"ONLY A SAVAGE!"
"Nyonyoba!"
Clear, distinct, the name sounded, floating down from above.
"What the devil is that?" was the characteristic exclamation that burst
from Laurence--and there was something of a quaver in the tone. For his
nerves were quite overstrung, and no manifestation of things unknown
would have surprised him now.
"Nyonyoba! Ho, Nyonyoba!" again called the voice in soft, rich Zulu
tones, low but penetrating. "Move now some thirty paces to where the
cliff juts. There is that by which you may return to earth again--and
the Spider may go hungry."
"The Spider has got enough to fill him up for some long time," answered
Laurence, with excusable pride. "But who speaks?--The voice is like that
of Lindela."
"It is that of Lindela," came the soft-toned reply. "Climb now, and
tarry not. I see the Spider. Climb before it is too late."
With all his elation, now that the first flush of victory was over,
Laurence could not recall without a shiver the grasp of those horrible
tentacles, the fiend-like glare of that dreadful face. He vastly
preferred flight to renewed fight, now.
Following the voice, he came to the point indicated. A rope of twisted
raw-hide thong lay against the rock. His heart leaped within him. Soon
he would be free from this fearful place. The cliff here formed a
projecting angle, all jagged like the teeth of a saw. He remembered
noticing this, remembered balancing its capabilities of forming a
natural ladder. He had even climbed a few steps, and then had been
forced to own that it was impracticable. Now, however, with the aid of
the raw-hide rope, the thing could be done--done with comparative ease.
As a preliminary he stepped back, and, gazing upwards, went over the
climb in his mind, carefully noting every step, every handhold. The
cliff was terrace here, and the nearest resting-place, whence, indeed,
the rope hung, he estimated to be about sixty feet. Without this aid,
however, it might as well have been sixty hundred.
Seizing the rope he began his ascent, the mace and the remainder of his
bone daggers still slung around him. The task was more difficult than it
looked. Contact, often sudden and violent, with the rock face bruised
his knuckles, inflicting excruciating pain, once indeed so as to turn
him sick and faint. But a glance down into the grisly hollow, as he hung
thus suspended by a thread--the glint of the white skeletons in the
moonlight, and, above all, the vague, shadowy outline, black and
frightful, of the horror, which still lingered outside its den, as
though meditating return--nerved him once more. What if he were to fall,
maimed, battered, helpless--would not the frightful thing hold him
entirely at its mercy, and return and drain his life-blood at its
pleasure? Summoning all his will-power, all his strength, he resumed his
climb, and soon a firm, resolute hand, grasping his, drew him up for the
time being into safety; for they were on a ledge.
"Rest now, beloved," said the chief's daughter softly, as she turned to
draw up the rope. "I have saved thee so far."
"But--to what end, Lindela? Did you not fling a stick at me, and strike
me hard? See, I am bruised with it yet. It has even hindered my climbing
powers. That is a strange way of showing love."
"But is this a stranger way?" said the girl sadly, displaying the rope
she had just drawn up. "See now. They suspected me, as it was. Had I not
shown myself the first and the fiercest to turn against you, should I
have been here now? But come, we are not yet in safety. When we are it
will be time enough for talk, and for--love."
She led the way to a steep, narrow cranny. Up this they climbed some
fifty feet without difficulty, emerging upon another terrace. Here
another rope hung from the cliff above, about the same height.
"Go first, Nyonyoba, while I hold the rope to steady it," said the girl.
"Then, too, if your strength should give way, perhaps I may catch you
and break your fall. I am as strong as any of the women of the
Ba-gcatya--and that is saying much."
For answer, Laurence uttered a derisive laugh. But there must have been
that in its tone which pleased the chief's daughter, for she repeated
the request, more softly, more entreatingly.
"See now, Lindela," he answered, placing a hand on each of the shapely
shoulders, which glistened light bronze in the moonlight. "You don't
know me yet if you think I will leave the post of danger to you. Obey me
instantly. Go first up that rope, or I return and do combat once more
with the Spider."
"Once more? Have you then--actually fought with that--with that which is
down there?" And her eyes were round with amazement.
"I have, and the thing has two of these sticking in it to their full
length," showing the bone daggers. "I have a recollection, too, of
smiting hard with this noble knob-stick, but it was like smiting the
hardest kind of tortoise shell. Not yet, however, is the time to talk.
Go first, Lindela--go first."
She obeyed him now without further demur, and soon he had joined her,
for this climb was neither so long nor so difficult as the first.
Laurence now saw that they were high up on a mountain top. Great peaks,
some snow-capped, towered aloft--and far away beneath stretched a
billowy expanse of country, dim, misty in the moonlight. The air was
keen and chill, and with something of a shiver Lindela resumed her light
upper covering, which she had laid aside in order to give full freedom
to body and limbs.
"And you have met and fought with that," she began, pointing downwards,
"and are still alive? Why, Nyonyoba, you have done that which no man has
ever done before. How did you do it? With the bones of dead men? Ha! you
are indeed great, Nyonyoba, great indeed. Yet--what a thought!"
"A good thought truly. Still, had it occurred to those who went before
me they might have done the same. Yet not--for there was another force
that saved me which they lacked."
"Ha! another force?"
"Yes, the Sign of the Spider. The Spider itself was powerless against
that."
He drew forth the metal box, and for the first time examined it. By the
light of the moon he could discern two slight dents; one upon the border
of the quaint sprawling initials, where the nippers of the monster had
struck. For the moment he forgot Lindela, forgot the surroundings,
forgot where he was, remembering only Lilith. Three times had Lilith's
love interposed between him and certain death--three times most
unequivocally. And this third time, from what unutterably horrible form
of death! Those poisoned fangs. The very thought made him shudder.
"You are cold, beloved. See, here are coverings. I have thought of
everything."
The voice, the touch upon his arm, recalled him to himself. If the love
of the one woman had stood between him and death--no less had that of
the other borne its part. And this other now stood before him,
soft-eyed, pleading; grand in her statuesque and perfect proportions, in
her splendid strength and courage--that strength and courage which had
nerved her to set aside the most awesome traditions of her race, to
brave its gloomy superstitions, to venture alone and unaided into the
haunt of mysterious terror, for love of this stranger and alien. This,
too, was the sublimity of love in all of its indomitable
quenchlessness. And she who gave so freely, who gave all, indeed, of
this rich, this inestimable gift was--only a savage!
Only a savage! It is probable that some of the most golden-lined,
well-nigh divine phases of mind that ever had dawned upon him in his
life were shed over Laurence Stanninghame then, as he stood upon that
lofty mountain top at midnight in the flooding light of the moon, his
gaze meeting the sweet responsive one from the wide opened eyes of
this--savage.
"Say, Nyonyoba!" and the voice was full and rich,--"say, Nyonyoba, what
will you give me if I show you that which will delight your eyes? Will
you love me very much--very much?" and the soft musical Zulu word
_Ka-kulu_ thus repeated was as a caress in itself. "Well then, come."
She led the way a few yards, then halted. A bundle lay upon the ground,
and this Lindela proceeded to undo. It consisted of a couple of strong
native blankets, inclosing several round baskets of woven grass similar
to those which had contained the food which had been let down in cruel
mercy into the place of the horror by the mysterious hands which had
lowered himself. But that upon which Laurence's eyes rested, upon which
he almost pounced, was a short carbine and a well-stocked
cartridge-belt. It was a vastly inferior weapon to his own trusty
"Express," but still it was a firearm.
"That is not all," cried the girl, laughing gleefully. "See this."
She thrust another bundle into his hands. Almost trembling he opened
it. A revolver--his own; also another of smaller calibre. And with both
was a quantity of ammunition. As he seized these, he realized that he
would have given half his diamonds, up till then well-nigh forgotten,
for just such an armoury. Now he felt equal to anything, to anybody. He
was once more the dominant animal, an armed man--nay, more--a well-armed
man.
"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 passed 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 circumstances 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 noble 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 noble
natures before her,--for there is such a thing as the "noble 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.