THE HEAD OF OBBONEY.
Carl's pleasure in getting rid of the charm was rather tempered by this
attack on the iron chest.
That chest had had a checkered career. Where the Man from Cape Town got
it, or what he had put into it, no one knew. The Man from Cape Town had
declared that it contained treasure, and he had drawn a chart, showing
an uninhabited sand key in the Bahamas and indicating a cave on the key
where the chest could be found.
The chest had passed rapidly into the hands of Jurgens and Whistler,
then into the possession of Motor Matt and his friends, then to
Townsend, then back to Jurgens, then once more to Motor Matt, and now,
for the final time it seemed, to Jurgens. All these changes were
attended with more or less violence and astonishing adventure.
With keen eyes Carl watched proceedings. Sturdy blows of the hammer
drove the point of the cold chisel into the old lock, destroyed its
mechanism and rent it apart. As Bangs dropped his hammer and chisel and
prepared to lift the lid, Jurgens approached and leaned over excitedly.
"There ought to be enough treasure in that chest," said he to Bangs,
"to make Whistler and you and me independent, Proctor."
A gleam arose in Bangs' watery black eyes and a deeper red ran into his
puffy face.
"All I want's enough to keep me in liquor," said Bangs.
"It's a modest ambition," returned Jurgens. "I've got other plans for
myself--but every man his own way. Lift the lid."
The heavy cover grated on its hinges as Bangs pushed it back. The chest
appeared to be filled with brownish particles. With a disappointed
oath, Jurgens scooped up a handful of the particles and held them close
to his eyes.
"Sawdust!" he exclaimed; "mahogany sawdust!" and he cast the stuff from
him fiercely.
"That's your treasure, is it?" sneered Bangs. "That's what we've been
workin' for, and playin' tag with the law for, and gettin' into trouble
for, is it? Pah!" Bangs got up disgustedly. "I was a fool ever to go
into this thing. That Man from Cape Town has been playin' a joke.
Sawdust! A box of sawdust!"
Carl chuckled, but the two men were so wrought up they did not hear
him, or pay any attention to him. Carl felt sure that the dried frog
was getting in its work. The spell of the hoodoo was over Jurgens, and
Bangs, and the iron chest.
Of course, Carl was wide of his reckoning when he allowed his thoughts
to take this course. But, then, he was superstitious.
Why Yamousa, a friend of Matt's, should want to load him up with hoodoo
and tell him it would bring him luck, was a point Carl had already
considered. He explained that point, to his own satisfaction at least,
by imagining that the charm would bring luck to Matt alone, and bad
luck to everybody else. Explanations are always easy when a fellow
wants to prove anything!
"Wait a minute, Proctor," called Jurgens.
Bangs had started for the door with the evident intention of going away
and washing his hands of the whole affair. At this call, however, he
turned back.
"Well?" he queried.
"I'll bet money there's something in here besides sawdust. Let's not
form any snap judgments till we dig to the bottom."
"Pirates don't pack pieces-of-eight in sawdust!" scowled Bangs.
"Pirates didn't have anything to do with this treasure. It came from
South Africa and was brought to the Spanish Main in a modern ship."
"You half told me Cap'n Kidd had stowed that away on Turtle Key!"
"I said that to get you interested, and secure your help."
"And I've rung the creole gentleman that owns this house in on the
deal! Well, you'll have to make it right with him, that's all."
"I'll take care of the creole gentleman!"
With that, Jurgens turned the chest upside down, pushed it away and
began kicking the heap of sawdust right and left.
Something was found--but it was not what Jurgens and Bangs seemed to
hope for.
A round object rolled out of the brownish particles and stopped
rolling directly at Jurgens' feet. Jurgens leaped back with a startled
exclamation, and stood staring. Bangs muttered something, and backed
away.
The round object was a carved head--and as hideous a bit of work as
Carl had ever seen. The eyes were black and beady, and set under heavy
overhanging brows; the nose was wide at its base and suggested the
negroid type; the mouth had thick lips and was twisted into a grin.
But it was not a mirthful grin the face wore--far from that. There
was something demoniacal, menacing and uncanny in that petrified
grin--something that caught the heart with clammy hands and sent chill
after chill along the nerves.
Carl turned his face away. Bangs, with a terrified yell, jumped for the
door, but Jurgens grabbed him before he could get out of the room.
"Hold up, you fool!" stormed Jurgens. "Are you going to run from a
piece of carved wood?"
"Hanged if I want to be anywhere near that thing!" palpitated Bangs.
"Let's get out of here!"
"Wait. Put a clamp on your nerves and don't make a fool of yourself."
Leaving Bangs to watch him with bulging eyes, Jurgens returned to the
head and picked it up.
"There are letters carved in the top of it," said he.
"Do they spell anything?" whispered Bangs, moistening his dry lips with
his tongue.
"'Obboney.' That's what I make out of them."
"What's Obboney?" queried Bangs. "Does it mean anything? If it does,
what?"
"Dere iss a baper in der sawdust," spoke up Carl, whose interest in the
head was about as terrifying as Bangs.
Jurgens looked down, saw a bit of white in the sawdust, then reached
for it and shook it clear of the brown particles. He unfolded a note,
written on parchment or some sort of tanned skin.
"Well!" he exclaimed.
"What is it?" asked Bangs, anxiously.
"It's a key to the mystery. Listen."
Thereupon Bangs read the following:
"'The Head of Obboney. Read and give heed, for the head of Obboney
contains many things, perilous and otherwise to human beings.
"'Obboney is a malicious deity of the Koromantyn, or Gold Coast
negroes, of Africa; he is the author of all evil, and when his
displeasure is signified by the infliction of pestilential disorders,
or otherwise, nothing will divert his anger but human sacrifices;
and these sacrifices are selected from captives taken in war, or, if
there be none, then from the slaves of the Koromantyns.'"
Jurgens paused. The paper shook in his fingers and fell fluttering to
the floor. He lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Bangs.
"I don't know," answered Jurgens, hoarsely. "Do you smell a peculiar
odor in this room?"
"I've been smelling that for several minutes. Where does it come from?"
"I--I don't know, but it seems to lay hold of muscle and brain,
like--like poison."
Jurgens had been holding the head of Obboney in the crook of his left
arm. Just when he finished speaking, the head dropped with a thump into
the sawdust; Jurgens staggered back, tried to recover his balance,
failed, and crumpled to the floor.
"Are you sick?" demanded Bangs, stepping hurriedly to Jurgens' side.
"I--I don't know what's the matter with me," whispered Jurgens.
"Some--some infernal power has--has laid hold of me and----"
His head sank back, his limbs relaxed, and he lay with closed eyes,
silent save for his stentorous breathing.
Carl was also conscious of a slow stupor creeping through his nerves.
"Let me oop!" he gasped, struggling to sit up. "Take der ropes off oof
me und led us ged oudt oof here. Oof ve don't leaf, ve vill be deadt
men pefore you can say Chack Ropinson!"
"But--but where does that--that odor come from?" demanded Bangs,
himself rapidly losing consciousness.
"From--from der headt!" stuttered Carl, wildly. "Take it avay! Trow it
from der vindow! It iss pad--pad meticine! It vas a hootoo, py shinks,
und----"
Carl's words faded into silence. Like Jurgens, he fell backward and
began breathing heavily.
Bangs stared for a moment, then staggered toward the door, intent on
reaching purer air. But he never gained the entrance. The mysterious
odor claimed him and he sank to the floor with a hollow groan.
He tried to roll away, but gave a gasp and his senses left him.
Thus the malicious Obboney was doing his deadly work.
The head, lying face upward in the sawdust, grinned vindictively and
the jetty eyes glittered.
Could any one have seen the carved head, just then, it would have
seemed to be exulting over its power, and what its power had
accomplished.
Heavier and heavier came the breathing of the sleepers, and thicker and
thicker grew the odor in the room.
It seemed certain that death must overtake the three who were under the
head's evil influence.
Then, suddenly, a black shape bounded into the embrasure of the window.
It was the monkey, and the monkey was still playing with Carl's cap.
Standing on all four paws in the embrasure, the monkey danced up and
down and surveyed the scene below him. He seemed to wonder at the
silence of the figures sprawled on the floor.
His simian senses were attracted by the gleaming eyes of Obboney, and
he began to chatter; in another moment he had leaped into the room,
bounded to the heap of sawdust and picked up the head.
Then, like a thief fearing detection, he bounded chattering back to the
window, dropping the cap and clinging with both his forepaws to the
head.
In the space of a breath, he was out of the room and upon the gallery.