Max asserted himself so strongly in favor of Girzilla that Ibrahim
refrained from approaching her, not because he had conquered the
passion he felt for her, but entirely out of respect for the madcap.
Sherif el Habib treated Max as a guest, and when he told him that he
was on a pilgrimage to find the promised mahdi, Max so thoroughly threw
himself into the work that the Persian devotee believed more than ever
in fate.
Girzilla had never been away so far, and so long as she could see Max
she was satisfied.
Nothing would make the chiefs of the caravan treat her other than Max’s
sister.
In this way the journey was continued into the desert of Lybia.
All had been tranquil.
No hordes of savages had disturbed the religious pilgrims, and Max
began to yearn for adventure.
Nearly a month had passed, and Max was as strong as a young elephant,
and as for Girzilla, nothing seemed to tire her.
One day a forest was sighted.
For many days not a leaf, not a tree--no, not so much as a blade of
grass, had been seen.
The unmistakable forest was as acceptable to the travelers as is a rain
shower to the parched earth.
It was impossible to reach the forest that day, but so impetuous was
the spirit of the two youths that they obtained permission to go in
advance of the party, and while Sherif el Habib rested--for he was
getting to look jaded and tired--they would investigate and return to
report.
Max and Ibrahim, now the best of friends, went forward, joyously.
They were both well armed, and carried enough rations to last them four
days.
It was noon on the following day before they were near to the forest.
Never before had they seen such gigantic trees.
But there was something weird and strange about the trees.
Not one of them appeared to have any foliage.
They stood erect, with their topmost branches piercing the clouds, as
it were, but not a sign or movement was visible.
A slight breeze whistled through the forest, but not a bough swayed,
not a tree bent its head before the wind.
“Haughty old fellows,” exclaimed Max, as he looked forward at the
unbending trees.
“They look more like stone than wood,” commented Ibrahim.
“You are right. I wonder what timber they are.”
There was another peculiarity noticeable.
Not a bit of brush, nor tuft of grass was to be seen.
So excited were the explorers that they bid defiance to the blazing
rays of the sun, and ran forward.
Max was the first to reach a tree.
The monarch who guarded the earth was many feet in diameter, as
straight as a flagstaff, and entirely without leaves.
Max touched the bark, and withdrew his hand, suddenly.
“What is it, Madcap? A viper stung you?”
“I don’t know. It seems as if the tree was red-hot,” answered Max.
“That is good. How could a tree be red-hot?”
“Feel for yourself.”
“You are right. By the beard of the prophet the tree must be burning.”
Max struck the trunk with a knife, but the blade broke in two, and no
impression was made on the tree.
Another, and still another tree was tried, with the same result.
A couple of hours wandering about, striking trees with the hafts of
their knives, or the butt of their guns, convinced them that they had
discovered a freak of nature--a veritable petrified forest.
It was true.
Every tree, by some action of nature, had changed its allegiance from
the vegetable to the mineral kingdom.
Each of the monarchs of the forest had been turned to stone.
There was something appalling in those great stone statues.
How many ages had they stood there?
What action of nature had changed them from living, sap-flowing trees
into blocks of granite, having only the appearance of their former
reality?
Ibrahim was scared.
His face lost its color, and he prostrated himself on the ground.
“Come along, old fellow,” said Max. “You are not afraid of these big
stones, are you?”
Ibrahim did not answer.
He was awe-stricken.
“Get up, Ib,” exclaimed Max, shortening his companion’s name very
materially.
It is a matter of doubt how long Ibrahim would have remained prostrate
had not some counter irritant appeared.
A couple of arrows were fired, and fortunately struck the trees,
glancing off close to our young explorers.
“Stop that, old fellow, whoever you are, and let us have a look at
you,” shouted Max.
He had scarcely uttered the words when the whole forest seemed alive.
It looked as if every tree had hidden a man, and yet not a living
creature had the explorers seen before.
Where did all these savages come from?
The savages were something superlative.
They were almost as naked as when they came into the world.
Their bodies were rubbed all over with some filthy-looking clay.
The men wore heavy coils of beads round their necks; two heavy
bracelets of ivory, rudely carved, on their arms, just above the elbow;
and on each wrist was a bracelet or ring, in which, by some cunning
device, sharp pieces of flint, and in some cases lions’ claws, had
been inserted. These fellows surrounded Max and Ibrahim, dancing in a
fantastic manner and flourishing their arrows in the manner of spears,
only that they had four arrows in each hand--held between the fingers
so that the heads of the arrows were stretched out fan shape.
The circle of savages closed in upon the explorers.
The faces of the blacks increased in savagery of expression.
They spoke a language which neither Max nor Ibrahim understood.
“We are in for it,” said Max.
“We shall die,” asserted Ibrahim, solemnly. “Oh, why did I ever come?”
“To have some fun. Wait, and we will see what they mean to do.”
The savages got so close that our heroes were compelled at times to
dodge the fans of arrows, which threatened to mar the beauty of their
faces, they were so near.
“It is time to stop this,” said Max, drawing his old-fashioned
revolver--a weapon which must have been one of the first ever made, so
primitive was its construction. It had been given to Max by Sherif el
Habib, who believed it to be the most wonderful weapon ever invented.
Max happened to catch sight of a monkey jumping from tree to tree, so
he put back his revolver and raised his rifle, a more modern and more
reliable weapon.
The savages stood still.
Surely this must be some magician or medicine man who had come among
them.
That must have been the burden of their thoughts, for they stood
watching and waiting.
But each man held his fan of arrows ready for use.
Carefully taking aim, Max fired.
The savages screamed as they heard the report, and the monkey dropped
dead.
As if by the stroke of a magician’s wand the arrows were gathered
together and held under the left arm.
“You conquered them,” said Ibrahim.
“It seems so; but I don’t know how we are going to escape.”
“No, nor I. What are they up to now?”
The chief had said something to the tribe, and instantly the naked,
ugly representatives of the genus man, as known in the petrified
forests of Lybia, disappeared, leaving only the chief and perhaps a
dozen to guard the white explorers.
A few minutes elapsed, and again the forest was alive; every man had
brought a woman with him.
The women were more repulsive looking than the men.
Their backs were gashed and scarred in every direction, while all over
their bodies deep furrows had been plowed out of the flesh.
At a signal all began dancing. The men at every movement struck the
women with their spiked bracelets, and soon the black bodies of the
females were dripping with blood.
But the women made no effort to escape, but laughed heartily when they
managed to escape a more than usually vicious blow from their loving
husband’s spiked bracelet.
“Can’t we stop it?” asked Max.
“I am afraid not.”
“I would like to kill the savages.”
“So would I; but we can’t, and so must endure it----”
“Or run away.”
“Let us try.”
No sooner suggested than attempted.
The dance was stopped, and the men and women alike rushed after the
runaways, capturing them easily, and holding them firmly until the
dance was finished.
When the dancing was concluded, the chief gave another command.
An aged woman, toothless and haggard-looking, with only a few hairs on
her head, was brought from some mysterious place and placed against one
of the stone trees.
Then the chief, by pantomimic action, showed that he wanted Max to
shoot her.
To make the madcap understand, he took the dead monkey and held it in
front of the old woman, then raised an arrow, as Max had done his gun,
and pointed it at the woman, letting the monkey fall as he did so.
Max shook his head.
The gesture was not understood.
The chief stood by the side of Max, and raised the rifle to the
madcap’s shoulder, making a peculiar noise with his lips as he did so.
“Don’t shoot,” said Ibrahim.
“I am not going to do so,” answered Max, “unless I shoot his nibs here.”
“Who?” asked the Persian, not understanding the slang expression.
Max was about to explain, when a loud whoop was given.
The old woman had fallen forward--dead.
Fright had killed her.
But the savages believed that the white man’s magic had ended the poor,
old creature’s life.
Max and Ibrahim were the heroes of the day.
Songs of triumph--in gibberish which might mean anything--dances of the
most grotesque kind were indulged in, and it was plain to be seen that
these poor savages were nearly mad with joy.
When the excitement was at its height, Max whispered to Ibrahim:
“Let us run--but as we do so we had better point our guns at the
fellows; then they won’t follow.”
Awaiting a favorable moment, the young fellows started.
The dancing stopped, and the savages went in pursuit.
A shower of arrows fell round the explorers.
Max turned and raised his rifle.
What a change took place!
Instead of a hundred warriors pursuing two young men, a hundred backs
could be seen, and every savage was trying to break the world’s record
in running, not toward the explorers, but away from them.
Max laughed so heartily, that had the savages turned, the American
would never have been able to point the gun at them.
“Come along, Max, or they may repent and follow.”
Max needed no second invitation, and had a balloon been above the
forest, he would have seen a hundred savages fleeing in one direction,
as though pursued by a regiment of well-trained soldiers, and the boys
they were afraid of, running just as fast in an opposite one.