The pass grew ever steeper, but now that the travellers were no longer
pestered by the Obobbomans they managed to struggle slowly on. And near
about sunset they had tugged their way to the top, and came out again
upon the mountain-side. They spread out their blankets and threw
themselves down, panting, bruised, and outwearied. But they made no fire
here yet, because their wood was running short, and all that they had
would be needed against the small hours of the night. They nibbled at
their blue cheese and a few cold eagle-bones, and, having cut one of
their skin-bags to pieces, broke up the frozen milk and shared the lumps
between them.
Thumb and Nod crouched down beside Thimble, who was now awake and in his
own mind. And they told him all that had happened since his megrims had
come on. He was still weak and fretful, and turned his eyes hastily from
sight of the mouldy cheese the Mountain-mulgars were nibbling. But he
sucked a few old Ukka-nuts. Then they lifted him gently, and with an arm
round Thumb's neck and a hand on Nod's shoulder, they walked him awhile
quietly in the snow.
While the brothers were thus walking friendly together, Ghibba groped
his way up to them.
"I come, Royal Travellers," he said, "to tell you that here our country
ends. Zut lies now behind us. Yonder stretches the Shadow Country, and
my people know the way no farther."
The three brothers turned their heads to look, and on their cudgel-hand,
about two leagues distant, stood Solmi; to the west, and a little in
front of them, M[=o][=o]t and Makkri. Upon the topmost edge of the
snow-slope at the foot of which they were now encamped ran a long, low
border of a kind of thorn-bush, huddling among great rocks and boulders,
resembling a little the valleys of the Babbab[=o][=o]mas.
"You mean, O Man of the Mountains, whose friendship has been our very
lives to us," said Thumb, "that now we must journey on alone?"
"No, Mulla-mulgar; I mean only that here the Moona country, my people's
country, ends, and therefore that I cannot now be certain of the way to
the Valleys of Tishnar. But this I do know: that beyond here is thick
with the snares of N[=o][=o]manossi. But if the Mulgar Princes and the
Nizza-neela Eengenares, who saved my kinsman's life, would have it so,
and are not weary of our company, then I and my people will journey on
with them till they come to an end. We know from childhood these
desolate mountains. They are our home. We eat little, drink little, and
can starve as quietly as an icicle can freeze. If need be (and I do not
boast, Mulla-mulgars), we Thin-shanks can march softly all day for many
days, and not fall by the way. We are, I think, merely Leather-men, not
meant for flesh and blood. But the Mulla-mulgars have fought with us,
and we are friends. And I myself am friend to the last sleep of the
small Prince, Nizza-neela, who has the colour of Tishnar in his eyes.
Shall it be farewell, Travellers? Or shall we journey on together?"
The brothers looked at the black and thorn-set trees, at the towering
rocks, at the wastes of the beautiful snows. They looked with
astonishment at this old, half-blind mountaineer with his lean, sinewy
arms, and hill-bent legs, and his bandaged eyes. And Thumb lifted his
hands in salutation to Ghibba, as if he were a Mulla-mulgar himself.
"Why should we lead you into strange dangers, O Man of the Mountains,"
he grunted--"maybe to death? But if you ask to come with us, if we have
only to choose, how can I and my brothers say no? We will at least be
friends who do not part while danger is near, and though we never reach
the Valley, Tishnar befriends the Meermuts of the brave. Let us, then,
go on together."
So Ghibba went back to his people, and told them what Thumb had said.
And being now agreed together, they all hobbled off but three, who were
left to guard the bundles, to break and cut down wood, and to see if
perhaps among the thorns grew any nut-trees. But they found none; and
for their pains were only scratched and stung by these waste-trees which
bear a deadly poison in their long-hooked thorns. This poison, like the
English nettle, causes a terrible itch to follow wherever the thorns
scratch. So that the travellers could get no peace from the stinging and
itching except by continually rubbing the parts in snow wherever the
thorns had entered.
And Nod, while they were stick-gathering, kept close to Ghibba.
"Tell me, Prince of the Mountains," he said, "what are these nets of
N[=o][=o]manossi of which you spoke to my brother Thumb? What is there
so much to fear?"
Ghibba had sat himself down in the snow to pluck a thorn out of his
foot. "I will tell the Prince a tale," he said, stooping over his
bundle.
"Long time ago came to our mountains a Mulgar travelling alone. My
kinsmen think oftener of him than any stranger else, because,
Mulla-mulgar, he taught us to make fire. He was wayworn and full of
courage, but he was very old. And he, too, was journeying to the Valleys
of Tishnar. But he was, too, a silent Mulgar, never stirred his tongue
unless in a kind of drone at evening, and told us little of himself
except in sleep."
"What was he like?" said Nod. "Was he mean and little, like me, or tall
and bony, like my brother Thimble, or fat, like the Mulla-mulgar, my
eldest brother, Thumb?"
"He was," said Ghibba, "none of these. He was betwixt and between. But
he wore a ragged red jacket, like those of the Mulgars, and on his
woman-hand stood no fourth finger."
"Was the little woman-finger newly gone, or oldly gone?" said Nod.
"I was younger then, Nizza-neela, and looked close at everything. It
was newly gone. The stump was bald and pale red. He was, too, white in
the extreme, this old Mulgar travelling out of Munza. Every single hair
he carried had, as it were, been dipped in Tishnar's meal."
"I believe--oh, but I do believe," said Nod, "this poor old traveller
was my father, the Mulla-mulgar Seelem, of the beautiful Valleys."
"Then," said Ghibba, jerking his faggot on to his back, and turning
towards the camp, "he was a happy Mulgar, for he has brave sons."
"Tell me more," said Nod. "What did he talk about? Did he speak ever of
Ummanodda? How long did he stay with the Mulla-moonas? Which way did he
go?"
"Lead on, then," said Ghibba, peering under his bandage.
"Here go I," said Nod, touching his paw.
"He followed the mountain-paths with my own father," said Ghibba, "and
lived alone for many days in one of our Spanyards,[7] for he was worn
out with travel, and nearly dead from lying down to drink out of a
Quickkul-fish pool. But after five days, while he was still weak, he
rose up at daybreak, crying out in Munza-mulgar he could remain with us
no longer. So my people brought him, as I have brought you, to this
everlasting snow-field, where he said farewell and journeyed on alone."
[7] I suppose, huts or burrowings.
"Had he a gun?" said Nod.
"What is a gun, Nizza-neela?"
"What then--what then?" cried Nod impatiently.
"Two nights afterwards," continued the old Mulgar, "some of my people
came up to the other end of the gorge of the Long-noses. There they
found him, cold and bleeding, in his second sleep. The Long-noses had
pelted him with stones till they were tired. But it was not their stones
that had driven him back. He would not answer when the Men of the
Mountains came whispering, but sat quite still, staring under his black
arches, as if afraid. After two days more he rose up again, crying out
in another voice, like a Môh-mulgar. So we came again with him, two
'ropes' of us, along the walks the traveller knows. And towards evening,
with his bag of nuts and water-bottle, in his rags of Juzana, he left us
once more. Next morning my father and my people came one or two together
to where we sit, and--what did they see?"
"_What_ did they see?" Nod repeated, with frightened eyes.
"They did see only this," said Ghibba: "footsteps--one-two, one-two,
just as the Mulla-mulgar walks--all across the snow beyond the
thorn-trees. But they did see also other footsteps, slipping, sliding,
and here and there a mark as if the traveller had fallen in the snow,
and all these coming _back_ from the thorn-trees. And at the beginning
of the ice-path was a broken bundle of nuts strewn abroad, but uneaten,
and the shreds of a red jacket. Water-bottle there was none, and Mulgar
there was none. We never saw or heard of that Mulgar again."
"O Man of the Mountains," cried Nod, "where, then, is my father now?"
Ghibba stooped down and peered under his bandage close into Nod's small
face. "I believe, Eengenares, your father--if that Mulgar was your
father--is happy and safe now in the Valleys of Tishnar."
"But," said Nod, "he must have come back again out of his wits with fear
of the Country of Shadows."
"Why," said Ghibba, "a brave Mulgar might come back once, twice, ten
times; but while one foot would swing after the other, he might still
arise in the morning and try again. 'On, on,' he would say. 'It is
better to die, going, than to live, come-back.'"
And Nod comforted himself a little with that. Perhaps he would yet meet
his father again, riding on Tishnar's leopard-bridled Zevveras;
perhaps--and he twisted his little head over his shoulder--perhaps even
now his Meermut haunted near.
"But tell me--tell me _this_, Mountain-mulgar: What was the fear which
drove him back? What feet so light ran after him that they left no
imprint in the snow? Whose shadow-hands tore his jacket to pieces?"
Ghibba threw down his bundle of twigs, and rubbed his itching arms with
snow.
"That, Mulla-mulgar," he said, smiling crookedly, "we shall soon find
out for ourselves. If only I had the Wonderstone hung in my beard, I
should go singing."
Nod opened his mouth as if to speak, and shut it again. He stared hard
at those bandaged eyes. He glanced across at the black, huddling
thorn-trees; at the Mountain-mulgars, going and returning with their
faggots; at Thimble lying dozing in his litter. All the while betwixt
finger and thumb he squeezed and pinched his Wonderstone beneath the
lappet of his pocket.
Should he tell Ghibba? Should he wait? And while he was fretting in
doubt whether or no, there came a sharp, short yelp, and suddenly out of
the thorn-trees skipped a Mountain-mulgar, and came scampering
helter-skelter over the frozen snow, yelping and chattering as he ran.
Following close behind him lumbered Thumb, who hobbled a little way,
then stopped and turned back, staring.
"Why do you dance in the snow, my poor child? What ails you?" mocked
Ghibba, when the Mountain-mulgar had drawn near. "Have you pricked your
little toe?"
The Mountain-mulgar cowered panting by the fire which Ghibba had
kindled. And for a long while he made no answer. So Nod scrambled on his
fours up the crusted slope of snow. He passed, as he went, two or three
of the Men of the Mountains whimpering and whispering. But none of them
could tell him what they feared. At last he reached Thumb, who was still
standing, stooping in the snow, staring silently towards the clustering
thorn-trees.
"What is it, brother?" said Nod, as he came near. "What is it, brother?
Why do you crouch and stare?"
"Come close, Ummanodda," said Thumb. "Tell me, is there anything I see?"
They hobbled a little nearer, and stood stooping together with eyes
fixed.
[Illustration: "WHAT IS IT, BROTHER? WHY DO YOU CROUCH AND STARE?"]
These thorn-trees, as dense as holly, but twisted and huddled, grew not
close together, but some few paces apart, as if they feared each other's
company. Between them only purest snow lay, on which evening shed its
light. And now that the sun was setting, leaning his beams on them from
behind M[=o][=o]t, their gnarled and spiny branches were all aflame with
scarlet. It was utterly still. Nod stood with wide-open eyes. And softly
and suddenly, he hardly knew how or when, he found himself gazing into a
face, quiet and lovely, and as it were of the beauty of the air. He
could not stir. He had no time to be afraid. They stood there, these
clumsy Mulgars, so still that they might have been carved out of wood.
Yet, thought Nod afterwards, he was not afraid. He was only startled at
seeing eyes so beautiful beneath hair faint as moonlight, between the
thorn-trees, smiling out at him from the coloured light of sunset. Then,
just as suddenly and as softly, the face was gone, vanished.
"Thumb, Thumb!" he whispered, "surely I have seen the eyes of a
wandering Midden of Tishnar?"
"Hst!" said Thumb harshly; "there, there!" He pointed towards one of the
thorn-trees. Every branch was quivering, every curved, speared leaf
trembling, as if a flock of silvery Parrakeetoes perched in the upper
branches, where there are no thorns, or as if scores of the tiny
Spider-mulgars swung from twig to twig. The next moment it was
still--still as all the others that stood around, afire with the last
sunbeams. Yet nothing had come, nothing gone.
"Acch magloona nani, Nod," called Thumb, afraid, "lagoosla sul majeela!"
They scuttled back, without once turning their heads, to the fire, where
all the Hill-mulgars were sitting. Whispering together they were, too,
as they nibbled their cheese and sipped slowly from their gurgling,
narrow-mouthed bags or bottles. They had carried Thimble close to the
fire, and Ghibba was roasting nuts for him. Thumb and Nod came down and
seated themselves beside Ghibba, but they had agreed together to say
nothing of what they had seen, for fear of affrighting Thimble, who was
still weak in head and body, and continually shivering. And Nod told his
brothers all that Ghibba had told him concerning the solitary traveller.
And Thumb sat listening, heavy and still, with his great face towards
the huddling thorns that wooded the height.
So they talked and talked, sitting together, round about their fire. The
twigs of these thorns burn marvellous clear with colours, and at each
thorn-tip, as the flame licks near, wells out and gathers a milk-pale
globe of poison that, drying, bursts in the heat. So all the fire is
continually a-crackle, amidst a thin smoke of a smell like nard. Never
before had so bright a bonfire blazed upon these hills. For the Men of
the Mountains never camp beyond the pass, and the Long-noses have not
even the wits to keep a fire fed with fuel. But as the day wore on, and
when all the feather-smoke had dispersed, they assembled in hundreds
upon hundreds, sitting a long distance off, all their noses stuck out
towards the blaze, snuffing the cloudy fragrance of the nard. But they
were too much afraid of the travellers to venture near now that they
were free men and out of the pass.
The sun had set, but the moon was at full, and the travellers determined
to go forward at once. It was agreed that every one should carry a
bundle of sticks on his shoulders, also a stout cudgel or staff; that
they should march close in rows of four, with Thimble's litter in their
midst; and that the Mulgar at each corner should carry a burning torch.
They made what haste they could to tie up their bundles, bottles, and
faggots, so as to lose nothing of the moon's brilliance during the long
night. She rode unclouded above the snow-fields when the little band of
Mulgar-travellers set out. As soon as they were gone, down trooped the
long-nosed Obobbomans to the fire, sniffing and scuffling, to fall
asleep at last, higgledy-piggledy, in a great squirrel-coloured ring
around the glowing embers, their noses towards the fire.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]