THE BATTLING GIANT
Having completed his detour, Johnny at last entered the cave by the
secret door. He found the confusion within the cave almost as great as
that without. Bronze natives were darting here and there. Some were
shouting, some chanting weird witch songs and some dancing about as if
mere action suited the occasion.
The little doctor was nowhere to be seen. Among them all there was one
calm figure--Curlie Carson. And he of all things! Johnny stood and stared
in blank astonishment. Curlie sat cross-legged on the floor blowing on a
tin whistle, or rather several tin whistles, one at a time. On his knees
rested a telephone instrument. Each time he blew a whistle he inclined
his head toward the receiver of this instrument. His eyes, for the most
part, were fixed on the broad back of the grotesque, gigantic mechanical
figure who, for the moment at least, blocked the threatening horde of
blacks.
"A telephone instrument!" Johnny said to himself, as his astonishment
grew by leaps and bounds. "There is not a wire strung within twenty
miles."
He thought of a radio sending set. But no. That was impossible. There had
not been time for installing one. "Besides," he assured himself, "one
does not send a radio S. O. S. by means of tin whistles. It's a mad
place," he told himself. "This cave is full of mad people and Curlie has
gone mad with the rest of them."
Even as he arrived at this conclusion, it struck him that there was some
connection between the peep-peeping of those whistles and the actions of
the mechanical giant. Curlie blew the shortest whistle several times and
the giant began a wild, frenzied dance; a longer whistle and he swung his
arms and cracked his iron knuckles together; still another and he began
snapping his clanking jaws.
Slowly it dawned upon Johnny that here was something quite marvelous;
well worth watching to its very end; a battle between the brains of a boy
and the brawn of a black rabble.
At that moment someone touched his arm. He turned about quite suddenly.
It was the little doctor.
"Get it?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Johnny answered.
"Good! You made a marvelous trip. We shan't need it though. I'm sorry.
He's gone. It's all for the best."
"Dead?"
"Dead."
There was a moment of silence during which the giant once more blinked
his eyes and cracked his knuckles together. Also from afar, but much
nearer than before, came the rumble and growl of thunder.
"You win," said the little doctor. "I am glad for that."
"I--I win?" Johnny did not understand.
"You get the 'Rope of Gold'. Explain later. That is, unless those rascals
win. They are after Curlie. They were staging a revolution. Curlie blew
up their ship. Good thing. Nothing better ever happened. We'll stand by
him. But what's there to do? We haven't weapons--just a few machetes,
that's all. Besides, these bronze people are no fighters; never were."
He turned and was gone.
Mechanically Johnny moved to a place where he was quite hidden by
darkness but where he could witness the action of the mob without and the
giant within.
The natives were afraid, that was certain; afraid of this giant.
"Probably think he is the ghost of Christophe. Singing, dancing and
drumming to drive him away. Well, if I'm any judge, he won't drive. But
will they grow bolder? That's the question."
All the while the giant continued to dance and grimace, swing his arms
and crack his knuckles while the angry mob, thirsting for revenge,
pressed closer, ever closer to their goal.
At last, as Johnny stood there in the shadows breathless, watching, he
saw a short, broad black man with a full neck and an exceedingly evil
face dart suddenly forward.
At once Johnny's brain was in a whirl. These men were superstitious, he
knew that. All blacks are. Would this man dare attack this mysterious
monster?
"If he dares," he said aloud, "we are lost."
Curlie nodded, but at once the sound of his whistles grew louder, more
insistent, and the antics of the giant more frantic.
"He will not dare," Johnny told himself. Yet even as he said it, he knew
that he was wrong. What had come over the black man? Had despair lent him
courage? Had he by some chance come to realize that the thing before him
was made of copper, steel and wood and was no spirit at all? Be that as
it may, as he paused before the threatening giant, he suddenly drew a
revolver from his belt and emptied its contents into the giant's broad
breast.
The giant's only answer was a redoubling of his fury. He danced. He
cracked his teeth. He grimaced terribly.
For a few seconds the black leader wavered. He took one backward step. At
his back sounded the shouts of his men and from far back of that came a
wild crash of thunder. The storm was all but upon them.
"The battle is won," thought Johnny.
But no, with one wild cry the black man leaped at the giant. With a
cutting, rending crash his machete drove into the very heart of the
giant. At the same instant an iron hand came down upon his head.
The black man sank to the stone floor, to lie there motionless. The giant
ceased his swinging and dancing. Only his eyes still burned a steady
green. Bending slowly over he came to rest in a position that made it
appear that his green eyes were fixed upon the vanquished leader.
With one wild wail the black horde turned to race madly away into the
night and the storm.
"The fight," said Curlie, coming forward, "was a draw." His voice was
husky. "They did one another in. It's too bad," he said bending over the
still form of the black leader. "I didn't mean to do that. He threw
himself into it. He was a brave, though mistaken man. Had he lived at
another time or espoused another cause, he might have died a hero."
"But you, my friend," he touched the mechanical giant affectionately,
"you will live to fight again. In the world there are ever wrongs to
right.
"That," he said turning to Johnny, "is the advantage of not being human."
"How does he work?" Johnny asked, looking with great admiration on the
stooping giant.
"That," said Curlie, "is a long story."
"And I trust will keep," said a voice behind him. He turned to find
himself looking into the eyes of the little doctor.
"Johnny here has been traveling on foot for many hours," the doctor said.
"He will wish to eat and sleep. I too would like to know a little
concerning this mechanical marvel. But more important still--I think you
will agree when it is told--is something I have to say to you. Your
giant," he turned a twinkling eye on Curlie, "will be safe enough here.
The blacks are gone. My men, I assure you, would not touch him for
anything in the world. They will carry this unfortunate black man away.
Later you may return to remove the victor in that unusual combat.
"In the meantime," he turned to lead the way, "I suggest a cup of Haitian
coffee, over which I have a tale to relate, the story of the 'Rope of
Gold'."
"The Rope--"
The little man held up a hand for silence. Then he lead the way back into
the cave.