More than an hour elapsed before Harry Urquhart had the power to move.
The whole tragedy had been far more terrible than any nightmare, and yet
he felt just like a little child that awakens suddenly in the night, to
find himself still confronted with those horrid possibilities that can
only occur in dreams.
Night crept into the valley from the east. The glow in the heavens died
out, and one by one the stars appeared, and a great full moon, luminous
and white. The boy crept to the edge of the precipice and looked over.
He could see nothing; it was too dark to see. The whole valley was
still.
This silence was fearful in itself. It seemed to Harry that he was the
only living thing in the world. There were no voices in the night; in
the valley there was no sound of bird or beast or human being.
Harry rose to his feet, and, step by step, aided by the moonlight,
cautiously returned to the spur by way of which he had come. He was
still quite unnerved. He dared not go near the edge of the precipice;
as he advanced he clutched the mountain-side. When he came to the spur
he clambered down among the rocks in such haste that the perspiration
stood in beads upon his brow. And then a feeling of weakness overcame
him again; and, seating himself upon the ground, he endeavoured to think
matters out.
He tried to realize the full significance of what had happened. Fernando
had fulfilled his oath: he had brought about the death of the Black Dog
of the Cameroons. But he himself had perished also, and the Sunstone
had been lost. And all had happened in the space of a few seconds,
about which it was terrifying even to think.
Above all else, Harry Urquhart wanted someone to talk to; he wanted to
hear the sound of a human voice. He was still like a child awakened
from a nightmare. The loneliness of this great, howling wilderness was
crushing, overpowering. With his nerves overwrought, his courage
shaken, the eternal silence got the better of his feelings, and
suddenly, burying his face in his hands, he burst forth into tears.
He knew not why he cried. His tears were not tears of sorrow. He cried
because he had passed through a great ordeal, because he had been face
to face with Death. And, in that sense, every teardrop was the word of
a prayer to the God who controls the destinies of men.
Then, mastering his emotion, he rose to his feet and went on—he knew
not whither. After a time he came to a stream, and there he stopped,
wondering what to do.
There was food in his haversack, but he felt no inclination to eat. He
went down on his knees, and drank deeply. The water was very cold.
When he had quenched his thirst, which was like the thirst that
accompanies a fever, he felt refreshed. He even scorned himself for
having been so weak. It was then that he looked about him.
He was shut in on all sides by the great inhospitable mountains. Above
was a clear sky, bespangled with a multitude of stars, in the midst of
which the full moon shone down into the valley. Then he saw another
star, solitary, large as a planet, lower than the others. It was a star
that seemed to shine from out of the heart of the mountains.
It was some minutes before he realized what it was. Then the truth came
upon him as in a flash. It was not a star at all, but a camp-fire that
was burning on the hill-side.
The thought that he was not alone in this desolate and silent region was
like the nectar of the gods to one who is faint and weary. The boy
cared not in the least who camped on the mountainside; he decided to
find out for himself. If they were savages, they could murder him; it
would matter little to him. If they were friendly, they might allow him
to warm himself by the side of the glowing embers. At any rate he would
hear some kind of human speech.
It took him three hours to reach the fire, where he found two men,
seated facing one another. A cry of exultation escaped his lips when he
recognized Jim Braid and the younger guide.
At once Cortes sprang to his feet as if alarmed.
"Where is my brother?" he asked.
Harry tried to speak, but was not able to do so. He sank down by the
side of the fire.
"Some calamity has happened!"
Harry bowed his head.
"And the Black Dog?" asked Cortes.
"He also is dead," said Harry, speaking for the first time.
"Dead!" cried Cortes, without expression in his voice.
"Yes," said Harry. "And the Sunstone is lost, and von Hardenberg will
starve to death in the Caves of Zoroaster."
Cortes seated himself once more upon the ground, extending his hands
towards the fire. There were no tears in his eyes; his voice was
without a tremor.
"When you feel able to do so," said he, turning his face to Harry, "will
you please tell me what happened."
Harry related the story from beginning to end. He told how Fernando and
himself had followed the sheikh across the mountains, and of how they
had run the man to earth upon a narrow ledge at the top of an enormous
cliff. He then described the struggle that had taken place, with its
grim and terrible conclusion.
When the boy had finished speaking, Cortes looked up at the moon.
"In four hours," said he, "it will be daylight. We can do nothing till
then. When the dawn comes we will search for the bodies."
At that he lay down upon the ground, but it was evident he had no
intention of going to sleep.
He had shown little or no emotion on hearing of his brother’s death.
There was black blood in his veins, and, with the more savage races,
death is a simple and everyday affair. For all that, there is no reason
to suppose that he did not feel the great loss he had sustained.
A long time elapsed before Harry, too, was able to sleep. And, when at
last he did so, he was for ever struggling on the brink of an
unfathomable abyss, so that he was little rested when at daybreak he was
awakened by Cortes.
Without waiting for food, they set out at once upon their way, passing
slowly down the hill-side. They soon reached the stream, and thence
turned to the south. It was Harry who led the way. When he judged that
they were parallel to the place where the tragedy had happened, they
crossed the stream and walked straight for the cliff.
At the foot of the precipice was a kind of terrace, upon which grew
scattered trees, about the roots of one of which were boulders. Lying
on his back, across one of these rocks, they found the body of the Black
Dog of the Cameroons.
The two boys looked away whilst the guide examined the body, and then,
stooping, picked up something from the ground. Presently Cortes touched
Harry on the arm.
The boy turned and set eyes upon the Sunstone.