Caravans By Night Part 36

Hourly the country grew wilder. They pa.s.sed through thickets and underbrush as tall as a man. Wild pigs scurried away in the bracken, and jungle fowl preened their wings in the shadow of groping plants, taking flight at the appearance of human beings. The fourth night they were close to a stretch of burning bamboo--one of those sourceless fires that spring up and sweep over miles. It was an awesome sight, the flames flaring crimson against the sky, like the angry vomit of a crater, the bamboo stalks popping and crackling as loud as the rattle of machine-guns.

Soon their trail led into great, dim forests. There the sunlight, robbed of its pitiless blaze, sifted through interlaced branches and sucked up moisture from the ground, creating a weird green haze. The air was malarial, the ground ever soggy and in places treacherous. More than once the mules sank to their bellies in bogs and fens. The miasmas crawled with stealthy life--snakes and horrid land-crabs. Leeches bred by the millions, and the oozy corruption exuded a thin, luminous vapor that was warm and clammy and reeked of decayed matter. This noxious swamp-effluvia seemed to penetrate to every crevice of Trent's being; it saturated his brain; it tainted his thoughts. He ceased to marvel at the wilderness of plumed flowers, of dank jungle caverns where sunlight pulsed through the lacework of leaves in needles of white flame--stretches where convolvulus fought for possession of every limb and trunk, and insects rattled above stagnant pools of Death.... There were times when a fever-film separated him from the world about him and deprived objects of their individuality.

At night s.p.u.n.k shone like phantom eyes. Strange winged creatures wheeled out of the darkness. Baboons coughed in the bush. When the moon came out the swamps glittered like sheets of rusted gunmetal--or, if it stormed, the great jungle-expanse seemed a chapel of terror. Often Trent tried to read by the campfire. But invariably the print danced before his eyes.

He would lie down outside the tent, listening to the Maru porters piping on bamboo flutes, and when he grew sleepy Masein would rub him with alcohol.... Thus he spent his evenings.

Frequently--at dusk, dawn or midday--cool hands of memory fell with silken lightness upon his feverish thoughts, the hands of the girl who had become so closely woven into the fabric of his being. During those half-delirious hours she grew to be an integral possession, a real presence, warm and tangible.... And just as frequently, perhaps more poignantly, he thought of Manlove. The silence, the isolation from his kind, seemed to press deeper the realization of what had occurred.

There were moments when it seemed unreal; when the woman of the cobra-bracelet, Chatterjee and the others that played in the drama, were vague shapes in a shadow-show.... Or, if it had all happened, it was long ago, dim as a dream.... That was fever.

Too, he thought of Euan Kerth and conjectured what had become of him since that evening he hurried away in the dusk at Myitkyina. That he had lost the trail he felt certain, although there was a chance that he would appear unexpectedly, as he had done before--a very filmy chance.

Had he discovered where Trent was going, he would surely have communicated with him in some way.

At several villages he inquired through Masein if another caravan had preceded his. By the negative replies it became evident that Sarojini Nanjee had taken another route, and he strongly suspected that she had deliberately sent him on the longer and more difficult of the two. After a few attempts to draw information from Masein, he decided that the Lisu knew nothing, was simply what he was represented to be--a guide.

The country beyond the swampland afforded much better traveling. To the west mountains were visible--faint pastels of gray and pearl and amethyst. In rocky gashes in the earth little cataracts fumed and tumbled, and ferns and orchids grew in damp, moss-covered hollows. Trent shot a deer and several pheasants. The higher alt.i.tude buoyed his spirits, as did the fresh venison and fowl after so much canned food.

He ceased thinking morose thoughts. Yet the horror and reek of those two days in the miasmas still clung in his memory, even in his nostrils, he sometimes imagined.

Thus, on the afternoon of the ninth day, they came to the spit of sand reaching out into the river and pitched camp; and Trent, pipe in mouth, sat in front of his shelter and looked at the Maru porters swimming in the jade-green river without seeing them, while Masein gathered fuel, and the mules, tethered near to the canebrake, swung their heads and stamped in futile efforts to shake off leeches. There was nothing in the scene even to suggest that an eventful night was being ushered in.

The sun dropped lower. It chased the jade-green river with gold until it glittered like a scaly python. Fireflies glimmered in the rushes, and a bat pursued a velvety-winged moth.... Across the stream, from a Shan village somewhere close by, a gong sounded. The Marus, laughing, swam across and disappeared in the high gra.s.s. Masein called after them, but received no response, and, muttering to himself, he impaled a strip of venison upon a stick and held it over the flame. It writhed....

A few minutes later Trent was stripped and in the water. Refreshed by a swim, he dried himself and ate a meal of venison steak and tea. Stars sprinkled the still flushed sky, like drippings from a silver paint-brush, and under the spell of the jungle sunset Trent sat down in front of his tent to smoke.

It was then that he heard a faint, staccato report--like that of a revolver or a rifle.

It came from the hill-jungle behind the camp, and for several seconds afterward he listened for a repet.i.tion. Masein, too, had heard, for he stood motionless, looking at his master. But there was no second report, and the silence, the utter quiet, made Trent wonder if he had really heard anything. If it was a shot--? Well, he knew the natives had no firearms; there must be white men in the district, P. W. D. men or Government officers. In that event he did not wish to be seen, as there would be questions to answer. He therefore suggested that Masein investigate, and the Lisu plunged eagerly into the canebrake.

A moment afterward Trent's imagination supplied a solution for the shot--Kerth. He started to call Masein back, but reconsidered and waited.... His wrist-watch ticked off fifteen minutes. He noticed, abstractedly, pale flickerings on the far-away hills. When a half hour had pa.s.sed he followed the native's trail through the rushes and along a narrow bridle-path. Not far from camp he met Masein.

"It is a white man, master," exclaimed the Lisu. "He has a camp there"--with a gesture.

Then he extended something that glinted softly in the gloom, and Trent took it and examined it closely. The blood throbbed in his throat.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"He gave it to me, master--the white man. He said when you saw that you would come."

Without another word Trent followed the Lisu, the blood still throbbing hotly in his throat. For the thing that glinted softly was a golden bracelet with the figure of a king-cobra wrought in heavy relief upon it.

More than a half-mile from the camp, on the trail that Trent's caravan had traveled, they came to a clearing. A tent was pitched at one side, a litter of packs scattered carelessly about three mules. A shadowy form sat on a stool before the tent-door--a form that resolved into a young man in khaki and a sun-helmet. The revolver that he held shone in the deep twilight.

As Trent and the Lisu appeared he jumped up. Trent instinctively drew his weapon. The young man stumbled toward him. A yard away he paused and swayed; his revolver slipped from limp fingers.

"Major Trent!"

At the sound of the voice, Trent sprang forward and caught the slim form. It relaxed and the sun-helmet fell to the ground, releasing a wealth of hair that rippled down and showered the shoulders with coiled strands that in the fading light gleamed like molten copper.

"Oh, I knew you would come!" she gasped, with a hysterical little laugh.

"I--I sent that--like Kurnavati sent her bracelet--to Humayun--only--you came--in time!"

Whereupon her head dropped back and the starlight shone upon cool, l.u.s.trous features. But she was not cool. Trent felt the heat of her body, and, apprehensive, he placed his hand upon her forehead; let it slip down until it touched the pulse in her throat; drew a sharp breath and swore. Her eyes were open--gla.s.sy, staring eyes that looked at him without seeing.

"Miss Charteris!" he said. "Where are your porters? Who's with you?

You're not here alone, are you?"

She did not answer. The lids sank over her eyes, and he knew she had fainted. He looked about irresolutely. Through the trees, in the direction of his camp, he saw a quick flash.

"There was n.o.body else here when you first came?" he asked Masein; then, as the Lisu answered negatively, commanded: "Look in the tent."

Masein obeyed. His expression when he emerged told Trent it was empty.

The Englishman lifted the girl in his arms.

"Wait here a few minutes," he instructed. "If anybody comes, report it to me."

With that he turned and strode back along the bridle-path, laboring under the weight of the girl's body.

Frequent flashes illuminated earth and sky; thunder grumbled, approaching closer with every roll. A wind had sprung up and was rustling the leaves overhead. Trent hurried, fearing the storm would break before he reached camp.

When he finally came to the sand-spit the wind was wildly whipping the tent-flap. The stars had gone, and lightning, streaks following in rapid succession, reflected a livid, sick hue upon the river. The girl was conscious when he placed her upon his cot. She clung to his hands.

"Where is the pain?" he asked. "In your back mainly?"

She only moaned; he felt a tremor pa.s.s through her. Gently freeing his hands, he went outside and shouted for one of the Marus. He swore savagely when he received no answer. After strengthening the tent-pegs, he made a search for his electric pocket-lamp. Snapping it on, he opened his medicine-case; took out a hypodermic syringe....

The rain came then, suddenly, in a drenching downpour. Sheets of water, illuminated by vivid flares, swept across the river; ruthlessly lashed the canebrake; beat deafeningly upon the canvas. Thunder crashed out in mighty belches that shook the very ground.... It seemed that the artilleries of the universe had concentrated upon earth.

Trent knelt beside Dana Charteris, holding her hands and frequently feeling her pulse. The girl went from one paroxysm of shivering into another. Gradually the opiate deadened the pain. Several times she tried to speak to him, but he put his fingers over her lips.

Meanwhile the tent-ropes strained, the wind tore through the trees. An occasional crash told of a falling limb. For over an hour this continued; then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun. When the wind died down, Trent lighted a candle. Dana Charteris was as still and white as a chiseled figure on a tomb. The sight of her made him catch his breath. As he drew nearer she opened her eyes. He lifted one burning wrist.

"My porters," she whispered. "They ran away--I--"

"You must keep very quiet," he interposed.

"Is--is it--that bad?"

He hesitated, then nodded. She closed her eyes; opened them an instant later.

"But do you want to save me? You know now ... the bracelet ..."

"You must keep quiet," he repeated. "You must help me that way."

A short while afterward, when the pattering rain had ceased and stars peeped through the doorway, Masein crept in and told Trent something.

What it was the Englishman could not remember; he remembered only that he directed the Lisu to break up the girl's camp and bring her mules and supplies to the sand-spit. Every thought was focussed upon the slim hot body that rolled and tossed upon the cot. She begged for injections of opiate and sobbed when he refused. His lip was sore from the pressure of his teeth. With each shiver of pain he suffered. It was one of the few times in his career when he was afraid, dreadfully afraid.

The dark hours wore on. Shortly after first-dawn she fell into a restless feverish sleep. He slipped out to tell Masein to fetch fresh water, and as he reentered he felt a hard object in his pocket, pressing against his thigh. It was the bracelet. He withdrew it, vanquishing by sheer force the thoughts that uprose in his mind, and placed it in his kit-bag. There it would stay until she could speak.

As morning looked down from a golden sky Dana Charteris awakened, and the battle was on again.