His voice trailed off suddenly. The drums stopped as if the drummers
had fallen dead simultaneously. Silence dropped like a fog upon the
village and in the stillness Kane heard only the sharp crackle of the
flames whose heat he was beginning to feel.
All eyes were turned upon the dead man upon the altar, _for the corpse
had begun to move_!
First a twitching of a hand, then an aimless motion of an arm, a motion
which gradually spread over the body and limbs. Slowly, with blind,
uncertain gestures, the dead man turned upon his side, the trailing
limbs found the earth. Then, horribly like something being born, like
some frightful reptilian thing bursting the shell of non-existence,
the corpse tottered and reared upright, standing on legs wide apart
and stiffly braced, arms still making useless, infantile motions.
Utter silence, save somewhere a man's quick breath sounded loud in the
stillness.
Kane stared, for the first time in his life smitten speechless and
thoughtless. To his Puritan mind this was Satan's hand manifested.
Le Loup sat on his throne, eyes wide and staring, hand still half
raised in the careless gesture he was making when frozen into silence
by the unbelievable sight. Songa sat beside him, mouth and eyes wide
open, fingers making curious jerky motions upon the carved arms of the
throne.
Now the corpse was upright, swaying on stiltlike legs, body tilting far
back until the sightless eyes seemed to stare straight into the red
moon that was just rising over the black jungle. The thing tottered
uncertainly in a wide, erratic half-circle, arms flung out grotesquely
as if in balance, then swaying about to face the two thrones--and the
Black God. A burning twig at Kane's feet cracked like the crash of a
cannon in the tense silence. The horror thrust forth a black foot--it
took a wavering step--another. Then with stiff, jerky and automatonlike
steps, legs straddled far apart, the dead man came toward the two who
sat in speechless horror to each side of the Black God.
"Ah-h-h!" from somewhere came the explosive sigh, from that shadowy
semicircle where crouched the terror-fascinated worshippers. Straight
on stalked the grim specter. Now it was within three strides of the
thrones, and Le Loup, faced by fear for the first time in his bloody
life, cringed back in his chair; while Songa, with a superhuman effort
breaking the chains of horror that held him helpless, shattered the
night with a wild scream and, springing to his feet, lifted a spear,
shrieking and gibbering in wild menace. Then as the ghastly thing
halted not its frightful advance, he hurled the spear with all the
power of his great, black muscles, and the spear tore through the dead
man's breast with a rending of flesh and bone. Not an instant halted
the thing--for the dead die not--and Songa the king stood frozen, arms
outstretched as if to fend off the terror.
An instant they stood so, leaping firelight and eery moonlight etching
the scene forever in the minds of the beholders. The changeless
staring eyes of the corpse looked full into the bulging eyes of Songa,
where were reflected all the hells of horror. Then with a jerky motion
the arms of the thing went out and up. The dead hands fell on Songa's
shoulders. At the first touch, the king seemed to shrink and shrivel,
and with a scream that was to haunt the dreams of every watcher through
all the rest of time, Songa crumpled and fell, and the dead man reeled
stiffly and fell with him. Motionless lay the two at the feet of the
Black God, and to Kane's dazed mind it seemed that the idol's great,
inhuman eyes were fixed upon them with terrible, still laughter.
[Illustration: "The dead man reeled and fell with him."]
At the instant of the king's fall, a great shout went up from the
blacks, and Kane, with a clarity lent his subconscious mind by the
depths of his hate, looked for Le Loup and saw him spring from his
throne and vanish in the darkness. Then vision was blurred by a rush
of black figures who swept into the space before the god. Feet knocked
aside the blazing brands whose heat Kane had forgotten, and dusky hands
freed him; others loosed the wizard's body and laid it upon the earth.
Kane dimly understood that the blacks believed this thing to be the
work of N'Longa, and that they connected the vengeance of the wizard
with himself. He bent, laid a hand on the ju-ju man's shoulder. No
doubt of it: he was dead, the flesh was already cold. He glanced at the
other corpses. Songa was dead, too, and the thing that had slain him
lay now without movement.
Kane started to rise, then halted. Was he dreaming, or did he really
feel a sudden warmth in the dead flesh he touched? Mind reeling, he
again bent over the wizard's body, and slowly he felt warmness steal
over the limbs and the blood begin to flow sluggishly through the veins
again.
Then N'Longa opened his eyes and stared up into Kane's, with the blank
expression of a new-born babe. Kane watched, flesh crawling, and saw
the knowing, reptilian glitter come back, saw the wizard's thick lips
part in a wide grin. N'Longa sat up, and a strange chant arose from the
negroes.
Kane looked about. The blacks were all kneeling, swaying their bodies
to and fro, and in their shouts Kane caught the word, "N'Longa!"
repeated over and over in a kind of fearsomely ecstatic refrain of
terror and worship. As the wizard rose, they all fell prostrate.
N'Longa nodded, as if in satisfaction.
"Great ju-ju--great fetish, me!" he announced to Kane. "You see? My
ghost go out--kill Songa--come back to me! Great magic! Great fetish,
me!"
Kane glanced at the Black God looming back in the shadows, at N'Longa,
who now flung out his arms toward the idol as if in invocation.
I am everlasting (Kane thought the Black God said); I drink, no matter
who rules; chiefs, slayers, wizards, they pass like the ghosts of dead
men through the gray jungle; I stand, I rule; I am the soul of the
jungle (said the Black God).
Suddenly Kane came back from the illusory mists in which he had been
wandering. "The white man! Which way did he flee?"
N'Longa shouted something. A score of dusky hands pointed; from
somewhere Kane's rapier was thrust out to him. The fogs faded and
vanished; again he was the avenger, the scourge of the unrighteous;
with the sudden volcanic speed of a tiger he snatched the sword and was
gone.
_5. The End of the Red Trail_
Limbs and vines slapped against Kane's face. The oppressive steam of
the tropic night rose like mist about him. The moon, now floating
high above the jungle, limned the black shadows in its white glow
and patterned the jungle floor in grotesque designs. Kane knew not
if the man he sought was ahead of him, but broken limbs and trampled
underbrush showed that some man had gone that way, some man who fled
in haste, nor halted to pick his way. Kane followed these signs
unswervingly. Believing in the justice of his vengeance, he did not
doubt that the dim beings who rule men's destinies would finally bring
him face to face with Le Loup.
Behind him the drums boomed and muttered. What a tale they had to tell
this night! of the triumph of N'Longa, the death of the black king,
the overthrow of the white-man-with-eyes-like-a-leopard, and a more
darksome tale, a tale to be whispered in low, muttering vibrations: the
nameless ju-ju.
Was he dreaming? Kane wondered as he hurried on. Was all this part of
some foul magic? He had seen a dead man rise and slay and die again; he
had seen a man die and come to life again. Did N'Longa in truth send
his ghost, his soul, his life essence forth into the void, dominating
a corpse to do his will? Aye, N'Longa died a real death there, bound
to the torture stake, and he who lay dead on the altar rose and did
as N'Longa would have done had he been free. Then, the unseen force
animating the dead man fading, N'Longa had lived again.
Yes, Kane thought, he must admit it as a fact. Somewhere in the
darksome reaches of jungle and river, N'Longa had stumbled upon the
Secret--the Secret of controlling life and death, of overcoming the
shackles and limitations of the flesh. How had this dark wisdom, born
in the black and blood-stained shadows of this grim land, been given to
the wizard? What sacrifice had been so pleasing to the Black Gods, what
ritual so monstrous, as to make them give up the knowledge of this
magic? And what thoughtless, timeless journeys had N'Longa taken, when
he chose to send his ego, his ghost, through the far, misty countries,
reached only by death?
There is wisdom in the shadows (brooded the drums), wisdom and magic;
go into the darkness for wisdom; ancient magic shuns the light; we
remember the lost ages (whispered the drums), ere man became wise and
foolish; we remember the beast gods--the serpent gods and the ape gods
and the nameless, the Black Gods, they who drank blood and whose voices
roared through the shadowy hills, who feasted and lusted. The secrets
of life and of death are theirs; we remember, we remember (sang the
drums).
Kane heard them as he hastened on. The tale they told to the feathered
black warriors farther up the river, he could not translate; but they
spoke to him in their own way, and that language was deeper, more basic.
The moon, high in the dark blue skies, lighted his way and gave him
a clear vision as he came out at last into a glade and saw Le Loup
standing there. The Wolf's naked blade was a long gleam of silver in
the moon, and he stood with shoulders thrown back, the old, defiant
smile still on his face.
"A long trail, _Monsieur_," said he. "It began in the mountains of
France; it ends in an African jungle. I have wearied of the game at
last, _Monsieur_--and you die. I had not fled from the village, even,
save that--I admit it freely--that damnable witchcraft of N'Longa's
shook my nerves. More, I saw that the whole tribe would turn against
me."
Kane advanced warily, wondering what dim, forgotten tinge of chivalry
in the bandit's soul had caused him thus to take his chance in the
open. He half suspected treachery, but his keen eyes could detect no
shadow of movement in the jungle on either side of the glade.
"_Monsieur_, on guard!" Le Loup's voice was crisp. "Time that we ended
this fool's dance about the world. Here we are alone."
* * * * *
The men were now within reach of each other, and Le Loup, in the midst
of his sentence, suddenly plunged forward with the speed of light,
thrusting viciously. A slower man had died there, but Kane parried and
sent his own blade in a silver streak that slit Le Loup's tunic as the
Wolf bounded backward. Le Loup admitted the failure of his trick with
a wild laugh and came in with the breath-taking speed and fury of a
tiger, his blade making a white fan of steel about him.
Rapier clashed on rapier as the two swordsmen fought. They were
fire and ice opposed. Le Loup fought wildly but craftily, leaving
no openings, taking advantage of every opportunity. He was a living
flame, bounding back, leaping in, feinting, thrusting, warding,
striking--laughing like a wild man, taunting and cursing.
Kane's skill was cold, calculating, scintillant. He made no waste
movement, no motion not absolutely necessary. He seemed to devote more
time and effort toward defense than did Le Loup, yet there was no
hesitancy in his attack, and when he thrust, his blade shot out with
the speed of a striking snake.
There was little to choose between the men as to height, strength
and reach. Le Loup was the swifter by a scant, flashing margin, but
Kane's skill reached a finer point of perfection. The Wolf's fencing
was fiery, dynamic, like the blast from a furnace. Kane was more
steady--less the instinctive, more the thinking fighter, though he,
too, was a born slayer, with the co-ordination that only a natural
fighter possessed.