This is written a month later.
The next day passed eventless. I kept to the plateau, for now I had even
greater cause not to incur needless risks. After supper I sought my seat
of the night before, my mind made up. Again I saw the moon creep up the
sky, and it was full that night; its immense disk was a perfect circle.
I sat watching the grotesque, ever-changing shapes evolved from my pipe
smoke, silvery luminous in the moonshine, and wondering just how and
where I would begin my search in the morning. Then my unchecked thoughts
drifted to Celeste, and as the minutes glided by I felt the restraint
which I had placed upon myself slipping more and more. I made no effort
to stay my imaginings, or to turn their trend. The hour was made
delicious by this mental revel; by sublime visions of what the future
would be. Most rigidly had I held myself in check since that night on
the peak, when I woke to a sense of my condition, and whither it was
leading me. Now I would relax, and suffer my feelings to assume
predominance again, for I was weary of the constant battle to banish
this girl from my brain, and anyway, the game was about played. Unless
Buck came upon me that night, I would speedily be beyond his reach.
As my unleashed emotions mastered me more and more, a keen restlessness
seized me, the natural result of unsatisfied longing. The bench where I
had passed contented hours the night before became at length unendurable
and I arose, my face set hungrily toward the whispering woods. Sweetly
it lured me with its breath of odorous greenness; strongly it drew me by
its very mystery of being, and I responded. I would go to the Dryad's
Glade.
I was without coat or hat. My shirt was open at the throat and the
sleeves were rolled above my elbows, for the day had been one of the
hottest I had ever known, and in the early night the heat had not yet
been conquered by the dew and the shadows. How well and strong I was! I
tarried for a moment before the unlighted Lodge to enjoy a full
conception of my superb physical vigor. It is something to make a man
rejoice--this mere knowledge of brute power. I had it in perfection that
night, and flooding my maligned lungs with a deep-drawn breath of
Nature's exquisite attar, I moved away.
I had always loved to roam by night; I had always loved to tread the
wild; I had always loved the face of old earth best when kissed by
moonlight. These three conditions became important accessories to my
mood that evening, a mood both tender and fierce. I reached the base of
my hill of refuge, mechanically turned toward the west, and with bowed
head and leisurely steps went forward where all was vast and dim and
holy, to receive the benediction of the trees. I scarcely noticed my
surroundings, although my perceptions received and appreciated the
enveloping silence, and the pearl-gray gloom. The subtle scents of moss,
and dew-soaked earth, and the indescribable tang from bark and leaf
refreshed my nostrils with their blended odors. I felt that I was in the
first sanctuary the world had ever known; a spot where Creator and
creation were all but one; a place undefiled by the feet of grasping,
sordid men. If a prayer were born in this temple it were born of the
spirit, and not of mumbling lips more used to the shaping of lies and
hypocrisies.
A sound came to me, threading the silence like a note from a flute;
elfin, elusive, wild. For a moment I thought I was deceived. I stopped
and listened. Piercing the continuous sigh which is never absent from a
vast forest, even in times of greatest calm, the note came again,
followed by a series of quirks and trills. Eerie enough was the sound.
Was the jest which I had offered the Satyr, while under the influence of
liquor, coming true? Did the great god Pan yet live, in truth, and did
he make merry o' summer nights in sylvan court and viney bower? My spine
grew chilly at the thought, and for an instant I was tempted to believe.
Would I see him if I pressed forward cautiously, without noise? Would I
find him dancing a drunken reel to his own music? For the nonce I cast
logic and common sense aside, and determined to stalk this heathen
deity. Bending forward, I advanced with the utmost care, walking on the
balls of my feet. At intervals I heard the pagan fantasy--jumbled
measures of the most fascinating, tuneless music that was ever set
afloat. From familiar signs I knew I was approaching my objective point.
My eagerness became intense as the pipe-notes sounded louder and louder,
and then, suddenly, the scale fell a full octave, or more, and the
liquid tones which now sifted through the motionless air were laden with
a burden I knew. I stopped, grasped a tree, and threw my left hand to my
forehead. I was listening to Jeff Angel's magic reed! He was playing the
Song of the Brook, as he had played it for me that memorable night. Was
the last vestige of his mind gone? Had he succeeded? Why was he dallying
here when he must have known that my heart was aching and breaking for
the news which he would bring? These thoughts and a dozen more congested
my brain during the fleeting second I leaned against the tree. Then I
was erect and dashing forward. It was a sort of natural lane down which
I rushed, whose other end debouched into the Dryad's Glade. Fast and
heedless as I sped, I saw that which checked me ere I dashed into the
open; which drove me to one side, softly and breathlessly, where I could
see without chance of discovery.
The Dryad had come home. I know that I can but poorly describe the scene
to-night, but had I possessed pen and paper at that moment my plight
would have been the same, or worse. About half of the little woodland
court was whitened by the radiance from above, and the other portion was
in alternate light and shadow. But even in this portion--which was next
to me--a moving form could be plainly seen. The wildest, most bizarre,
most graceful dance was in progress. Celeste was all in white; a loose,
flowing robe with wing-like sleeves which waved and fluttered from her
outstretched arms. Upon her head was a wreath of great, bell-shaped,
snowy flowers, and draped loosely about her waist was a garland
similarly wrought. They were the exquisite blooms of the jimson weed,
that humble plant which grows undisturbed in every country barn lot in
Kentucky. Back and forth and around she sped, in the intricate steps of
a dance which made me dizzy to behold. Once she passed near my
hiding-place--so near that I heard the quick intake of her breath and
caught the gleam of her teeth back of her parted lips. I saw the
expression on her face, too, as she whirled by, and it was one of purest
enjoyment. The Satyr was piping and dancing, too. Weird and fantastic he
was, with the tails of his long coat flapping behind, and the sugar-loaf
hat atop his head. Time and again he measured the diameter of the glade,
turning when he had crossed it to retrace his route. His movements were
very much like those of a cake walker on parade. His middle was thrust
out, his shoulders back, and his face was turned squarely to the sky.
The goat-tuft bobbed and shook with each prancing step, and ever came
that wonderful music, which he had taken from music's source.
Charmed into passiveness for the time, I crouched and stared at this
strange sight. Then all at once the dancers abandoned the separate
figures they had been treading, joined hands, his left in her right, and
the Satyr, playing with one hand only, began a flute-like, dreamy
movement, to whose bewitching melody they started afresh, an entirely
different measure. This continued for a minute or more, not without a
degree of stateliness, then, abruptly as a lightning flash, the Satyr
sprang away from his partner with a burst of yelling laughter wholly
uncivilized, and furiously began the Song of the Storm Wind. I had heard
it before, but not as now. As if inspired to newer effort, each began to
run. It was half race, half dance now, for even in the seeming
carelessness of this rout I detected certain steps executed with regard
to time and rhythm. Never had I seen such an extraordinary performance!
The very contrast of the participants rendered it unique, but this
unconscious revival of rites which had passed away centuries ago lent a
deeper and more enigmatical significance to it all. There was nothing
unseemly in this revel, if I may call it such. It was simply an
expression of their love for the forest which had cradled and nurtured
them. In everything but this common affection they were far apart, but
in worshiping at Nature's shrine they were one. Each felt the call to
the still places, and if we, whom life has cruelly thrust among brick
walls and stone streets and steel towers pine for such things until our
very souls cry out, how much more should they slip out alone to take
their joy of them. That was all it amounted to, and even my jealous eye
could find naught at which to carp. Two children had come forth to
gambol, nothing more.
The pace set by the Song of the Storm Wind was too furious to continue
long. Presently the climax was reached, and Jeff flung himself upon the
ground like a tired boy, his thin legs outstretched, his body inclined
backward and supported by his arms thrust out behind him. Celeste
stopped near me, almost in the center of the moonlighted space, and
throwing her arms high she bent her head sideways and gave a deep, happy
sigh. I knew it was happy, for her countenance was tenderly aglow.
Quickly I advanced and stood before her, both hands outheld.
"Dryad! O little Dryad! I have missed you so!"
A startled look came to her face, but it passed on the instant, and with
a low, inarticulate cry she took one step and put her palms on mine.
Another instant both my arms were around her and I was pressing her
closer, closer, closer, calling her all the precious names which only
lovers know, kissing her face, her warm, sweet lips, her tumbled hair.
Her arms went about my neck, her soft young body sank trembling upon my
breast. She was mine! What we said the next fifteen minutes does not
need transcription. Her words formed the most divine speech which ever
fell from mortal lips, but there are fools abroad in the world who would
not understand, so I forbear. Then, her arm in mine, we walked toward
the Satyr, still in his unconventional attitude of rest. As we drew
nearer, I saw that his ugly face bore an expression which indicated that
he was scandalized beyond measure at the meeting he had witnessed. I was
preparing to hail him jocularly, for my heart beat high with happiness
which almost made me dizzy, when his features became convulsed in a look
of mortal terror, and I knew that he was gazing at something behind me.
I had heard no sound, but intuition now flashed me the needed warning.
With the arm linked in hers I flung Celeste forward and from me as far
as I could and wheeled at the same instant with the agility and ferocity
of a tiger. I knew what I would see, but I was totally unprepared for
the truly horrible spectacle which confronted me.
The smith was almost upon us. Bareheaded he came, stark naked to the
waist. Barefooted, too, he was. His huge, hairy chest and arms, his
bearded face and neck, and the long, unkempt hair of his head, invested
him with a certain hideousness which might well have sent a tremor of
fear to the stoutest heart. He was gnashing his teeth like a wolf--I
could hear them click plainly--and muttering throaty, guttural sounds of
wrath. He checked his rush short when I turned and faced him, and stood
ten feet away, glaring insanely from me to Celeste, from Celeste to me.
His mind was gone; I knew it then. As I waited his attack, he gave vent
to a yell which was a fearful mingling of screech and laugh, stooped as
though about to charge me, then, with motions so swift I could not
comprehend his hellish purpose, he swung a short, thick club which he
held and cast it with all his might--at Celeste! It sang fiendishly by
my ear, I heard a scream, and there my Dryad was lying on the ground, a
crumpled bit of white in the shadow-flecked glade. For a moment the
night grew black. The darkness passed. I looked again. Jeff Angel was
bending over her. I could not go to her yet. Time to bury my dead when
her murderer--A new sound dispelled the numbing lethargy which this
devil's blow had thrown upon me. It was Buck laughing. He was bending
over, his hands on his knees, and his insane merriment was grating and
mechanical. I sprang for him then; silent, grim. He jumped aside with a
gibing croak, and, yielding to some reasonless vagary, whirled and ran.
I was after him ere he had measured his first leap, for now I was
harried by the hounds of Despair and Hate, and my life had been shorn of
all aim and purpose but one. That one I knew I would accomplish--knew I
must accomplish, or be a curse unto myself forever.
Buck ran with the speed of a greyhound, leaping now and then into the
air like a demoniac, and striking out with his fists as he did so. He
was never silent. Now he was shrieking his blood-chilling laugh, now
shouting disjointed sentences in a voice which had ceased to be human,
now singing something which might have been a war-chant of the Huns for
all its consonantal slurring and meager scope. Neither did he ever look
behind. He had taken the natural lane down which I had come, and down
which he had doubtless followed me on unshod, noiseless feet. I put
forth my strongest efforts and tried to overtake him. Though I ran
steadily and with scientific care, and he expended strength and
sacrificed distance during his numerous upward bounds, I could not gain
an inch. I doubt if such a pursuit was ever undertaken before. A
half-naked, hairy, maniac-giant leading, and a sane man well-nigh as
big, whose holiest feelings had been outraged, following. On we swept
through the checkered spaces of the forest, our progress accompanied by
that rumbling chant suggestive of forgotten ages. I do not know how such
things are, but it may have been that the slumbering strain transmitted
through many generations from some ancient warrior ancestor who lived
and fought when the world was young, had been quickened in the primitive
brain when reason left it. He had ceased laughing and mouthing
indistinguishable words now, but with every breath there rolled out the
sonorous staves of this chant of a remote past.
We reached the base of Bald Knob, and here, instead of holding to the
ravine which led around it, Buck swerved into the road leading up. He
was going to the Lodge. Well and good. I would as soon end it on the
plateau as elsewhere. Through the weeds and vines which choked the
ascent we crashed, and as I gained the level in front of the Lodge I saw
with joy that I had lessened the distance between us. Buck sped straight
toward the open door, and I flew to overtake him, for that which had to
be had best occur in the open. In vain. I could not catch this
Mercury-footed Vulcan. As I looked to see him disappear within the
house, he made a dextrous flank movement and circled it. Instantly I was
on his track again. Now he had set his face toward the belt of
evergreens which loomed blackly above us in the brilliant moonshine. A
dread seized me. Was it his sly intention to reach this shelter first,
and hide ere I could come up? I harbored this idea only a second. This
being did not fear me. That he had run when I sought to attack him was
due solely to some antic twist of his unaccountable mind. Any moment his
mood might change. The dense gloom swallowed him, but still, a guide
through the darkness, floated back the chant. How he could keep it up
under such fearful exertion I could not understand. He must have been
made of iron and steel. I pressed on. Bursting through the furthest edge
of the encircling band of trees, I saw him once more. He had quit
running, as this was practically impossible here, and was toiling up the
steep slope silently, for his song had at last ceased. I stood a moment,
legs apart, my chest heaving laboredly, for I felt the hard chase. Up
went the great figure, grisly in its seeming now--up toward the peak.
A remembrance of that white, crumpled form lying in the glade assailed
me poignantly, and starting beneath it as under the touch of white-hot
iron, I shouted a frightful curse, and threw myself at the acclivity. I
must reach there when he did. I must top the crest at the same time, so
that he would have no chance to make a descent on the other side. For a
while I ran, though the task was Herculean, goaded as I was into
temporary madness by the stinging thought of my lost love. So it was I
came within my own length of the climbing demoniac, who never yet had
cast a glance behind him, and who even now, though he must have heard my
progress, went directly on, without a sign. It was gruesome. In the
midst of the inferno wherein my soul burned I recognized the uncanny
strangeness of the scene. Night. A wilderness. A towering gray-white
peak of earth, and on its slope two crawling specks, one bent on--God
knows what!--the other intent on revenge. The law of Moses reigned
supreme in my mind that night: forgotten was the law of Christ.
Forgotten, or ignored. I knew no law. I was reduced to that simple plane
where I was going to claim a life--a base and worthless life in exchange
for the pure and priceless one he had taken. The united logic of all the
united churches in Christendom or out could not have convinced me that I
was wrong.
We reached the last ascent, almost perpendicular, and here I expected
the smith to hesitate, or halt. He did neither. He put himself at it
immediately, and I imitated him. His going here was swifter than mine.
It must have been because of his bare feet, which allowed him to grasp,
cling and thrust with his sinewy toes. As we slowly neared the top he
had drawn away from me for an appreciable distance. I increased my
efforts. If I lost him now I probably never would see him again. I saw
his huge arms, looking like moss-draped limbs, shoot up, and his fingers
grip the top of the peak. I shut my teeth and my eyes and put out all
there was in me. Now I was up, and yonder--yonder was Buck, crouched
just across from me at the further rim, preparing evidently to descend,
for one leg was over the rather abrupt edge. I could not reach him; he
would slip down and be gone before I could make the passage, brief
though it was. My hand rested upon a small stone. Impelled by impulse
more than by reason, I threw the stone at him. It struck him a smarting
blow on one arm, and he turned with a snarl, half squatting, half
sitting.
"Murderer!" I gasped; "come back and fight!" I cannot say if he
understood. I doubt it, but my voice acted as a supplementary irritant
to the cast stone. I heard the infuriate grinding of his teeth as he
rose up, and came plunging toward me with the intention to hug. I had no
wish for these tactics, and dodged just enough to escape him. Thereat he
sent forth a roar, wheeled, and struck at me. The blow was not gauged at
all, and I had no trouble warding it. Then for a little while we stood
face to face, not over five feet between us, while our heavy
respirations were the only sounds. Closely as I watched him, his
subtlety exceeded my caution. He feigned to draw back, as if to circle,
and the next moment was speeding toward me through the air in a
prodigious leap. I might have avoided his onset; I do not know. But even
as I saw him in mid-air the desperate resolve was born within me to end
the score, and that quickly. So, instead of attempting any action which
would mean delay, I gathered my strength and leaped to meet him! We
crashed together both from earth, and locked with such holds as we could
find. We came to our knees from the terrific force of the impact, and
there for a while we stayed, chest to chest, and cheek to cheek. The
deep, strained breath of the smith hissed by my ear in heavy gusts, and
I was in no better strait, for my lungs seemed on fire and my
inhalations brought no respite from the torture. It could not have been
long that we remained thus, and while the lull lasted our embrace was so
intense that we were as one body. Buck made the first move, for I was
content to continue as we were for a time, and so recover in a measure
from the exhaustion caused by the run and the steep climb. All at once I
was aware that the steel-like bands which encircled me were pressing
deeper into my flesh, with a suddenness and a violence which was
terrifying. For a second I writhed, then the muscles of my back
responded, and I felt them ridging and swelling in resistance. Now my
body was wrapped and swathed in rigid folds of strength, and I strove to
force my adversary backward. My brain was veiled in a bloody mist, and
angry seas dashed and thundered in my ears, but I knew that he was
yielding! Teeth set, eyes bulging, I called again upon myself, but now
the shaggy head dropped forward, and the fiend bit me savagely between
shoulder and neck. The shock of the pain caused me to relax, and moved
by a common impulse we arose to our feet. Then I saw his face, and had I
not been well-nigh as crazy as he, the sight would have shaken every
nerve. His curled-back lips were wet and red with my blood, his face
expressed the insane rage which filled him, and his eyes--his eyes will
haunt me to my last day, for there was no meaning in them whatever! Just
two glassy, protruding orbs shining vacantly in the peaceful moonlight.
Then he laughed; hollow, hoarse and rattling, and caught up again that
devilish, rune-like battle-chant. It was only a momentary respite which
came after we were up. This time I took the initiative, and at once
closed with him silently. New strength had come to the smith, and during
the next minute I was off my feet more than once, dragged bodily from
the ground by his superb might. The spot where we fought was perhaps ten
yards across, was almost perfectly flat, and was covered with a sort of
granular deposit which prevented us from slipping. Over this narrow area
we tugged and strove, sometimes approaching dangerously near the edge,
but eventually working back to safer ground. If he had only ceased that
brain-racking, heathenish litany! But after a time it came in gasps, and
jerks, for despite his marvelous stamina, my enemy began at last to feel
the strain. How long we battled upon the peak I do not know, but there
came a time when I felt that I had been fighting Buck Steele since the
dawn of creation. I was sore from head to foot; dizzy, and growing weak,
but I was assured that his case was no better. So, locked like two stags
which war to the death, we staggered and sprawled hither and yonder.
Then our efforts became automatic, for each had reached the point where
he was incapable of intelligent action. Suddenly the moon fell from
heaven, straight down to the top of the forest. Then it rebounded back
into the sky, and began a series of most erratic movements. At this the
glimmer of sense which I yet retained made me grow afraid. I knew that
my limit had been reached. Then was projected upon that spark of
conscious mentality the picture of my stricken Dryad--and now I laughed!
Yea, laughed wildly and mirthlessly, as I slid one arm under the smith's
huge hams, and in a resistless access of frenzied power lifted his vast
bulk as I would have raised an infant. If he struggled I did not know
it, for in that supreme moment a Titan had come to earth. To the
flume-like chute I bore him and cast him down it--down to darkness and
to hell!
* * * * *
How I got back to the Lodge I do not know. But as I tottered to the open
door, behold! there stood 'Crombie before the fireplace, the Satyr
crouched on a box, and sitting near the table was my Dryad!