_Len-tala in Difficulties. The True Story of the Enterprising Young Men.
Mr. Vancouver Faces the Unknown. Beelo Takes Us on a Journey._
BEELO was much excited and torn with impatience when I arrived. Despite
that, he regarded me with an odd mixture of awe and fear.
“Choseph!” he exclaimed, “you are terrible and cruel! I couldn’t have
believed------” His breath gave out.
“What’s the news, lad?”
The gentle solicitude in my voice steadied him, and he looked with his
sunny smile.
“You are dear old Choseph, aren’t you?” he said. “Oh, everything has
happened!” he flung out. “The king is terribly angry with Lentala for
interfering with the arrest of the young men yesterday. I had to stay
with her, and couldn’t come. I don’t know what trouble will come out of
it, but the king is going to bring matters to a head at once, before we
are nearly ready! Choseph! those young men ought not to have been let
out of the valley. Gato is now on his way to the colony for a man, and
you must go there immediately to attend to it. You must decide which man
is to go.”
His news, breathlessly given, stunned me. It was essential that we both
be calm.
“Tell me what happened to the young men,” asked.
“They climbed the wall, and expected to slip through. Why, Senatra men
rained on them! Len-tala got there as soon as she could with her private
guard, but it was too late to save them from a terrible whipping. The
guard had them bound and were taking them to the palace when
Lentala arrived. She’s afraid now that the king will do what he has
threatened,--either lock her up or give orders that will tie her hands
so that she can’t do anything.”
I hesitated. “If she is powerless, Beelo, there will be no one to
protect the man who will go out with Gato.”
His distress was poignant, and he dropped to the ground in a weary
little heap.
“Lentala is equal to any task, lad,” I quietly said.
He looked up brightly. “Do you believe that much in her, Choseph?”
“She’s our one hope, lad, and she’ll never falter; and she has your wise
little head and your bold heart to help her.”
He came strongly to his feet. “She can do anything if you think _that_
of her, Choseph,” he gently said. Another moment found him his eager,
active self. “A great deal will depend on the man you are to send out,”
he said.
“Why? What awaits him?”
The answer was an appealing look. His remarks about the earthquakes
and the storms had puzzled me, and while I knew that the subject was
repugnant to him, I was forced to revive it. I repeated a remark by
Captain Mason that a storm was brewing. Beelo straightened.
“Captain Mason ought to know!” he cried. “The king’s wise men have told
him the same thing. Choseph, Choseph! It would be horrible!”
“Why, lad? I can’t work in the dark.”
His look was appealing.
“I must know,” I said. “You are acting like a child, and this is work
for men. Tell me what the storm and the earthquake have to do with us,
or I’ll refuse to surrender a man to Gato, and we’ll fight.”
“Choseph!” he exclaimed, frightened; then, after a pause: “The people
think the Black Face must have all the castaways, or it will shake the
ground with earthquakes and maybe send a volcano to destroy everything.
But if the earthquake is heavy, it terrifies the people. In that way you
might escape if Lentala’s plan fails. It was a great earthquake I was
hoping for.”
“The Black Face must have all the castaways?” I repeated. “How?”
“I don’t know!” he desperately cried. “Lentala doesn’t know. It has been
concealed from us. But it’s something horrible! A storm is coming, but
it may bring no castaways, and the king won’t wait any longer. He can’t
control the people.”
“What kind of man should we send out, Beelo?”
“One who’s brave and fears nothing,” he promptly answered, studying me
oddly.
“Then Rawley wouldn’t do.”
“No. Mr. Vancouver.”
I had felt it coming. Of course he deserved any risk, any fate, but----
“You are thinking of Annabel,” said Beelo.
“Yes. She is innocent. Unless Lentala can keep him away from the king
and save him from harm, I won’t----”
“There, there, Choseph!” sweetly said the boy. “She’ll manage. You’ll
send Mr. Vancouver?”
“Yes.”
“Good! That will make the king think you aren’t suspicious. As soon as
he has gone with Gato, you and Christopher come here, and then we three
will go out of the valley.”
Captain Mason’s heavy hand still lay as a hush on the camp when Gato,
the giant leader of the soldiers, arrived an hour later with a band of
his men. Christopher and I met him, and he informed us that he had
come for the man who was to be taken out. I despatched Christopher for
Captain Mason, whom I had informed of the decision to send Mr. Vancouver
out. The storm had been gathering with a slowness that indicated
destructive preparation. Mr. Vancouver was in his hut with Rawley
and Annabel. Rawley’s haggard face peered out at intervals and sent a
straining look at me such as I had seen in the faces of the condemned
peering through the cell-grate for any messenger that might bear a
reprieve. They were not aware of our decision that Mr. Vancouver should
go.
The president, cool and serious, came with Christopher.
“Summon Mr. Vancouver,” he said.
The three came out. Mr. Vancouver, though pale, had a firm look, and
it went straight to Captain Mason. Rawley was ghastly. Annabel held my
attention most. Undoubtedly Mr. Vancouver had been trying to prepare her
for the contingency of his leaving, and had made poor work of it.
Her glance first sought Captain Mason, and found a blank face with no
eyes for her. Next she looked at me, and caught something that I was
too slow in hiding. Thenceforward during the scene I knew that the ache
within me for her sake was large print to her eyes. Her bearing was an
accusation, a challenge for frankness, an appeal for protection.
The president said:
“Mr. Vancouver, the king has sent for one of our men. It would be my
duty to go if I could be spared. Will you go?”
“Certainly,” came the prompt answer.
Annabel shrank, and then bravely stepped forth. Her voice lost its
quaver as she proceeded.
“Why send my father?” she demanded. “Are there no young men here with
the courage to volunteer?”
She eagerly scanned the crowd, not heeding her father’s restraining hand
on her arm. Being a woman, she could never understand why not a single
man made a sign, so heavy was the weight of Captain Mason’s hand.
“It is a shame!” she passionately exclaimed. “I had thought there were
more manliness and gratitude in the world.” She turned upon me. “Mr.
Tudor, I know _you_ will go.”
I could not bear it. “May I tell her in confidence what I am to do?” I
asked Captain Mason under my breath.
“Not now,” he answered. “Miss Vancouver,” he said aloud, “Mr. Tudor
cannot go. I beg to remind you that you are interfering with the
business in hand.”
Recollection of the morning’s scene, when a woman had been sent away
under guard, must have been what whitened her face with fear and then
flushed it with anger. The lion in her father crouched at Captain Mason,
but instantly remembered.
“Daughter,” he peremptorily said, “spare us further humiliation. I am
going.”
“Then, I will go with you!” she exclaimed.
The entire colony was assembled, and all were expecting another measure
of authority; but Captain Mason stood in patient silence.
“Impossible, child!” said Mr. Vancouver.
“Yes, I will go!” she cried. “I have a right to go, and I will!”
Mr. Vancouver sent Captain Mason an inquiring look, and found that the
blue eyes had hardened. He knew the meaning of that; he must at once
eliminate his daughter.
“Child,” he coaxed, enclosing her in his arms, “it is
impossible,--dangers would arise that wouldn’t come if you were absent.”
“I can’t bear it,--I can’t bear it!” she half sobbed. She struggled to
free herself. Rawley came forward. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “Isn’t
there a _man_----”
A glance from Captain Mason sent Christopher to her side.
“It’s me, ma’am.”
Her father released her, and she turned in astonishment to Christopher.
Annabel had a sense of the ludicrous, but one of tenderness also. She
saw the angel behind the clown. Smiles went with her tears as she gave
him her hand.
“You mustn’t go,” leaked his thin voice.
“Why?”
“They need you.” His gesture swept the camp.
She was silent while she dried her eyes.
“Yes,” she said, “but----”
“Them there savagers ud eat you.”
“But my father------”
“He ain’t nice to eat.”
Christopher had laid a daring finger on the mystery, but his words found
all unheeding except Mr. Vancouver, who looked startled. The suggestion
was evidently new to him.
“Very well, Christopher,” Annabel said, smiling sadly, “I’ll stay.
Captain Mason,” falteringly, “I ask your pardon.” She turned to her
father and embraced him. “Father, go. I’ll pray for you.” She held him
off and looked long into his face. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
“Of course. I shall see the king, and I know I can arrange everything
happily for the colony.”
Captain Mason beckoned Gato. Mr. Vancouver turned his face to the
darkness and marched away with the guard.
When he had gone, Annabel still gazed. Rawley watched her for a look
that might permit his consoling offices, but she did not see him. Only
Christopher knew what to do.
“It’s a-wanting of you, ma’am,” he said.
She started. “What, Christopher?”
“It’s mother, too.”
“Yes, yes,--I’d forgotten.” Without a glance at any of us, she went to
the ailing child.
The colony began to stir. After a hurried conference with Captain Mason,
Christopher and I left to keep the appointment with Beelo. We were ready
for him when he came all out of breath. It made me uneasy to note that
he studiedly avoided my eyes and made no reference to the scene in camp.
“There’s not a moment to lose,” he said. “Come; follow me--cautiously.”
His manner betrayed a nervous haste.
“Beelo!” I said, seeing that he was too much excited.
He stood panting while he got himself in hand, but still kept his face
turned from me.
“Now I’m all right,” he said.
He threaded the jungle as though every shrub and tree and turning-place
were familiar, and held a course on that side of the valley which
brought us under the Face.
His agility taxed me. Not so Christopher: his deftness equaled Beelo’s.
We were a silent trio.
The transverse ridge was crossed, and we entered strange territory.
Beelo’s eyes and ears were incessantly on watch. Now and then he would
come to an abrupt halt and hold his breath, but nothing appeared.
We kept to the deepest shadows, which were further blackened by the
steadily thickening darkness of the sky. I feared a downpour.
Without mishap we finally reached the lower end of the valley. I had
been trying to see the opening through which the stream must run, but
even when we halted near the cliff, not a break appeared.
Beelo dropped to the ground. “We’ll rest,” said he.
I found the adventure exciting, but was unprepared for its effect
on Christopher. His usually dull eyes had intelligent vision; his
slouchiness was gone.
After a few moments’ rest Beelo rose, and led us to the stream. It was
deep and slow here, and crept through a dense overhanging growth. We
pushed through the tangle, and soon came to a little clearing near the
bank, but screened from it. The bamboo raft which he and Christopher had
made lay there.
We launched it. Christopher produced a pole from another hiding-place,
boarded the raft, and knelt on the forward end. Beelo and I followed.
“Christopher,” the lad inquired, “can you see in the dark?”
“Yes,” and Christopher shoved off.
The vegetation grew denser as we slipped along, and its shadows combined
with the darkness of the day to plunge us into night. Presently I
realized that we must have traversed more than the distance between the
launching-place and the wall.
“Where are we, Beelo?” I asked, but the sound of my voice informed me
before the boy’s answer:
“Under the mountain. We are going through.”
To describe my sensations would be impertinent. Beelo’s reticence was
more than silence. The only sound was the swish of Christopher’s pole as
it dipped and scraped while we drifted. Beelo, sitting a little to the
rear and at one side of me, crept nearer.
“Talk,” he begged, edging still closer, till our arms touched.
“Very well, lad. Shall I tell you a story?”
We must have been on the floor of a lofty cavern, for my words came
back.
“Hush!” he whispered.
His hand was groping for mine. Perfect blackness encompassed us. I
took his hand. A slight tremor thrilled it, and I put an arm about his
shoulders, drew him close, and pressed his head down in the hollow of my
neck. There was none of his refractory wildness now. Poor lad! For all
the pluck that he had shown in the past, the silence and the darkness of
this grew-some passage had unmanned him. It was good to hear the comfort
in his sigh, the fading of the tremor, and the firm grasp of his hand.
Evidently Beelo had never made this trip before, but I wondered that at
least its upper end had been left unguarded and why it was not a highway
for the natives. In a whisper I asked him.
“It is guarded,” he answered; “but when a storm or an earthquake comes,
the men are afraid that what is in here will come out; and, besides,
they think a storm is a better guard than they. But they weren’t far
away. I knew how to avoid them.”
“Yes, but----”
“Down!” came sharply from Christopher simultaneously with a dull blow.
I flattened Beelo and myself.
“Up,” said Christopher.
Had his face or head encountered a low-hanging rock? Yet he had thought
of us.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“No, sir.”
“Did your head strike?”
“Arm, sir.”
Perhaps an inscrutable power had given him the sense to raise his arm
and guard his head at the moment of peril. I finished my question to
Beelo:
“What is in here the natives fear?”
“The voices that send your words back.”
“Surely they are familiar with the echo in the mountains.”
“Not this kind, Choseph.” He had never called me that so easily. I
hugged him closer, and he nestled like a kitten.
It was indeed a startling echo. At times even our whispers seemed to
multiply and flock on wings, and come rustling back.
“There’s something still worse,” added Beelo.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. They would never tell me.”
...I wondered whether he had felt the sudden leap of my heart. He must,
for he snuggled closer, withdrew his hand from mine, caressed my cheek,
and whispered:
“We’ll be brave.”
“Yes, lad, but if we knew only a little we should be the better
prepared.”
He was silent.
“You know nothing about it?” I insisted.
“Nothing at all.”
“But natives have gone through safely, else they wouldn’t know.”
“Some did, a long time ago. That was the last.”
“Some did? Not all that started?”
“Not all. The others went mad. Don’t talk about it, dear Choseph.”
Assuredly Beelo had been driven to a desperate extremity to choose
this way of escape from the valley. It showed how closely the ordinary
outlets were guarded.