_A Lucky Bad Shot_
As soon as they recovered sufficient strength to desire anything more
of life than rest for their bruised and weary bodies, Wilson assumed
command of the situation. He saw nothing but a straight path to the
girl.
"We must get down to the lake," he said firmly. "Get down there and
find Sorez. If the natives are up in arms, I want to be near the girl.
I'm going to take her out of here. If the others refuse to join us,
we'll take her alone and make a dash for it."
"We oughter get our provisions first," suggested Stubbs.
"No--what strength we have left is for her."
"We'll have twice as much with grub."
"And we'll have less time."
Wilson's jaw was set. To go down the mountain and back would take at
least four hours and leave them even nearer dead than they were at
present. Aside from that, the desire to see the girl had become an
obsession. He was no longer amenable to reason. He felt the power to
dominate. In the last two days he had learned that there are at least
two essential things in life--two things a man has a right to take
where he finds them--love and water. The two lay at his feet now and
he would wait no longer. His heart burned with as hot a thirst as his
throat. Neither Sorez nor gold nor all the brown men in the universe
should balk him of them longer.
Leaning forward he gripped the arm of his comrade with a strength the
latter had not thought within him.
"Old man," he said with a new ring in his voice, "you must follow me
the rest of this journey. I've got down to one thing now--just one
thing. I'm going to find this girl--I'm going to take her into these
two arms--and I'm going to carry her out of here and never let her go.
Do you understand? And there isn't gold enough, nor men enough, nor
heathen images enough in the world to stop me now. We're going back,
Stubbs--the girl and I--we're going back, and God help those who get
in our way."
At first Stubbs thought this was the fever, but as he looked at the
tense face, the locked jaw, the burning eyes, he saw it was only a man
in earnest. Some spark within his own breast warmed to life before
this passion. He put out his hand.
"An' I signs with you right here."
"I've turned aside for things all I'm going to," ran on Wilson,
excitedly. "Now I'm going over them. I'm going straight--I'm going
hard--and I'm not going to turn my back on her again for a second. Do
you understand, Stubbs? She's mine and I'm going to take her."
"You won't have to take her, if you feel that way," answered Stubbs.
"What d' you mean?"
"She'll go, boy--she'll go through Hell with you with thet look in
your eyes."
"Then come on," shouted Wilson, with quite unnecessary fierceness.
"I'm going to pull out of this heathen web."
The two men rose to their tired feet, every muscle protesting, and
before dark Stubbs learned how little the body counts, how little
anything counts, before the will of a man who has focused the might of
his soul upon a single thing. They moved down ever towards the blue
lake which blinked back at the sun like a blue-eyed babe. Their rifles
pressed upon their shoulders like bars of lead; their heavy feet were
numb; their eyes bulged from their heads with the strain of keeping
them open. Of the long, bitter struggle, it is enough to say that it
was a sheer victory over the impossible. Each mile was a blank, yet
they pressed forward, Wilson ever in the lead, Stubbs ever plodding
behind. It was almost as though they were automatons galvanized by
some higher intelligence, for their own had become numbed save to the
necessity of still dragging their feet ahead. In this way they reached
the shores of the lake; in this way they circled it; in this way they
neared the hut of Flores. Stumbling along the trail, guided by some
instinct, Wilson raised his head at the sight of two figures sitting
in the sun by the door of the hut; one was the girl, he saw that
clearly enough, for to his own vision it was as the sun breaking
through low-hanging clouds; but the other--he motioned Stubbs to halt.
The two had made no noise, coming up through the undergrowth from the
lake, and were now able to conceal themselves partly behind a sort of
high bush. Had those in the hut been alert, the two could not have
escaped detection, but so intent they seemed upon their conversation
that a dozen men might have approached. Wilson tried to control
himself; he wished to make sure. Steadying himself by a grip upon the
shoulder of Stubbs, he looked again. Then bending close to his
comrade's ear, he asked him--waiting without drawing breath for
reply,--
"Who is it?"
The answer came charged with bitterness,
"The Priest!"
Wilson lowered his rifle. The Priest was sitting some two feet from
the girl, against the hut, his head thrown back as though he were
trying hard to think. Wilson was a good shot; he had as a boy amused
himself by the hour with his small, twenty-two caliber rifle. At this
moment, however, his sight was none of the best and his hand anything
but steady. Stubbs signaled him to let him try the shot, but Wilson
would not trust him. He had no doubt but that the Priest had killed
Sorez and was now holding the girl a prisoner, perhaps even
anticipating her death. It was his duty, his privilege, to set her
free. He fitted the stock of the weapon into his armpit, and raised
the barrel. His hand was weak; the gun trembled so that he dared not
shoot. Stubbs saw this and, stepping in front of him, motioned him to
rest the barrel on his shoulder. With this support he found his aim
steadier. He purposely gave a bit of a margin to the right, so that in
case of any deflection the error would be away from the girl. He
pulled the trigger.
When the wisp of smoke cleared away, Wilson saw that both figures were
upon their feet--the girl in the arms of the priest who held her close
to him as though to protect her. Their eyes were upon him. The girl
stared in terror, then in surprise, and now, struggling free, stood as
though looking at an apparition.
Wilson understood nothing of this. His brain was now too slow working
to master fresh details. He still grasped nothing but the fact that
the girl was there and by her side the man who had proved himself a
mortal enemy. He raised his weapon once more.
With a scream the girl ran straight ahead towards him, in line with
the astonished man by the hut. As she ran she called,
"David! David! David!"
He heard the call and, dropping the rifle, staggered towards her. He
held out his arms to her and she checked her steps, studying his eyes
as though to make sure he was sane. He stood motionless but there was
a prayer in his silent lips, in his eyes, in his outstretched arms.
She took another little step towards him, then, without further
hesitation, came to his side and placed her head upon his shoulder. He
folded his arms over her heaving shoulders--he rested his cheek upon
her black hair--he whispered her name again and again.
So they stood, Stubbs and the Priest both staring at them as at the
central figures upon the stage, until she raised her head to look once
more into his eyes. He saw her lips within a few inches of his own,
but he dared not kiss them yet. It was odd--he had never in his life
spoken an audible word of love to her--had never written of love to
her--and yet he knew that she knew all that had been unsaid, even as
he did. There had never been need of words with them. Love had been
developed in the consciousness of each in silence and in loneliness,
but had moved to this climax as surely and as inevitably as though
foreordained. He had but to look down into her eyes now and all was
said; she had but to look into his, even deadened as they were by
fatigue, to read all her heart craved. Her breath came in little
gasps.
"David--David, you have come for me again!"
"For the last time," he answered.
"You are never going to let me go again, are you, David?"
"Never," he answered fiercely.
"Ah! hold me tight, David."
He drew her more firmly to him.
"Tighter! Tighter!" she whispered.
He crushed her against his pounding heart. He ached with the joy of
it. But with the relief from the heavy burden of fear which had for so
long weighed him down, nature asserted herself and forced down his
leaden eyelids. She felt him sinking in her arms and freed herself.
With her hands upon his shoulders she drew back and looked hungrily at
him. His sandy hair was tangled and frowsy, his eyes shot with tiny
threads of red, his cheeks bronzed and covered with a shaggy light
beard. His clothes were tattered, and about his waist there dangled a
circle of leather bags. He was an odd enough looking figure. By some
strange chance she had never seen him in other than some uncouth garb;
drenched with rain, draped in an Oriental lounging robe, with a
cartridge belt about his waist, and covered with sweat and powder
grime, and now in this.
Both were brought back to the world about them by a shot from Stubbs.
He had fired at the Priest and missed. It was as though the man led a
charmed life. The girl raised her hand as Stubbs was about to fire
again.
"Don't! Don't! You are making a terrible mistake. This isn't the
Priest--he is my father."
The phrase awoke even the sleeping sense of these men.
"Your father!" exclaimed Wilson.
But the man was coming towards them--steadily, and yet as if in a sort
of daze.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
The eyes, the high cheek-bones, the thin lips, were those of the
Priest, but the voice was different. It had lost something of its
harshness--something, too, of its decisiveness. The girl interrupted,
"This is no time for explanations. Come into the hut. We must rest
first."
She led the way, keeping a tight grip upon Wilson's arm, steadying
him. Stubbs and he whom they had known as the Priest followed.
Within the hut Flores and his wife, still bewildered by the sudden
conversion of the Priest from an enemy to a friend (understanding
nothing of what had happened), crouched far into the rear overcome
with genuine awe and reverence for the guardian of their god in his
new character. Threats had driven them to rebellion while kindliness
now made of them abject slaves. They stood ready to obey his slightest
wish--not with cravenness, but with quick reversion to the faith of
their ancestors. But he acted as though he did not see them--as
though, in fact, he saw nothing of anything about him save the girl.
He followed her with his eyes with almost childlike eagerness and
greeted a glance from her with almost pathetic joy. He spoke little,
apparently finding difficulty in expressing himself--in forming his
scattered thoughts into correct sentences. His whole appearance was
that of a man freed after a long imprisonment. The only thing of his
present surroundings which he now grasped perfectly was his
relationship with the girl. He was reviving old-time joys in his
daughter.
But Jo herself, even in the freshness of her happiness over the
unexpected success of her long journey, had found an even greater
interest in this newer passion. She spread a blanket for Wilson in a
corner of the hut and forced him to lie down here and give himself up
to sleep. Stubbs sank to the ground in the sun where he stood outside
and fell into a stupor.
Hour after hour the girl sat at Wilson's side as though guarding his
rest, and in this gentle task she found a new conception of happiness.
Near her, during the long vigil, sat her father, while in and out,
softly as two shadows, moved Flores and his wife.
Wilson awoke long before Stubbs and insisted upon getting up. There
were many things to be learned and many things to be done. He realized
that they were still in the heart of a hostile country and that if
they were to get out safely, time could not be wasted in sleep. What
part this man whom he still thought of as the Priest would play, he
had no idea.
The girl told him as much of the odd story as she had gathered,
beginning with her own arrival in the hut. Manning's memory dated from
the blow on the raft. Back of this he skipped an interval of fifteen
years. Even there his memory was cloudy. He recalled vaguely having
joined an expedition which had for its object prospecting in these
mountains, but who the others of the party were he did not know. He
remembered hazily the trip over the mountains and a battle with a
party of natives. He was injured and after this was sick a long
while. As far as he was concerned he had been unconscious ever since
that time. Of his recovery, of the strange sequence of events which
caused him to take up a life among the Chibcas, who elevated him
finally into the position of high priest, of the fanatical devotion to
his trust which had driven him across the continent and then across an
ocean to recover the image, he recalled nothing. He did not know of
the existence of an idol or of any superstition in connection with
it.
Wilson, listening, marveled, but he quickly associated this with
similar cases of dual identity brought about by brain trouble
following an accident to the skull. The psychology of the case,
however, did not at present so much interest him as the possible
consequences to them all which might follow this denouement. It
instantly occurred to him that it was doubtful if Manning in his
present condition was anything but an added menace to the party. A
half hour's questioning convinced Wilson that it was literally true
that the last fifteen years were a blank to the man and that his
mental condition at present was scarcely superior to that of a child.
Consequently, in the event of an attack by the aroused natives either
Manning would be thought to have been captured by the party, which
would bring down swift vengeance, or he would be thought to have
deserted them, which was equally sure to bring about the annihilation
of them all. The only thing to do seemed to be to keep the man out of
sight as much as possible on the journey and in the event of trouble
to hide him altogether. It seemed to him wisest not to allow them to
rest even that night but to push on. Flores, eager to do anything for
the Priest, agreed to guide them. He aroused Stubbs, and after a good
meal the party started and without incident made eight miles before
they stopped.
They found a good camping place--a sort of crude cave near a brook and
just off the trail. They built a fire and cooked a portion of the leg
of mutton which Flores had brought for them before returning. So far
they had not caught a glimpse of a native. This fact and the
excitement of actually being upon the home path banished them
completely from their minds. But that night both men agreed that each
had better take his turn at watching.
"I'll take the first watch," insisted Wilson to Stubbs. "I wouldn't
trust you to wake me up."
With a good-natured grin Stubbs submitted and threw his tired body on
the turf, making a pillow of the bags of jewels. He slept as heartily
as though snug in the bunk of a safe ship. But both the girl and her
father refused to take Wilson's advice and do likewise. Both insisted
upon sharing his watch with him. The father sat on the other side of
his daughter staring, as though still wondering, into the shadows of
the silent wood kingdom about him. He spoke but little and seemed to
be still trying to clear his thoughts.
At their backs rose the towering summits which still stood between
them and the ocean; above those the stars which from the first had
seemed to watch their lives; before them the heavy, silent shadows
which bade them be ever alert.
Wilson sat upright with his rifle over his knees. The girl nestled
against his shoulder. All was well with the world.