"Come with me--this way--Lippy is here!"
That was sufficient. Zeppa became submissive like a child, while the
jester, taking him by the hand, ran with him at racing speed in the
direction of the Raturan villages, towards which the child and her
mother were being led by the party which had captured them.
This was briefly explained to Zeppa by Wapoota, who had chanced to
encounter the party when returning from his yelling mission, if we may
so express it.
The race was a long one, but neither the madman nor his friend flagged
until they overtook the party. It consisted of about thirty warriors,
but if it had been thirty hundred it would have made no difference in
the effect of Zeppa's roar and aspect as he rushed upon them with
obviously awful intentions, though without arms. In fact the latter
circumstance tended rather to increase the fears of the superstitious
natives. They fled as one man at the first sight of the maniac and
Lippy was recovered!
Instantly Zeppa's ferocity vanished, and the tenderest of smiles rippled
over his face as he took the child in his arms and kissed her.
But Wapoota did not feel quite so easy, for in their mad race they had
outstripped the flying enemy, bands of whom were constantly passing them
in their flight before the Mountain-men. His anxieties, however, were
groundless, for no sooner did any of the Raturans set eyes on Zeppa,
than, with howls of consternation, they diverged at a tangent like
hunted hares, and coursed away homeward on the wings of terror.
As on former occasions of conquest, the Mountain-men pursued the flying
host into their swamps, but they did not, as in former times, return to
slay the aged and carry the women and children into captivity.
To the surprise of all his followers, and the anger of not a few,
Ongoloo commanded his men to return to their village and leave the
Raturans alone. One of his chiefs, who showed a disposition to resist
his authority, he promptly knocked down, whereupon the rest became
obedient and went quietly home.
On reaching the village, Zeppa went straight to his hut with Lippy on
his shoulder. Apparently he had forgotten all about the recent fight
for, without even waiting to take food or rest he sat down, and began to
give his little friend a singing lesson!
With the air of a little princess, who felt that she was only receiving
her due, the child accepted the attention. Her young companions,
attracted by the sweet sounds, soon flocked to the old place of
rendezvous, and when the last of the straggling warriors returned from
the field of battle they found the singing class going full swing as if
nothing had happened.
But when the wounded and the dead were brought in, other sounds began to
arise--sounds of wailing and woe, which soon drowned the hymns of
praise. As soon as Zeppa became fully alive to this fact he ceased
singing and went about trying to comfort those who wept but, from his
perplexed air, and the frequency with which he paused in his wanderings
to and fro and passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear away some
misty clouds that rested there, it was evident that his shattered
intellect had taken in a very imperfect impression of what had occurred.
As if to get rid of this beclouded state, he started off that evening at
a quick walk towards his favourite haunts among the hills. No one ever
followed him on these occasions. The natives regarded his person as in
some measure sacred, and would have deemed it not only dangerous but
insolent to go up among the rocky heights when the madman was known to
be there.
Once, indeed, Wapoota, with that presumptuous temerity which is a
characteristic of fools in general, ventured, on the strength of old
acquaintance, to follow him, and even went towards the well known cave
where he had found refuge and protection in the day of his distress; but
Zeppa had either forgotten his former intercourse with the jester or
intended to repudiate the connection, for he did not receive him kindly.
On the way up, Wapoota, who felt somewhat timorous about the visit, had
made up his mind as to the best mode of address with which to approach
his friend. He had decided that, although he was not particularly
youthful, the language and manner of a respectful son to a revered
father would best befit the occasion. Accordingly when he reached the
cave and saw Zeppa busy beside his fire with a cocoa-nut, he assumed a
stooping attitude of profound respect, and drew near.
Zeppa looked up with a frown, as if annoyed at the intrusion.
"Your unworthy son," began Wapoota, "comes to--"
But he got no further. He could not well have hit upon a more
unfortunate phrase.
"My unworthy _son_!" shouted Zeppa, leaping up, while unearthly fires
seemed to shoot from his distended eyes. "My son! _son_! Ha!
ha-a-a-a!"
The horrified intruder heard the terminal yell, and saw the maniac bound
over the fire towards him, but he saw and heard no more, for his limbs
became suddenly endued with something like electric vitality. He turned
and shot over a small precipice, as if flung from an ancient catapult.
What he alighted on he did not know, still less did he care. It was
sufficiently soft to prevent death.
Another awful cry echoed and re-echoed from the heights above, and
intensified the electric battery within him. He went down the slopes
regardless of gradient at a pace that might have left even Zeppa behind
if he had followed; but Zeppa did not follow.
When Wapoota went over the precipice and disappeared, Zeppa halted and
stood erect, gazing with a questioning aspect at the sky, and drawing
his hand slowly across his brows with that wearied and puzzled aspect
which had become characteristic.
Returning after a few minutes to his cave, he reseated himself quietly
beside his fire, and, with his usual placid expression, devoted himself
earnestly to his cocoa-nut.
That was the first and last occasion on which the poor madman
experienced intrusion from the natives in his mountain retreat.