a rifle," he directed, "and a full bandolier. Every other man take the same. A knife apiece, too. There'll be a dozen bombs in the box when it comes up. Six of you take two apiece. And remember! All the hell we drew on the first trip came because neither I nor anyone else had sense enough to hang on to a couple of bombs. Don't you lads lose yours."

"You think the bombs will stop those big brutes you told us about?" a sailor asked.

The others waited expectantly.

"Stop them?" Denham laughed. "Just one will stop the biggest of the lot in his tracks. Even Kong." And in proof he retold in detail how the first huge enemy had been halted and brought down.

"When do you plan to start?" Englehorn wanted to know.

"Now! On the dot."

"Too soon, Mr. Denham," the Skipper murmured. After his first shock and concern, he was chewing tobacco again in his customary placid thoughtfulness.

"This second wouldn't be too soon."

"Figure it out, Mr. Denham. If you go now, you'll get to the ravine long before dawn. And then what can you do? Nothing but sit around, to be picked off by whatever comes along until you can see to follow Driscoll's trail."

Denham hurriedly thought out a time schedule and then he nodded in reluctant agreement.

"But how I can sit around here, waiting, for almost four hours is more than I know."

"Call in that dirty little witch doctor," Lumpy suggested malevolently. "He ought to be able to give us some tips. And if he won't, I know ways we can make him."

"Where is he?"

Englehorn hadn't seen either the witch doctor or the chief for hours. Nor had any of the others.

"I knocked the chief cold just after you and Driscoll started off," he explained placidly. "With the butt of his own spear. Because he acted as though he was going to follow and stop you. And after I did that the whole tribe seemed to get low in the mouth. I got the idea they felt trouble was coming and wanted to get as far away as possible."

"I wonder where they could have gone?" Denham puzzled.

"I think a lot of the women are still in the huts. We've all heard sounds now and then. And as for the bucks! Well, this part of the island back of the wall is pretty big, and covered with brush. Hiding in it wouldn't be very hard."

"You don't think they're planning a surprise attack, do you?"

"Not if I know natives," Englehorn said confidently. "And I think I know 'em pretty well. The truth is, they don't think they need to attack us themselves. They figure Kong'll do it for them. We've been pretty high-handed, first refusing Kong a sacrifice and then chasing him after he got one. Knowing Kong, they think we can't do such things without paying. And they think it'll be Kong who will be back to collect. And when he does they want to be as far away as possible."

"By the Lord!" Denham cried softly. "They're right! Kong
will
be back. At least he will if we manage to recapture Ann."

The sailors, busy with their rifles and knives, looked up in a total lack of comprehension. Even Englehorn was puzzled, and after chewing awhile he said so.