FEVER
Like a black wedge driven from Hkamti Long into Upper Burma, its point
touching the confluence of the Irrawaddi, lies a strip of territory that
on British maps is marked "unadministered." Outposts have been
established on either side, from Fort Hertz down to Myitkyina, paltry
stations where, in many instances, one white man and less than a company
of Gurkhas impose law upon primitive tribes. Thus, walled by
civilization yet untouched by it, the people of this black wedge live. A
peaceful lot now, this remnant of the once great Tai race.
Copper-skinned men hunt through its cathedral forests with _dah_ and
crossbow. Baboons, buffalo and musk deer roam over its hills. Reptiles
haunt the green mucous of miasmatic valleys. Fever and pestilence lurk
in the purple fungi spawned by dark jungles, in bogs and in swamps where
the stench of rotten orchids hangs like a poison-vapor.
Into this black wedge Trent traveled. Late afternoon of the ninth day
found his caravan encamped on a spit of sand reaching out into a river,
a stream that moved languorously between high canebrake. The man who sat
on a collapsible campstool before his tent, smoking, was as little like
the Englishman who got off the train at Myitkyina ten days before as
possible. His khaki breeches and flannel shirt were streaked with dust;
mud was caked upon his boots. The sun had burned him a deeper bronze,
and every variety of insect, from sandfly to blood-sucker, had left
marks upon him. A nine-days' growth of beard helped to cover tawny
fever-stains, but blotches showed on his neck and hands.... The jungle
had shown him how she initiates her neophytes.
As he sat there staring at the jade-green river, he went back, in
retrospection, over the journey--not that he derived any pleasure from
the recollections, but because his brain seemed inclined to reach behind
and he was too mentally weary to make any effort to prevent it. To him,
now, those nine days were a confused sequence. For many miles beyond the
'Nmai-hka travel was not difficult, along bridle-paths and past villages
where Kachin and Maru women, flat-featured, ugly creatures, planted
their _taungya_, and men sat outside fiber huts and chewed betel leaves;
rugged, undulating country; rivers that flung their torrents over
shallow beds and were spanned by rattan bridges, the latter impossible
for the mules. Twice, where the water was too deep, Trent had the
muleteers construct crude rafts and pole the pack-animals across. The
first time they attempted this they lost a mule. Trent would always
remember that scene: the shrieking porters on the raft, the look of the
beast as the stream wrapped foaming arms about it and dragged it down
among sharp-fanged rocks.
That night he had had his first attack of fever. For several hours he
lay on his camp-bed, harassed by ticks and bloodflies, shivering and
vomiting at intervals. Then he fell asleep, and when he awakened in the
morning, with rain drip-dripping monotonously upon tapering fronds, his
back ached and he was a furnace. All day it rained and all day Masein,
the Lisu guide, attended him. The following morning he had only a slight
temperature--a chronic touch of fever that remained for several
days--and he pressed on.
Hourly the country grew wilder. They passed through thickets and
underbrush as tall as a man. Wild pigs scurried away in the bracken, and
jungle fowl preened their wings in the shadow of groping plants, taking
flight at the appearance of human beings. The fourth night they were
close to a stretch of burning bamboo--one of those sourceless fires that
spring up and sweep over miles. It was an awesome sight, the flames
flaring crimson against the sky, like the angry vomit of a crater, the
bamboo stalks popping and crackling as loud as the rattle of
machine-guns.
Soon their trail led into great, dim forests. There the sunlight, robbed
of its pitiless blaze, sifted through interlaced branches and sucked up
moisture from the ground, creating a weird green haze. The air was
malarial, the ground ever soggy and in places treacherous. More than
once the mules sank to their bellies in bogs and fens. The miasmas
crawled with stealthy life--snakes and horrid land-crabs. Leeches bred
by the millions, and the oozy corruption exuded a thin, luminous vapor
that was warm and clammy and reeked of decayed matter. This noxious
swamp-effluvia seemed to penetrate to every crevice of Trent's being; it
saturated his brain; it tainted his thoughts. He ceased to marvel at the
wilderness of plumed flowers, of dank jungle caverns where sunlight
pulsed through the lacework of leaves in needles of white
flame--stretches where convolvulus fought for possession of every limb
and trunk, and insects rattled above stagnant pools of Death.... There
were times when a fever-film separated him from the world about him and
deprived objects of their individuality.
At night spunk shone like phantom eyes. Strange winged creatures wheeled
out of the darkness. Baboons coughed in the bush. When the moon came out
the swamps glittered like sheets of rusted gunmetal--or, if it stormed,
the great jungle-expanse seemed a chapel of terror. Often Trent tried to
read by the campfire. But invariably the print danced before his eyes.
He would lie down outside the tent, listening to the Maru porters piping
on bamboo flutes, and when he grew sleepy Masein would rub him with
alcohol.... Thus he spent his evenings.
Frequently--at dusk, dawn or midday--cool hands of memory fell with
silken lightness upon his feverish thoughts, the hands of the girl who
had become so closely woven into the fabric of his being. During those
half-delirious hours she grew to be an integral possession, a real
presence, warm and tangible.... And just as frequently, perhaps more
poignantly, he thought of Manlove. The silence, the isolation from his
kind, seemed to press deeper the realization of what had occurred.
There were moments when it seemed unreal; when the woman of the
cobra-bracelet, Chatterjee and the others that played in the drama, were
vague shapes in a shadow-show.... Or, if it had all happened, it was
long ago, dim as a dream.... That was fever.
Too, he thought of Euan Kerth and conjectured what had become of him
since that evening he hurried away in the dusk at Myitkyina. That he had
lost the trail he felt certain, although there was a chance that he
would appear unexpectedly, as he had done before--a very filmy chance.
Had he discovered where Trent was going, he would surely have
communicated with him in some way.
At several villages he inquired through Masein if another caravan had
preceded his. By the negative replies it became evident that Sarojini
Nanjee had taken another route, and he strongly suspected that she had
deliberately sent him on the longer and more difficult of the two. After
a few attempts to draw information from Masein, he decided that the Lisu
knew nothing, was simply what he was represented to be--a guide.
The country beyond the swampland afforded much better traveling. To the
west mountains were visible--faint pastels of gray and pearl and
amethyst. In rocky gashes in the earth little cataracts fumed and
tumbled, and ferns and orchids grew in damp, moss-covered hollows. Trent
shot a deer and several pheasants. The higher altitude buoyed his
spirits, as did the fresh venison and fowl after so much canned food.
He ceased thinking morose thoughts. Yet the horror and reek of those
two days in the miasmas still clung in his memory, even in his nostrils,
he sometimes imagined.
Thus, on the afternoon of the ninth day, they came to the spit of sand
reaching out into the river and pitched camp; and Trent, pipe in mouth,
sat in front of his shelter and looked at the Maru porters swimming in
the jade-green river without seeing them, while Masein gathered fuel,
and the mules, tethered near to the canebrake, swung their heads and
stamped in futile efforts to shake off leeches. There was nothing in the
scene even to suggest that an eventful night was being ushered in.
The sun dropped lower. It chased the jade-green river with gold until it
glittered like a scaly python. Fireflies glimmered in the rushes, and a
bat pursued a velvety-winged moth.... Across the stream, from a Shan
village somewhere close by, a gong sounded. The Marus, laughing, swam
across and disappeared in the high grass. Masein called after them, but
received no response, and, muttering to himself, he impaled a strip of
venison upon a stick and held it over the flame. It writhed....
A few minutes later Trent was stripped and in the water. Refreshed by a
swim, he dried himself and ate a meal of venison steak and tea. Stars
sprinkled the still flushed sky, like drippings from a silver
paint-brush, and under the spell of the jungle sunset Trent sat down in
front of his tent to smoke.
It was then that he heard a faint, staccato report--like that of a
revolver or a rifle.
It came from the hill-jungle behind the camp, and for several seconds
afterward he listened for a repetition. Masein, too, had heard, for he
stood motionless, looking at his master. But there was no second report,
and the silence, the utter quiet, made Trent wonder if he had really
heard anything. If it was a shot--? Well, he knew the natives had no
firearms; there must be white men in the district, P. W. D. men or
Government officers. In that event he did not wish to be seen, as there
would be questions to answer. He therefore suggested that Masein
investigate, and the Lisu plunged eagerly into the canebrake.
A moment afterward Trent's imagination supplied a solution for the
shot--Kerth. He started to call Masein back, but reconsidered and
waited.... His wrist-watch ticked off fifteen minutes. He noticed,
abstractedly, pale flickerings on the far-away hills. When a half hour
had passed he followed the native's trail through the rushes and along a
narrow bridle-path. Not far from camp he met Masein.
"It is a white man, master," exclaimed the Lisu. "He has a camp
there"--with a gesture.
Then he extended something that glinted softly in the gloom, and Trent
took it and examined it closely. The blood throbbed in his throat.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded.
"He gave it to me, master--the white man. He said when you saw that you
would come."
Without another word Trent followed the Lisu, the blood still throbbing
hotly in his throat. For the thing that glinted softly was a golden
bracelet with the figure of a king-cobra wrought in heavy relief upon
it.
More than a half-mile from the camp, on the trail that Trent's caravan
had traveled, they came to a clearing. A tent was pitched at one side, a
litter of packs scattered carelessly about three mules. A shadowy form
sat on a stool before the tent-door--a form that resolved into a young
man in khaki and a sun-helmet. The revolver that he held shone in the
deep twilight.
As Trent and the Lisu appeared he jumped up. Trent instinctively drew
his weapon. The young man stumbled toward him. A yard away he paused and
swayed; his revolver slipped from limp fingers.
"Major Trent!"
At the sound of the voice, Trent sprang forward and caught the slim
form. It relaxed and the sun-helmet fell to the ground, releasing a
wealth of hair that rippled down and showered the shoulders with coiled
strands that in the fading light gleamed like molten copper.
"Oh, I knew you would come!" she gasped, with a hysterical little laugh.
"I--I sent that--like Kurnavati sent her bracelet--to Humayun--only--you
came--in time!"
Whereupon her head dropped back and the starlight shone upon cool,
lustrous features. But she was not cool. Trent felt the heat of her
body, and, apprehensive, he placed his hand upon her forehead; let it
slip down until it touched the pulse in her throat; drew a sharp breath
and swore. Her eyes were open--glassy, staring eyes that looked at him
without seeing.
"Miss Charteris!" he said. "Where are your porters? Who's with you?
You're not here alone, are you?"
She did not answer. The lids sank over her eyes, and he knew she had
fainted. He looked about irresolutely. Through the trees, in the
direction of his camp, he saw a quick flash.
"There was nobody else here when you first came?" he asked Masein; then,
as the Lisu answered negatively, commanded: "Look in the tent."
Masein obeyed. His expression when he emerged told Trent it was empty.
The Englishman lifted the girl in his arms.
"Wait here a few minutes," he instructed. "If anybody comes, report it
to me."
With that he turned and strode back along the bridle-path, laboring
under the weight of the girl's body.
Frequent flashes illuminated earth and sky; thunder grumbled,
approaching closer with every roll. A wind had sprung up and was
rustling the leaves overhead. Trent hurried, fearing the storm would
break before he reached camp.
When he finally came to the sand-spit the wind was wildly whipping the
tent-flap. The stars had gone, and lightning, streaks following in rapid
succession, reflected a livid, sick hue upon the river. The girl was
conscious when he placed her upon his cot. She clung to his hands.
"Where is the pain?" he asked. "In your back mainly?"
She only moaned; he felt a tremor pass through her. Gently freeing his
hands, he went outside and shouted for one of the Marus. He swore
savagely when he received no answer. After strengthening the tent-pegs,
he made a search for his electric pocket-lamp. Snapping it on, he opened
his medicine-case; took out a hypodermic syringe....
The rain came then, suddenly, in a drenching downpour. Sheets of water,
illuminated by vivid flares, swept across the river; ruthlessly lashed
the canebrake; beat deafeningly upon the canvas. Thunder crashed out in
mighty belches that shook the very ground.... It seemed that the
artilleries of the universe had concentrated upon earth.
Trent knelt beside Dana Charteris, holding her hands and frequently
feeling her pulse. The girl went from one paroxysm of shivering into
another. Gradually the opiate deadened the pain. Several times she tried
to speak to him, but he put his fingers over her lips.
Meanwhile the tent-ropes strained, the wind tore through the trees. An
occasional crash told of a falling limb. For over an hour this
continued; then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun. When the wind
died down, Trent lighted a candle. Dana Charteris was as still and white
as a chiseled figure on a tomb. The sight of her made him catch his
breath. As he drew nearer she opened her eyes. He lifted one burning
wrist.
"My porters," she whispered. "They ran away--I--"
"You must keep very quiet," he interposed.
"Is--is it--that bad?"
He hesitated, then nodded. She closed her eyes; opened them an instant
later.
"But do you want to save me? You know now ... the bracelet ..."
"You must keep quiet," he repeated. "You must help me that way."
A short while afterward, when the pattering rain had ceased and stars
peeped through the doorway, Masein crept in and told Trent something.
What it was the Englishman could not remember; he remembered only that
he directed the Lisu to break up the girl's camp and bring her mules and
supplies to the sand-spit. Every thought was focussed upon the slim hot
body that rolled and tossed upon the cot. She begged for injections of
opiate and sobbed when he refused. His lip was sore from the pressure of
his teeth. With each shiver of pain he suffered. It was one of the few
times in his career when he was afraid, dreadfully afraid.
The dark hours wore on. Shortly after first-dawn she fell into a
restless feverish sleep. He slipped out to tell Masein to fetch fresh
water, and as he reentered he felt a hard object in his pocket, pressing
against his thigh. It was the bracelet. He withdrew it, vanquishing by
sheer force the thoughts that uprose in his mind, and placed it in his
kit-bag. There it would stay until she could speak.
As morning looked down from a golden sky Dana Charteris awakened, and
the battle was on again.
2
During the next two days Trent lost cognizance of time. He warred
against elemental forces, armed with the crudest of weapons. Queer,
unfolding moments came to him, bringing a potent consciousness of
conflict that took him back to nights of tragedy and smoky turmoil--a
sense of blood in throat and nostrils that soldiers know.
The girl wavered on the border of delirium. In her weakness she pleaded
for false stimulation, and there were times when he was tempted, for her
sake, to take the easiest course. Yet he knew that to surrender would
slay the tissues of resistance that he had struggled so steadfastly to
build, and he forced himself to consider only a lasting relief,
suffering himself an anguish as keen as the physical and experiencing
self-loathing when he performed those intimacies that were demanded of
him.
He had fought death where the harvest was ghastly, perhaps had grown a
little calloused, as men will when in close and constant contact with
human ills, yet always, even in the case of the meanest Hindu coolie, he
felt a responsibility that challenged his sparring instincts. It was as
though he guarded some terrible frontier.... But nothing had ever so
drawn upon him and consumed his every unit of nerve and energy as this.
He felt wholly accountable for her condition, here in this remote spot.
Her pain was his own, a part of him, feeding upon his vitality. He gave
willingly, seeming in moments when she was drawn close to the Door to
infuse into her the power to fight as he, a strong man, could
fight--physically and spiritually. He was lifting her, but sinking
himself as he lifted. There were periods when thought and action were no
longer submissive to will; his brain felt atrophied and he was sentient
only to utter exhaustion. He seemed incapable of stemming the rush of
things beyond his dominion--was an atom in the path of a blinding and
inexorable force. The values of human remedies and sciences dwindled in
his sight. He was drained. Yet a vitalizing power, some inner dynamo,
never failed to energize him. He attended to every detail himself,
allowing Masein and the Marus only to take turns with a palmleaf at the
bedside.... It was, after he had exhausted medical means, a grapple in
the dark with foes that were neither tangible nor corporeal; when it was
over he did not understand nor try to fathom the miracle that was
wrought.
At dusk of the third day her temperature was almost normal and she was
sleeping quietly. Trent, his face haggard, left the Lisu fanning her and
lurched rather than walked to the river. He shed his clothing and lay
for some time in the shallow water, his head pillowed upon one bent arm,
tasting of absolute relaxation.
When he returned to the tent Dana Charteris was awake. Her hair lay in
red-gold confusion about her white face--a pool of glowing shades and
lights. She smiled faintly as he entered and he took the palmleaf from
Masein, motioning him to leave. She spoke.
"I think we've won."
By that he knew they had. A surge of relief swept up through him. It was
like a new and strange delirium; it unseated his control. He sank upon
his knees, and his lips touched one cool, moist hand. The fingers of her
other hand ran lightly through his hair.
"O Arnold Trent, how you fought!" she breathed tremulously. "And all the
while you were wondering, wondering why I was there that night--why I--"
"Hush," he remonstrated, lifting his head, again in command of himself.
"It isn't finished yet. You must promise not to speak of that--not until
I ask you. Now go to sleep. That is the quickest way you can get well."
"I promise," she said weakly, tears trembling in her eyes, "if you will
rest, too. Will you? You need to be strong--strong--so you can help me."
She closed her eyes; sighed. Her hand slipped from his clasp.
He spread a blanket on the sand in front of the tent; spread it, and lay
down; and almost instantly sleep declared itself the emperor of his
being.
3
The convalescence of Dana Charteris was short. A break in the rains had
more than a little to do with her recovery, for the sunshine was a
golden elixir that aroused the stricken forces of her body, was a
warmth that wiped away the fever-stains and ripened a faint color in
her cheeks.
Once Trent offered to read to her. She begged him instead to tell her of
those tiger-hunts with his father. That seemed to touch a spring that
opened secret vaults of his nature. There was color and feeling in his
telling. He spoke in the abstract. She could smell the beast, flanks
aquiver, and wet, monsoon jungles in his sentences--sentences that
abounded with the metaphors that he liked to use.... India lived in her
while he talked--India, her wildernesses and her cities, her heart-break
and her treachery. Too, he taught her a few Hindustani words and
phrases.
But his contributions did not alone make those hours rare. Her gifts
were as precious as pearls. Gossamer dawns when the sun's sabers smote
the lingering darkness and sent it reeling, when life seemed at its
ripest; the languor of purple nights, campfires glowing in the dusk--all
these were but vessels for the exquisite revelation of her.
Yet under their talk was a strain that never relaxed. In the main part,
they spoke guardedly. The man never ceased to wonder what the
consequences of the delay would be, and it concerned him more than a
little what Sarojini Nanjee might do if she learned through Masein of an
alien presence in the caravan; while the girl, realizing she was holding
him back, yet dreading the time when he pronounced her entirely
recovered, was in a constant state of chaos.
The fourth day after she passed the danger mark brought to a climax
their play-acting. The sun, like a red-lacquered ball, was rolling
toward the hills, shying little bronze disks at the river, and Dana
Charteris was seated on a blanket in front of the tent. Trent went to
his kit-bag to get a fresh supply of tobacco, and the gold bracelet
slipped out. She smiled--a frightened smile. She broke the tension by
saying:
"There's no use to pretend any longer. I can't endure it. I'm delaying
you. I am strong enough to--to--" She stopped; began anew. "Oh, you've
been fighting against it! You're afraid for me to speak, afraid--" Again
she halted, groping for words.
He had picked up the bracelet. She caught his hand.
"Sit down, won't you?"
He sank beside her. But his eyes were upon the heavily-chased circlet of
gold.
"You've been so kind!" she breathed. "And all along, when you realized I
had been deceiving you, you tried to tell yourself it wasn't true; that
there might be two bracelets like that, and that it wasn't I who wore it
at Gaya that night. But there's probably not another bracelet like that
in India. My brother bought it for me in Delhi. It _was_ I who wore it
at Gaya--who spoke to you on the road--who eavesdropped--who tried to
cheat you--who ran away, like a coward, when it became known that
Captain Manlove had been--been killed!"
Strained silence followed, the girl eagerly watching his face for some
expression either of encouragement or condemnation, the man staring at
the bracelet in his hands. She forced herself to go on.
"There's so much to tell that.... Well, I'll start at the very
beginning, when my brother sent for me to come to India--"
Followed a recital of the meeting in Delhi and of her brother's story of
the jewels of Indore.
"That night some one entered Alan's room and stole the imitation Pearl
Scarf," she continued. "Alan was hurt--stabbed. Later I found the
thief's turban and, inside, a scrap of paper with foreign writing upon
it. When I showed it to Alan, he said it was Urdu. Translated, it read
something like this: 'His name is Major Arnold Trent, of Gaya.'"
Trent lifted his eyes questioningly, and she nodded.
"Yes, your name and address. That was all.... Alan was of the opinion
that the package Chavigny carried into the bazaar at Indore contained
the _real_ Pearl Scarf, and that instead of the copy he snatched that.
By some means, he believed, it was traced to him--and stolen--whether by
Chavigny or another he could only guess.
"I had an inspiration." She smiled slightly. "You will think me
foolish--yet--yet you seemed to understand on the _Manchester_ when I
told you of the 'Caves of Kor' and the pirate island. I saw the doors of
my adventure opening. Too, I wanted to help Alan. I suggested that I
might learn something if I went to Gaya; Alan couldn't because of his
hurt. He wouldn't hear of it at first, but I finally persuaded him--and
went to Gaya, intending to go no further, not realizing--"
She broke off abruptly, shrugged.
"The afternoon I reached Gaya I hunted up your bungalow, merely to get
the location. That was the time I met you on the road. I'm a poor
adventurer, for that encounter frightened me dreadfully--and by the way
you looked at that"--indicating the bracelet--"I knew you'd recognize it
if you saw it again. That night I returned--and--" She paused, quite
evidently confused. "You'll surely think I--I--"
"Go on," he said laconically.
She averted her face, a flush upon her cheeks.
"I listened outside a window and heard you tell Captain Manlove of your
orders from Delhi and that you were going to Benares. After that I
hurried away. As I was leaving the compound Captain Manlove came to the
door. I went back to the Dak Bungalow and sat down and thought. Oh, I
thought a long while. Then I rode to the telegraph office and sent a
message to Alan, saying I was leaving for Benares. While I was there an
officer came in and I heard him tell the clerk that Captain Manlove had
been found"--she hesitated--"dead."
The muscles of Trent's jaw tightened visibly as she pronounced the word.
Otherwise he was expressionless, still staring at the bracelet. Why
didn't he move or say something, she wondered? It was maddening, the way
he kept silence!
"The picture of Captain Manlove," she resumed, "as I last saw him in
the doorway haunted me. I thought of a hundred things that might happen
if it were learned that I had gone to your bungalow just before--before
his death. So"--there was a bitter note in her voice--"so I left within
two hours, buying a ticket to Mughal Sarai instead of to Benares."
For the first time he asked a question; but he did not raise his eyes.
"You took the coral pendant from my room--there at Benares?"
She nodded. "That piece of coral! It caused me hours of anxiety! The
afternoon you arrived I saw it in your hands while you were sitting on
the portico. It rather fired my imagination, although I didn't know its
significance then. After dinner, when you left the hotel, I tried to
follow, but I became hopelessly lost. I had a frightful time finding my
way back to the hotel. But I wasn't to be cheated; intrigue was burning
in me that night. I borrowed a skeleton key and sent my servant--a man I
had hired--to search your room and bring me the piece of coral. Of
course, when I found that it opened and that Chavigny's alias was
engraved inside, I knew I had a valuable clue. But my servant wasn't
able to return it, for when he went back there was a light in your
room.... I was in a dilemma. I didn't know what to do."
"But why did you send him to my room in the first place--or follow me to
Benares?" he interrupted quietly. "Surely you knew I was on a Government
mission and that--I sha'n't mince words--that you were interfering with
affairs that didn't concern you."
"Yes, I realize that," she confessed. "Oh, I admit I was wrong--but I
had entered the 'Caves of Kor' and the lure of them drew me on."
"I don't mean to be unkind," he broke in, relenting. "I--"
"You are simply telling the truth," she supplied. "I _shouldn't_ have
done it, but I deluded myself into believing I might recover the Pearl
Scarf and help Alan. I was selfish enough to want him to achieve at the
cost of another's failure. That was why I went on to Calcutta. I had no
idea where you were going, that next morning at Benares; that is, until
I saw a porter take your trunk from your room. Then I sent my servant to
find out where it was bound, and--I packed quickly and followed."
"Then you tracked me to the Chinese quarter there, instead of--" He did
not finish.
She knew that the truth would tarnish a memory, but she could not evade
it. She smiled wanly.
"I have reached the 'Temple of Truth' in my 'Caves of Kor'! Yes, I
followed, with a guide. Alan had wired me the name of a man who he said
would serve me well--an old bearer of his. I waited all afternoon on the
upper porch of the hotel, and when you left I followed, with Guru Singh,
the bearer. We hired an automobile, instructing the driver to keep you
in sight. When you left your automobile, we left ours.... Oh, those
frightful places you led us through! Of course we were halted when you
went into that house in that dreadful street.
"I determined then to make your acquaintance. Just before you came out I
sent Guru Singh away; then I deliberately threw myself upon your mercy.
But oh, I felt guilty! I realized that you didn't suspect it was all
deliberate and planned!
"The next morning I made another desperate move. I _had_ to return that
piece of coral. Too, I wanted to learn your plans. I gave the pendant to
Guru Singh--with instructions. To insure him against discovery, I--I
asked you to go shopping with me. Guru Singh found a packet in your
trunk showing that you had a berth on the _Manchester_ to Rangoon, and
that from there you were going to Myitkyina, to the shop of Da-yak, a
Tibetan. But your servant happened along, and in the excitement Guru
Singh forgot to leave the coral. It seemed that I'd never rid myself of
it!"
The sun was almost below the hills now. A gong in the nearby Shan
village rang clearly across the quiet evening. Both Trent and the girl
sat motionless, listening until it died out.
"I wired Alan that I was going to Rangoon and would wait for him there,"
she said, taking up the thread of her story. "I didn't send it until
just before I went to the boat, for I was afraid he might say no--and,
oh, I wanted to see my adventure through!
"On shipboard Guru Singh at last succeeded in returning the coral--but
that inevitable servant of yours appeared. I was terrified when I
learned that Guru Singh had been caught! I felt responsible for it, and
afterward I carried food to him several times. That was what I was doing
the night I met you on deck. I was frightened, and I flung plate and all
overboard. Then.... But you know what occurred then. I had come to hate
myself for what I was doing, yet the thing was a Medusa. It held me and
I let it draw me on.
"I met Guru Singh, by previous instructions, at the pagoda in Rangoon,
and we drove to Alan's bungalow--but only to leave part of my baggage,
and that night I took a train for Myitkyina with Guru Singh. When we got
there I realized the presence of a strange white woman would be noticed
in so small a place, so I instructed Guru Singh carefully and went back
to Mandalay to wait.
"The second day in Mandalay I heard from Guru Singh. He wired for me to
come. When I arrived he told me he had found where the jewels were--also
that you had left Myitkyina. It seems that Da-yak was arrested"--here
the muscles of Trent's jaw tensed again--"and your servant, too. Guru
Singh said he bribed the jailer to let him see Da-yak, who, after he was
paid liberally, told where you had gone.... He said the jewels had been
taken to a city in Tibet: the name is Shingtse-lunpo. The sum of his
words is that this place is the penetralia of a band called the Order of
the Falcon, with a man known as the Falcon at its head. The Tibetan took
oath he didn't know the Falcon. At any rate, he said that to get there
one had to go first to a town across the China border--Tali-fang, he
called it--and that only three men in Myitkyina knew the route to
Tali-fang, one of whom had gone with your caravan and another with some
one else. The third was a Buddhist priest. Da-yak said there were
several ways of reaching Tali-fang and that you had been sent by the
longest. At Tali-fang one would have to depend upon his own resources to
get a guide to take him into Tibet, he said. That was all he would
tell--or rather, he said that was all he knew."
"I don't suppose," Trent questioned, "he told who had him arrested?" Yet
Trent felt that he knew without asking who had arrested Da-yak and
Tambusami.
"No," she replied.
Trent nodded--more to himself than to her--and she went on.
"That the jewels were in Tibet--vast, mysterious Tibet--both frightened
and fascinated me. To go where no white woman, had been--the land of
Marco Polo, Orazio della Penna and Huc! You can understand the lure of
it. Yet I think I must have been a little mad to have attempted it--but
we all are, aren't we?
"Guru Singh--poor, dear Guru Singh!--tried to persuade me to turn back,
but I wouldn't. We went to the Buddhist priest. For an extortionate sum
he agreed to guide us to Tali-fang. So we outfitted a caravan, Guru
Singh, the monk and I, and two days after you left Myitkyina we took the
same trail. I went as a man; I thought it would excite less suspicion.
Before leaving, I wrote Alan. I waited until then because I knew he
would disapprove.
"At several villages we learned that you had already passed; then, the
third afternoon, one of the porters, who was ahead, came back with the
news that your pack-train was about a mile in advance. We marched more
slowly after that. The nearness of another white person reassured me,
for--oh, before that it was terrible in those jungles and swamps! I
think the loneliness and the fright, after dark, would have driven me
mad had I not remembered what the converted Brahmin priest, who lectured
at home, said about the jungle. That comforted me.
"Last--When was it? I can't remember now--but it was late afternoon and
I was sitting in front of my tent. The Buddhist priest passed. There was
something about him, the way he looked at that moment, that struck me
numb to the heart.... I realized what an impossible thing I was trying
to do; wondered what would happen if I reached Tali-fang and found I
couldn't go further. Yet--yet I _couldn't_ turn back. As I sat there,
thinking, a desperate plan unfolded.... I told Guru Singh.
"The next afternoon, late, he and the priest and my porters left for
Myitkyina. Guru Singh stayed behind until--until I fired the
shot--and--and your muleteer brought you. I began to feel ill, suddenly.
I.... Well, that's all. I had intended to tell you that my porters
deserted--and other lies, too. I knew you wouldn't leave me; you
couldn't send me back, and you'd have to take me with you. But
after--after all you did--I couldn't falsify; I couldn't.... Now you
know the truth."
She halted--halted and waited for him to speak. But he did not. His eyes
were still upon the bracelet, nor did he look up. The silence was long
and tense. Finally, unable to endure it longer, she moved her hand
tentatively; dropped it; raised it again and let it rest lightly upon
his sleeve.
"You--you believe me--don't you?" she faltered.
He drew a deep breath; lifted his head.
"Yes," he said, looking across the river. "Yes, of course I believe you.
I'm only wondering what I'm going to do with you."
He rose then and moved off rapidly toward the canebrake.
4
For over an hour Trent walked. When he returned to camp he found Dana
Charteris sitting where he had left her. Masein had made a fire, and the
leaping flames kindled a glow in the meshes of her red-gold hair. Eyes
dark with misery met his--moist eyes.... The cobra-bracelet glinted on
his wrist.
"I was abrupt a while ago," he announced, halting before her, head
slightly lowered--as a man stands before a cathedral-image. "I am sorry.
I was worried. I shouldn't have left as I did, nor should I have stayed
away so long, but I wanted to be alone--to solve the problem. I think I
have."
She smiled faintly. "Don't apologize, Arnold Trent. You've done enough
for me." She paused. "You must hate me," she pressed on after a moment.
"First I deceive you; then I fall sick and delay you; and when I
recover, I am a stone about your neck." She laughed a mirthless little
laugh. "What are you going to do with me?"
He made a gesture. "You were right. I haven't a guide to send back with
you, and you can't go alone. The nearest Government post is
Kwanglu--that's at least a two-days' journey. I can't afford to delay
any longer. Yet if I take you with me and anything happens to you--" He
hesitated, then finished: "I'd never forgive myself. So what am I to
do?"
She got up, and her eyes shone with the warmth of the fire.
"I--I might be able to help you," she suggested rather timidly, as
though afraid he would scorn the idea. "I've hindered you so much that
the least I can do is to try to make amends. Oh, I realize what you're
thinking, that I am a woman and would only be a burden, but--"
"No," he interrupted, "I wasn't thinking that--I was thinking of you.
God knows, from a selfish standpoint, I would be glad enough for your
companionship! But aside from the physical danger, there are other
things to reckon with. That's the trouble with people; they don't
consider the future. And if we come out of this alive, there's a future.
It's all right for me; but you--you're a woman. And the public doesn't
credit any man with honor, or any woman with self-respect, if they're
thrown together under other than conventional circumstances. Don't you
see what people will say when they learn of it? And they will learn of
it--and you can't ignore their opinions. They couldn't understand, damn
them; rather, they _wouldn't_.... You see?" Another pause, and he
repeated: "You see?"
She nodded. "Yet I'm here"--helplessly.
"Yet you're here," he echoed, with a gesture of futility.
He strode away; turned back at a sudden thought.
"Of course, there's one thing I've overlooked in my masculine egotism.
It just occurred to me that you--you might be afraid to go with me."
"No," she interposed very quietly--and to him the world seemed to expand
to greater dimensions. "No. I am not afraid." That was all. Yet it
thrilled him.
After a few seconds he resumed.
"You must promise to do as I say; and without asking questions. I've
given my word, you know. Before we reach Tali-fang you'll have to be
fixed up like a Hindu. You can be my brother, or anything you like. I'll
teach you a few more Hindustani words--necessary words. You won't have
to talk much, if any. There will be hardships--many--but--" He furrowed
his hair. "There's no alternative."
Then, glancing down at the bracelet, he took it off.
"Here--"
"Won't you keep it?" she asked. "I sent it with a plea for succor, and
you came. According to the custom, you are my bracelet-brother, sworn to
honor and protect. So won't you keep it, as Humayun, the Great Mogul,
kept the bracelet of Kurnavati, the Rani of Chitor?"
For answer he slipped the golden circlet over his hand. The girl, with a
swift smile, turned and went into the tent. And, being a man, he could
not know it was for the express purpose of crying.