The Sign of the Spider Part 35

"Ha!--now you are once more as you ought to be," cried Lindela, gleefully clapping her hands together. "You who are stronger than--that which is down there," falling into the Zulu custom of refraining directly to mention that which is held in awe. "Without weapons. What are you now with them? Great--great! To defeat the Spider--armed only with the bones of men. _Whau!_ That was great indeed--magnificent!"

"Yet I think I will silence forever that horror," said Laurence, stepping to the brink of the cliff and peering down into the awful hollow. "Yes, there the beast is; I will risk a long shot," and he sighted the carbine.

But in a moment Lindela's arms were around him, pinioning his to his sides.

"Not so, beloved," she whispered earnestly. "Not so; the Black Ones who wait on the Spider frequently come to look down into his haunt, even when they do not bring offerings of men. If they find him slain they will know you have escaped, and will pursue; for which reason it is well--well, indeed, that you did not quite slay him with those marvellous weapons, the bones of men. Further, they might hear the sound of the fire-weapon, and know where to find us. Come, we have far to travel."

This was unanswerable. Laurence stood for a few moments gazing down into the fearsome place which held this shuddering mystery. Was it real? Was he dreaming? Were those hours of terror and despair spent down there but some gigantic nightmare? He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes--then looked again. The thing was real. But now he could no longer see the horrid shape--black and grisly. The creature must have withdrawn into its ghastly den--to die. The wounds which he had inflicted upon it were surely too deep, too strongly dealt, to be aught but mortal. The Spider would no more drink the blood--feed on the flesh of men. Then he turned to follow Lindela.

The latter had already loaded herself with the bundle of wraps and provisions. To his suggestion that they should, at any rate, halve the load, Lindela laughed in scorn.

"A man's work is to carry his weapons, and, when needed, use them," she answered. "To bear loads--and this is a light one indeed--is woman's work--not work for one who has proved too great even for the Spider."

Then, as they travelled down the mountain side in the fresh cool night air, she told him of all that had befallen since he had been hauled to his mysterious and awful doom. The thoughtless act of Holmes had necessitated the destruction of Nondwana's kraal there and then; and, indeed, the king's brother was more than dissatisfied with the clemency extended to the other two white men. But the word of Tyisandhlu, once given, stood. They had been sent out of the country under a strong armed escort, which was under orders to conduct them to the great town of an Arab chief, with whom El Khanac had blood brotherhood.

How had she found out the mystery of the Spider? Was it known to all the nation? It was known to very few, she explained. The Black ones who waited upon the Spider were a mysterious order--so mysterious, indeed, that none knew exactly who were members of it and who were not. Nor could she tell how the strange and gruesome cult first originated, save that it was dimly whispered that the Ba-gcatya had taken it over from the nation they had driven out, and that in accordance with an ancient prophecy uttered by a famous magician at the time of their flight from Zululand. But as she told of her resolve to rescue him at all risks, even so long ago as when, by overhearing her father's talk, she learned that this doom was to be his in any case, Laurence felt himself grow strangely soft towards her. Savage or not, Nondwana's daughter was a splendid character in the whole-hearted devotion of her love; heroic was hardly the word for it. And as she went on to tell how she had devoted herself entirely to finding out the locality of the dreaded spot, learning the way to it by stealthily following on the footsteps of that grim order when it was actually engaged in conveying thither another human victim, risking her life at every step,--and not her life merely, but incurring the certainty of the same fearful doom in the event of discovery,--telling it, too, in the most simple way, and as though the act were the most natural thing in the world, Laurence realized that he might have done worse than throw in his lot with this loftily descended daughter of a splendid race of kingly barbarians, had circ.u.mstances been ordered otherwise.

But even while thus listening, while thus thinking, another vein of thought was running parallel in his mind. Those insignificant-looking stones, which he had picked up down there, represented wealth--ample wealth; and with it had come a feverish longing to enjoy the comforts, the pleasures, the delights which civilization afforded to those who possessed it. Yet, his entering upon such enjoyment, if it were ever effected,--as at that moment it seemed in a fair way to be,--he owed to Lindela. What was to become of her, for she could never return to her nation? She had thrown away everything, this high-born daughter of a race of kings; had risked her life daily, to save the life of a stranger--and that for love. Yes, that was love indeed! he thought. She was a brown-skinned savage, but she was a splendid woman--with mind and character as n.o.ble as her own magnificent physique. She would be a delightful, a perfect companion during those wild, free forest marches--day after day, night after night, fraught with peril and hardship at every step, but--how would civilization affect her? Would it not ruin that grand character, even as it had ruined really n.o.ble natures before her,--for there is such a thing as the "n.o.ble savage,"

although we grant the product to be a scarce one. And with all this was entwined the thought of Lilith Ormskirk.

Well, sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, had always been his guiding maxim, and for the present, as he took his way down the mountain side--the great crags rising higher and higher to the moon, the black billowy roll of the forest country drawing nearer and nearer, the voices of the wild creatures of the waste, raised weird and ravening on the night, the thunderous boom of the voice of the forest king ever and anon dominating all others--Laurence felt conscious of a wild, exhilarating sense of freedom. There was music in these sounds after the ghastly, awed silence of the horrible place from which he had been delivered.

And, was it due on his part to the frame of mind of the hardened adventurer, trained to take things as they come, the good with the ill--but never, during the days and weeks that followed, did the daughter of the line of the Ba-gcatya kings feel moved to any qualm of regret over the sacrifice of name and home and country which she had made for this man's sake.

CHAPTER XXIX.

"A DEEP--A SOLITARY GRAVE."

They were now on the other slope of the great mountain chain which shut in the Ba-gcatya country on that side, and, judging by the landmarks, it seemed to Laurence that the surroundings wore an aspect not absolutely unfamiliar, and that they could not be far out of the way by which he had been brought in a captive. There was the same broad belt of desolate land which took many days to traverse--a land of gloomy forest and sluggish river, reed-fringed, crocodile-haunted; and night after night they would build their camp-fire, resting secure in the red circle of its cheery flame--while the howling of ravening beasts kept up dismal chorus in the outer darkness beyond. It was a primeval idyll, the wandering of these two--the man, the product of the highest _fin-de-siecle_ civilization; the woman, the daughter of a savage race.

Yet in such wandering, savage and civilized were curiously near akin.

They were free as air--untrammelled by any conventionality or artificial needs. The land furnished ample subsistence, animal and vegetable. The wild game which supplied them with food could not have been more free.

"Would you rather have been rescued some other way, Nyonyoba?" said the girl one evening, as they were sitting by the camp-fire.

"No. There is no other way I should have preferred. See now, Lindela.

What if we were to return to your people? Surely they would believe now in the Sign of the Spider--and that the conqueror is greater than the conquered?"

"Not so," she answered, and her eyes, which had brightened at the first words of his reply, became clouded and sad. "They would put us to death now--both of us. But were it otherwise--would you really desire to return?"

"One might do worse. I don't know that the blessings of civilization are such blessings after all, which to you is a riddle."

He relapsed into silence and thought. There were times when, with the riches upon him, he was consumed with a perfectly feverish longing to return to civilization. There were other times, again, when he looked back with more than a lingering regret to the pleasant land of the Ba-gcatya. Furthermore, Lindela had entwined herself around his heart more than he knew. Not an atom of the intrepidity of devotion she had displayed in order to compa.s.s his final rescue was thrown away upon him--any more than her deportment since. Through the toilsomeness and peril of their journeying no word of complaint or despondency escaped her. She was always sunny-natured, cheerful, self-sacrificing, resourceful--in short, a delightful companion. Yet--she was a savage, he thought, with a curl of the lip, as before his mind's eye arose the contrast between her and her civilized sisters, with their artificiality and moods and caprices, and petty spites and fict.i.tious ailments, and general contentiousness all around. It was by no means certain he would not have returned to dwell with her among her own people, had that course been open--but it was not. Only the return to civilization lay before him; and what to do with Lindela--for he had not the slightest desire to part with her.

Meanwhile they had reached the perilous phase of their wanderings. Ruins of mult.i.tudinous villages lay in their path at every turn, but, what was worse, signs of human occupation began to show once more, and human occupation meant hostile occupation. It was fortunate that the land had been doubly raided--by the slave-hunters and the Ba-gcatya--because in its depopulation lay their safety. But those who had escaped would not be likely to view with any friendly glance a representative of each despoiling factor, as exemplified in these two. So they avoided villages, which was easy enough by careful observation ahead. What was less easy, however, was to avoid wandering parties.

Nor was it always practicable. Once they came right into such a horde--near enough, that is, for their presence to be discovered, and for a whole day were they stealthily followed, their pursuers only drawing off owing to nightfall and the proximity of other tribes hostile to themselves. Another time they nearly walked into the midst of an encampment while a cannibal feast was in progress. At sight of the human limbs hung up, the filed teeth and tattooed faces of these savages tearing at their horrible repast, Lindela shuddered with repulsion and anger.

"See there, Nyonyoba," she said, when they had withdrawn beyond hearing, "do not the Ba-gcatya act rightly in stamping out these foul _Izima_--who devour the flesh of their own kindred, like wild dogs?"

"I think so. And we, who capture them to sell them, do we not send them to a better fate, where they can no more indulge in such repellent appet.i.tes?" And this she did not attempt to gainsay.

For months they journeyed on thus, peril their companion at every step, the more so as they gained the more inhabited tracts. Once they fell in with a petty Arab chief and his following. This man was known to Laurence, and treated them well and hospitably while they remained at his camp. But before they departed he said:

"What sum will purchase this girl, my friend, for by now thou must have had enough of her? She would fetch large money at Khartoum, whither I can forward her, and I will deal with thee fairly. Yes, Allah is great.

I will only make my profit on her. The price shall be liberal."

Then Laurence Stanninghame, the renegade, the man who had thrown all considerations of duty and feeling to the winds as so much lumber, so much meaningless conventionality, felt as shocked and disgusted as ever he could have done in his most foolish days, what time illusions were as vivid, as golden as ever. But, remembering himself, he replied in an even tone:

"No sum will purchase her, Rahman ben Zuhdi. Were I dying at this moment, and large wealth could bring me fifty years more of life, I would not sell her. All that the world contains could not purchase her, for she has restored me to life at the peril of her own, again and again,--nay, more, has restored me to that which alone renders life a possession of any value. I have dealt in slaves, but this is a daughter of a race of kings.

"The People of the Spider," said the Arab thoughtfully, flashing a curious glance at Lindela, who stood some little way apart. "They grow their women fine if they are all as this one. Well, I did but make thee the offer, my brother; but if a man values anything above gold, all the gold in the world will not induce him to part therewith. Fare thee well.

We part friends."

"As friends indeed do we part, O Rahman," replied Laurence. And they resumed their respective ways.

As time went on, Lindela's manner seemed to undergo a change--her spirits to flag. Was it the fearful malarial heat of the low-lying forest country, often swampy, which was affecting her? thought Laurence with concern. He himself was inured to it, but this daughter of a healthy upland race, accustomed to the breezy, equable climate of her mountain home--on her the steaming heat of the rotting vegetation and marshy soil might conceivably be beginning to tell.

They were resting one day during the noontide heat. No burning rays from the outside sun could scorch here, for the place was dim with thick foliage and creepers trailing from the limbs of great forest trees. Both had fallen asleep.

Suddenly Lindela started up. A sharp wringing pain, seeming to begin on the left shoulder, went through her frame. It spread--down her arm--then through to the other shoulder--down the other arm. What was it? A cramp caught from the treacherous chill of the humid soil?

Perhaps. Well, it would soon pa.s.s. Then Laurence began to stir in his sleep. The sight made her forget her pain. He must not awaken; he needed rest. Noiselessly plucking a leafy branch she went over to him and began softly to fan him. This was effective. His even, regular breathing told that he slumbered peacefully, restfully, once more.

Soon she became aware that her powers were failing her. Her arm seemed to become cramped, paralyzed, and a mist floated before her eyes. What did it mean? Her lips opened to call aloud--then closed, uttering no sound. Why should he be disturbed because she was suffering a little pain? thought this savage--this daughter of a race of savage kings.

But the mist deepened before her failing vision. She swayed where she sat, then fell heavily forward--upon him--the branch wherewith she had been fanning him striking him sharply across the face.

Laurence sprang to his feet, unconsciously throwing her from him. His first impression was that he had been surprised in his sleep by an enemy.

"Lindela! What is it?" he cried, raising her up and supporting her. And then his dark face turned a livid ashen white--for with the dull stupor which lay heavy in the usually bright eyes, his own had rested upon something else. The shapely shoulder was swollen to an abnormal size, and at the back of it were two small round punctures.

"She has been bitten. A snake, of course," he muttered. "And it is too late."

"Yes, it is too late, Nyonyoba," she murmured. "Yet I do not think I have been bitten--not by a snake, or I should have known it."

"But you have been. When was this? Why did you not awaken me?" And his voice startled even himself, so fierce was it in its grief.

"Why should I awaken you, beloved, you who needed rest?" she murmured, groping for his hand. "Yes, it is too late. It was some time ago. I thought it was a cramp, but I must have been bitten."

Laurence was thinking--and thinking hard. What remedy was there? None.

It was even as she had said--too late. The poison had penetrated her whole system.

"I am dying, beloved--and shall soon go into the Dark Unknown----" she murmured, more drowsily than before. "Yet it matters nothing, for those of our nation do not fear death. And listen. I heard the Arab's proposal to you, and your answer thereto--yet, when you returned to your people, what would have become of me?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I AM DYING, BELOVED--AND SHALL SOON GO INTO THE DARK UNKNOWN."]