REVEALING AN INTENT
The native ship, that had sailed unobserved within almost hailing
distance of the headland, was not the one that had come to the island
before. It was larger. Six men at least comprised its crew, a
villainous-looking collection.
Grenville had seen them close at hand, as they passed by the entrance
to the cave. That they contemplated an immediate landing seemed
probable, making as they were towards the crescent indentation along by
the estuary's mouth.
Sidney had lost little time in vain regrets for the hour spent
uselessly below. He had gone at once to the gallery and hidden its
entrance with the door. He had caught up Elaine's well-finished nets
and the pole for a yoke she had been working to complete when the
visitors' sail was discovered and, only pausing to make certain he
could not be seen, went at once to the spring for extra jugs of water.
The sun was already dipping redly in its bath when he brought his first
burden to the terrace. He paused to observe the maneuvers of the ship,
now coming about in the sunset breeze, just off the tiny inlet where
his catamaran was moored.
The queer sharp sail was reefed while he was watching. He saw three
men heave overboard an anchor, which promptly sounded the shallow
depths where the strange craft presently swung.
Considerably to Elaine's discomfort of mind, he hastened once more down
the trail. She was certain the Dyaks would go to the spring before
Sidney could got away. However, he brought another pair of jugs, an
armful of fuel, and a basket of fruit with the greatest possible
expedition.
The boatmen made no movement to come ashore as long as the twilight
revealed them. The highest notes of their voices floated indistinctly
to the terrace, towards which the men were frequently seen to gesture,
but even these sounds were finally lost as darkness enwrapped the
island.
Despite the fact that four of his water-jugs still remained in the
thicket near the spring, Grenville made no more trips for water that
evening, since Elaine was obviously distressed by the thought of the
risk he might incur.
He was awake all night, maintaining the life of their smoldering fire,
and alert for any signs or sounds of movement in the clearing by the
trail. In one of the darkest hours before the dawn he heard the
familiar wails and moans of the headland cave rise briefly on the wind.
From the anchored ship the cry was returned, as on the former occasion.
After that a droning chant came fitfully up from the darkness of the
waters, to die at last in the silence. Later he heard a shout, and
then vague accents of speech. But, when daylight arrived, the craft
had disappeared.
Elaine had not yet risen. Grenville quietly moved from one extremity
of the headland to the other, searching the sea in all directions. He
was soon convinced the visitor had not decamped, but had moved the
vessel to one or another of the island's hidden inlets, that its
movements, as well as those of its crew, should be no longer observed.
One lingering hope, which he had fostered in his breast, that the
natives might not prove a bloodthirsty lot of head-hunters after all,
he felt he must definitely abandon. This furtive move under cover of
the dark was not the sort of maneuver to excite one's trust or
confidence.
Elaine was standing in her shelter door when at length he came once
more to his place by the top of the trail. She, too, had discovered
the absence of the native vessel.
"I think another one came in the night," she said, when Sidney
explained his belief that the boat was in hiding behind the farther
walls. "I am sure I heard another voice."
Grenville recalled the shout that had followed the chanting and felt
that this accounted for Elaine's conviction that more of the Dyaks had
arrived.
"We have not been actually seen as yet," he assured her. "Our flag of
distress is not a positive sign of anyone's presence on the island. We
shall soon determine by their movements whether these chaps intend to
be friendly or not."
"Would they hide if they meant to be friendly?"
"It isn't a friendly sign---- You see, I'm still of opinion the
island's wail is a sound they rather dread. Have you noticed it's
rapidly failing?"
"I've been ever so glad it seems so short and growing fainter."
"Yes," he drawled. "I'm afraid it will soon cease altogether, when our
friends may buck up their courage and--show us their state of mind."
"What can we do in the meantime?"
"Sit tight and watch for developments."
But all that day there was never so much as a sound or a sign of the
crew they had seen arrive. At one time, just before noon, Grenville
fancied some movement occurred in the rocks that crowned the second
hill. But he detected no further indication that someone might have
scaled the cliff to spy on himself and Elaine.
He had never in his island rambles discovered a place by which that
hill could be surmounted. That easy access might be obtained on the
seaward side he readily understood. He fretted under the long
suspense--the uncertainty brooding over the island. He much preferred
that the visitors exhibit a downright hostile intent than to feel that
beneath the sinister calm of thicket and jungle might lurk insidious
death.
He felt that Elaine and himself would lack for nothing, except fresh
meat, for at least a couple of days, yet he knew that even their fruit
supply was wholly inadequate for a siege, should the new arrivals make
up their minds to starve them on the terrace. Rather than weakly
submit to any such abominable tactics, he was fully determined to bring
about an attack. But how was an open question.
When once again the night drew on the man was impatient and weary. He
had taken no rest after all his long previous day of toil, yet to sleep
and invite disaster up the trail was quite impossible.
"We shall have to divide the night," said Elaine, with her customary
practical courage. "We have simply got to be sensible to preserve our
strength in case we have to fight."
Grenville consented to give her the watch till midnight. The island's
wail in the late afternoon had seemed no fainter than that of the
previous day. He was quite convinced there would be no night attack.
Yet he stretched a cord across the trail that must pull at his arm and
so give an alarm should anyone enter at his gate.
Doubtless in this confidence he fell asleep with more than usual
promptness. He was far more weary than he knew, and Nature demanded
her dues.
Elaine was glad he could slumber so profoundly. The night was barely
cool; she was not in the least uncomfortable as she sat at Grenville's
side. She knew he would waken at the slightest tug on the cord so
quickly contrived to warn of an enemy's approach, and therefore felt a
decided sense of security, despite the living silence of the night.
Long before midnight she was tense with nervous apprehension. Sounds
from the jungle arose from time to time where some animal prowled for
its prey. A whisper came up from the waves that lapped the cliff, and
haunted the air as if with spirits. She had steeled her heart,
however, and would not weaken by a jot. The hours would wear away
somehow, and meantime--Sidney was resting.
She did not arise to walk about as Grenville would have done. Instead
she sat there, stiffly alert, turning her head from side to side, as
the minutes dragged heavily by, listening, staring through the
darkness, fancying shapes had begun to move in the shadows of the rocks.
It was finally late in the dead of night when a sound of unusual
heaviness arose from the brink of the cliff. Had someone dropped a
rock in the sea, the disturbance could scarcely have been clearer.
It had come, she thought, from over beyond the great black tree that
loomed against the sky. She wondered if perhaps she ought to speak to
Sidney. She put out her hand to touch him lightly on the shoulder, but
withdrew it again with a smile. He was sleeping so like a tired boy!
The sound had doubtless been nothing to rouse the slightest alarm. If
it came again----
It did come again, less loud and distinct, but none the less
unmistakable. Her heart responded immediately with a quicker, heavier
beat. Perhaps she should try to ascertain the source or the cause of
the noise. She should feel so ashamed, so weak and burdensome, to
Grenville if she woke him for nothing at all. To look about was
assuredly part of her duty while on guard. It was only a step to the
edge of the terrace, across familiar ground.
Chiding herself for unwarranted timidity and lack of courage, she
silently left her seat at last and stepped from Grenville's side. One
of his sticks was lying near. She took it in her hand. Then over
through the shadows she glided as noiselessly as a spirit, goading
herself to the ordeal with thoughts of the bold and fearless manner the
man would show were he in her place on this safe and childish excursion.
She had heard nothing more, though she frequently paused to hold her
breath and await a further sound. It was wholly absurd, she told
herself, for her heart to pound so madly. Just there to the brink,
past those few large stones and shadows, and she would probably hear
some slopping of the waves that would quiet her liveliest suspicion.
Despite her utmost efforts, however, she could not stand upright as she
went, and she could not continue quite to the edge without one or two
more pauses to catch her breath that would not come calmly to her lips.
But she forced herself all the way--save just the final cautious edging
to the scarp, where she suddenly knelt and leaned a little forward.
She was still a bit short of the brink, but remained where she was to
calm her heart and listen. She could hear the water plainly. She felt
entitled to arise and hasten back to Sidney--since of course there was
nothing further to be heard.
But, before she could gather the strength to rise, a series of short,
percussive sounds all but froze the core of her heart--so much did it
seem like someone heavily panting.
Then, as she sat there staring helplessly at the jagged edge, four dark
things--four fingers--crept actively over the lip of the wall--and a
face abruptly followed, with a knife between its teeth!
"Sidney!" she cried, and, madly thrusting the stick she had brought
against the dark and hideous countenance, she arose and fled wildly
from the place.