THE RED MAMMOTH.
Meanwhile Scarface Boston Jimmy, with Tom Jones, late of Harvard,
and Arty, the little old jockey, had sadly buried the body of Antone
Pease Ferreira. Mike Murphy's head still ached frightfully from the
pistol-butt blow, but otherwise he seemed in fit shape.
There was no point in staying where they were, and no place to go,
except toward the Viking city. So the four set off, together up a
trail which they found leading inland from the top of the cliff. After
several hours of hiking, and stopping once for lunch, their road
finally led to the edge of a level plain, across which, a half mile or
so away, they could see the steep cliffs of the plateau which they had
observed from the sea.
Persons were gathered in one spot on the edge of the cliff, and even as
the watchers gazed up from within the cover of the wood, those persons
disappeared one by one, only to reappear among the bushes at the foot
of the cliff. A glider slid off the crest of the plateau, circled the
plain, and returned to its starting point.
"Just the way it was in that ARGOSY story," Scarface exulted.
"We're here at last!"
"Yeah?" replied Little Arty pessimistically. "And what good does
it do you? Are you planning for the four of us to attack all those
squareheads?"
"Not exactly," said Jimmy. "We must use strategy now."
"Why not use just plain human decency?" suggested Tom Jones. "Come to
the Vikings as friends, and mean it. Eric and Angus played square--"
"Played squarehead, you mean," interrupted Arty.
"Well, anyway," continued Jones, "it worked, didn't it? Eric and Angus
are now sitting on top of the world--or inside the world--oh, it's all
so complicated! Anyway, let's try the same tactics."
"We may be forced to that, as a last resort," admitted Scarface.
"Say, what about Theresa?" Tom asked suddenly. "Here we've been
worrying about dreams of empire, and lamenting because Nick Fratelli
has walked off with our boat, when all the while that poor little
girl is in the clutches of those roughnecks. Mr. Lefavour, sir, we've
just got to side in with the Vikings, and get them to help us rescue
Theresa."
Scarface looked at Tom appraisingly.
"I had thought of that myself." He was obviously torn between two
ruling passions. "I shall settle that question. Come on."
So together the four set forth across the plain toward the spot where
they had seen the Vikings emerge.
They had little difficulty in finding the hole in the bushes. Crawling
through it, they came to a crack extending vertically upward in the
face of the cliff, and up this crack they clambered, by virtue of many
foot-holds, hand-holds and knee-holds in its sides. But when they
reached the top, the way was barred by a stone slab set firmly across
the opening. Try as they would, they could not budge it. They shouted
repeatedly, but no answer came. No one heeded them.
So, at last, they climbed down again, and crawled out through the
bushes at the base.
After staring disconsolately for a while at the heights, they withdrew
to the shelter of the woods, where they had supper and then slept,
taking turns watching one by one, so that they would know if the
expedition from the plateau returned, or if any further signs of life
showed at the brink of the cliff. But there were no developments.
* * * * *
Finally Scarface roused them. "I've had enough of sitting here like
this, doing nothing. We ought to be getting busy rescuing that girl.
This isn't proving anything."
"Let's walk around the foot of the plateau," suggested Tom. "Perhaps
we can attract some attention somewhere. If not, we shall just have to
come back and wait here, until that expedition returns. I wish they'd
hurry. Every minute may count with poor little Terry."
So they started circling the base of the cliff, munching their
breakfast as they walked, and shouting and hallooing from time to time.
And at last an answer came to one of their calls. But not from the
cliff top. Instead, it came from around a bend ahead of them. And it
was a most peculiar sound, more like a squeaky Fourth of July tin horn
than anything else--a giant's horn, loud as a calliope.
"Queer bugles these Swedes have," remarked Murphy.
"Bugle, hell! Look what broke loose from the circus!" yelled Little
Arty, who was in the lead.
Around the bend, at a ponderous canter, came an enormous elephant-like
creature with long red fur, trumpeting loudly as he came--a mammoth!
"Run!" cried Tom, and the four of them scattered in as many directions,
as the beast bore down upon them.
Three of them were sure of escape, for the woolly red elephant could
not chase all four at once. The mammoth selected Scarface Jimmy as his
victim. Clumsy though the huge animal appeared to be, he could run as
fast as a man, or a little faster. So Scarface shed his dignity without
a thought and fled as never before in his life.
Straight toward a clump of trees he ran, and seized a branch and
pulled himself up, just in time. It was not enough merely to gain the
low-hanging branch. Up the tree he scrambled, scraping off bark and
clothing and skin. He had scarce got above the level of the beast's
head before it crashed against the trunk with an impact which nearly
hurled the man from his perch.
Then, backing up, the mammoth reared and reached for the man with
its trunk. Scarface, scrambling upward again, just barely eluded the
snakelike menace. Thereupon the mammoth withdrew for a short distance
and began a series of battering-ram rushes at the tree.
Scarface hung on for dear life each time, and thus escaped being shaken
off; but the tree itself gradually yielded at the roots, and began to
bend more and more, under the successive blows.
The elephant, finding that the tree had begun to loosen at the roots,
changed his tactics and, placing his huge head squarely against the
trunk, braced all four of his legs and began to push steadily. Inch
by inch, the tree gave; there was nothing Scarface could do but climb
higher and higher.