THE MARK OF THE BEAST
Morning found Winthrope more irritable and peevish than ever. Though
he had not been called on watch by Blake until long after midnight, he
had soon fallen asleep at his post and permitted the fire to die out.
Shortly before dawn, Blake was roused by a pack of jackals, snarling
and quarrelling over the half-dried seafowl. To charge upon the thieves
and put them to flight with a few blows of his club took but a moment.
Yet daylight showed more than half the drying frames empty.
Blake was staring glumly at them, with his broad back to Winthrope, when
Miss Leslie appeared. The sudden cessation of Winthrope's complaints
brought his companion around on the instant. The girl stood before him,
clad from neck to foot in her leopard-skin dress.
"Well, I'll be--dashed!" he exclaimed, and he stood staring at her
open-mouthed.
"I fear it will be warm. Do you think it becoming?" she asked,
flushing, and turning as though to show the fit of the costume.
"Do I?" he echoed. "Miss Jenny, you're a peach!"
"Thank you," she said. "And here is the skirt. I have ripped it open.
You see, it will make a fine flag."
"If it's put up. Seems a pity, though, to do that, when we're getting
on so fine. What do you say to leaving it down, and starting a little
colony of our own?"
Miss Leslie raised the skirt in her outstretched hands. Behind it her
face became white as the cloth.
"Well?" demanded Blake soberly, though his eyes were twinkling.
"You forget the fever," she retorted mockingly, and Blake failed to
catch the quaver beneath the light remark.
"Say, you've got me there!" he admitted. "Just pass over your flag,
and scrape up some grub. I'll be breaking out a big bamboo. There are
plenty of holes and loose stones on the cliff. We'll have the signal
up before noon."
Miss Leslie murmured her thanks, and immediately set about the
preparation of breakfast.
When Blake had the bamboo ready, with one edge of the broad piece of
white duck lashed to it with catgut as high up as the tapering staff
would bear, he called upon Winthrope to accompany him.
"You can go, too, Miss Jenny," he added. "You haven't been on the
cliff yet, and you ought to celebrate the occasion."
"No, thank you," replied the girl. "I'm still unprepared to climb
precipices, even though my costume is that of a savage."
"Savage? Great Scott! that leopard dress would win out against any set
of Russian furs a-going, and I've heard they're considered all kinds
of dog. Come on. I can swing you into the branches, and it's easy from
there up."
"You will excuse me, please."
"Yes, you can go alone," interposed Winthrope. "I am indisposed this
morning, and, what is more, I have had enough of your dictation."
"You have, have you?" growled Blake, his patience suddenly come to an
end. "Well, let me tell you, Miss Leslie is a lady, and if she don't
want to go, that settles it. But as for you, you'll go, if I have to
kick you every step."
Winthrope cringed back, and broke into a childish whine. "Don't--don't
do it, Blake--Oh, I say, Miss Genevieve, how can you stand by and see
him abuse me like this?"
Blake was grinning as he turned to Miss Leslie. Her face was flushed and
downcast with humiliation for her friend. It seemed incredible that a man
of his breeding should betray such weakness. A quick change came over
Blake's face.
"Look here," he muttered, "I guess I'm enough of a sport to know
something about fair play. Win's coming down with the fever, and's
no more to blame for doing the baby act than he'll be when he gets the
delirium, and gabbles."
"I will thank you to attend to your own affairs," said Winthrope.
"You're entirely welcome. It's what I'm doing.-- Do you understand,
Miss Jenny?"
"Indeed, yes; and I wish to thank you. I have noticed how patient you
have been--"
"Pardon me, Miss Leslie," rasped Winthrope. "Can you not see that for
a fellow of this class to talk of fair play and patience is the height
of impertinence? In England, now, such insufferable impudence--"
"That'll do," broke in Blake. "It's time for us to trot along."
"But, Mr. Blake, if he is ill--"
"Just the reason why he should keep moving. No more of your gab, Win!
Give your jaw a lay-off, and try wiggling your legs instead."
Winthrope turned away, crimson with indignation. Blake paused only for
a parting word with Miss Leslie. "If you want something to do, Miss
Jenny, try making yourself a pair of moccasins out of the scraps of skin.
You can't stay in this gully all the time. You've got to tramp around
some, and those slippers must be about done for."
"They are still serviceable. Yet if you think--"
"You'll need good tough moccasins soon enough. Singe off the hair, and
make soles of the thicker pieces. If you do a fair job, maybe I'll
employ you as my cobbler, soon as I get the hide off one of those
skittish antelope."
Miss Leslie nodded and smiled in response to his jesting tone. But as
he swung away after Winthrope, she stood for some time wondering at
herself. A few days since she knew she would have taken Blake's remark
as an insult. Now she was puzzled to find herself rather pleased that
he should so note her ability to be of service.
When she roused herself, and began singeing the hair from the odds and
ends of leopard skin, she discovered a new sensation to add to her
list of unpleasant experiences. But she did not pause until the last
patch of hair crisped close to the half-cured surface of the hide.
Fetching the penknife and her thorn and catgut from the baobab, she
gathered the pieces of skin together, and walked along the cleft to
the ladder-tree. There had been time enough for Blake and Winthrope
to set up the signal, and she was curious to see how it looked.
She paused at the foot of the tree, and gazed up to where the withered
crown lay crushed against the edge of the cliff. The height of the rocky
wall made her hesitate; yet the men, in passing up and down, had so
cleared away the twigs and leaves and broken the branches on the upper
side of the trunk, that it offered a means of ascent far from difficult
even for a young lady.
The one difficulty was to reach the lower branches. She could hardly
touch them with her finger-tips. But her barbaric costume must have
inspired her. She listened for a moment, and hearing no sound to indicate
the return of the men, clasped the upper side of the trunk with her hands
and knees, and made an energetic attempt to climb. The posture was
far from dignified, but the girl's eyes sparkled with satisfaction
as she found herself slowly mounting.
When, flushed and breathless, she gained a foothold among the branches,
she looked down at the ground, and permitted herself a merry little
giggle such as she had not indulged in since leaving boarding-school.
She had actually climbed a tree! She would show Mr. Blake that she was
not so helpless as he fancied.
At the thought, she clambered on up, finding that the branches made
convenient steps. She did not look back, and the screen of tree-tops
beneath saved her from any sense of giddiness. As her head came above
the level of the cliff, she peered through the foliage, and saw the
signal-flag far over near the end of the headland. The big piece of white
duck stood out bravely against the blue sky, all the more conspicuous
for the flocks of frightened seafowl which wheeled above and around it.
Surprised that she did not see the men, Miss Leslie started to draw
herself up over the cliff edge. She heard Winthrope's voice a few yards
away on her left. A sudden realization that the Englishman might consider
her exploit ill-bred caused her to sink back out of sight.
She was hesitating whether to descend or to climb on up, when
Winthrope's peevish whine was cut short by a loud and angry retort
from Blake. Every word came to the girl's ears with the force of a blow.
"You do, do you? Well, I'd like to know where in hell you come in.
She's not your sister, nor your mother, nor your aunt, and if she's
your sweetheart, you've both been damned close-mouthed over it."
There was an irritable, rasping murmur from Winthrope, and again came
Blake's loud retort.
"Look here, young man, don't you forget you called me a cad once
before. I can stand a good deal from a sick man; but I'll give it to you
straight, you'd better cut that out. Call me a brute or a savage, if
that'll let off your steam; but, understand, I'm none of your English
kinds."
Again Winthrope spoke, this time in a fretful whine.
Blake replied with less anger: "That's so; and I'm going to show
you that I'm the real thing when it comes to being a sport. Give you
my word, I'll make no move till you're through the fever and on your
legs again. What I'll do then depends on my own sweet will, and don't
you forget it. I'm not after her fortune. It's the lady herself that
takes my fancy. Remember what I said to you when you called me a cad
the other time. You had your turn aboard ship. Now I can do as I please;
and that's what I'm going to do, if I have to kick you over the cliff
end first, to shut off your pesky interference."
The girl crouched back into the withered foliage, dazed with terror.
Again she heard Blake speak. He had dropped into a bitter sneer.
"No chance? It's no nerve, you mean. You could brain me, easy enough,
any night--just walk up with a club when I'm asleep. Trouble is,
you're like most other under dogs--'fraid that if you licked your
boss, there'd be no soup bones. So I guess I'm slated to stay boss of
this colony--grand Poo Bah and Mikado, all in one. Understand? You
mind your own business, and don't go to interfering with me any more!
. . . . Now, if you've stared enough at the lady's skirt--"
The threat of discovery stung the girl to instant action. With almost
frantic haste, she scrambled down to the lower branches, and sprang to
the ground. She had never ventured such a leap even in childhood. She
struck lightly but without proper balance, and pitched over sideways.
Her hands chanced to alight upon the remnants of leopard skin. Great
as was her fear, she stopped to gather all together in the edge of her
skirt before darting up the cleft.
At the baobab she turned and gazed back along the cliff edge. Before
she had time to draw a second breath, she caught a glimpse of Blake's
palm-leaf hat, near the crown of the ladder tree.
"O-o-h!--he didn't see me!" she murmured. Her frantic strength
vanished, and a deathly sickness came upon her. She felt herself going,
and sought to kneel to ease the fall.
She was roused from the swoon by Blake's resonant shout: "Hey, Miss
Jenny! where are you? We've got your laundry on the pole in fine shape!"
The girl's flaccid limbs grew tense, and her body quivered with a
shudder of dread and loathing. Yet she set her little white teeth, and
forced herself to rise and go out to face the men. Both met her look
with a blank stare of consternation.
"What is it, Miss Genevieve?" cried Winthrope. "You're white as
chalk!"
"It's the fever!" growled Blake. "She's in the cold stage. Get a
pot on. We'll--"
"No, no; it's not that! It's only--I've been frightened!"
"Frightened?"
"By a--a dreadful beast!"
"Beast!" repeated Blake, and his pale eyes flashed as he sprang across
to where his bow and arrows and his club leaned against the baobab.
"I'll have no beasts nosing around my dooryard! Must be that skulking
lion I heard last night. I'll show him!" He caught up his weapons
and stalked off down the cleft.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Winthrope; "the man really must be mad. Call him
back, Miss Genevieve. If anything should happen to him--"
"If only there might!" gasped the girl.
"Why, what do you mean?"
She burst into a hysterical laugh. "Oh! oh! it's such a joke--such a
joke! At least he's not a hyena--oh, no; a brave beast! Hear him shout!
And he actually thinks it's a lion! But it isn't--it's himself! Oh,
dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?"
"Miss Genevieve, what do you mean? Be calm, pray, be calm!"
"Calm!--when I heard what he said? Yes; I heard every word! In the top
of the tree--"
"In the tree? Heavens! Miss--er--Miss Genevieve!" stammered Winthrope,
his face paling. "Did you--did you hear all?"
"Everything--everything he said! What shall I do? I am so frightened!
What shall I do?"
"Everything _he_ said?" echoed Winthrope.
"You spoke too low for me to hear; but I'm sure you faced him like a
gentleman--I must believe it of you--"
Winthrope drew in a deep breath. "Ah, yes; I did, Miss Genevieve--I
assure you. The beast! Yet you see the plight I am in. It is a nasty
muddle--indeed it is! But what can I do? He is strong as a gorilla.
Really, there is only one way--no doubt you heard him taunt me over
it. I assure you I should not be afraid--but it would be so horrid--so
cold-blooded. As a gentleman, you know--"
"No; it is not that!" broke in the girl. "He is right. Neither of us
has the courage--even when he is asleep."
"My dear Miss Genevieve, this beast instinct to kill--"
"Yes; but think of him. If he is a beast, he is at least a brave one.
While we--we haven't the courage of rabbits. I thought you called
yourself an English gentleman. Are you going to stand by, and not lift
a finger?"
"Really, now, Miss Genevieve, to murder a man--"
"Self-defence is not a crime--self-preservation. If you have a spark of
manhood--"
"My dear--"
"For Heaven's sake, if you can't do anything, at least keep still! Oh,
I'm sure I shall go mad! If only I had been drowned!"
"Ah, yes, to be sure. But really now, what you ask is a good deal for a
man to risk. The fellow might wake up and murder me! Should I take the
risk, might I--er--expect some manifestation of your gratitude, Miss
Genevieve?"
"Of course! of course! I should always--"
"I--ah--refer to the--the--bestowal of your hand."
"My hand? I-- Would you bargain for my esteem? I thought you a
gentleman!"
"To be sure--to be sure! Who says I am not? But all is fair in love
and war, you know. Your choice is quite free. I take it, you will not
consider his--er--proposals. But if you do not wish my aid, you have
another way of escape--that is--at least other women have done it."
The girl gazed at him, her eyes dilating with horror as she realized his
meaning.
"No, no; not that!" she gasped. "I want to live--I've a right to
live! Why, I'm only just twenty-two--I--"
"Hush!" cautioned Winthrope. "He's coming back. Be calm! There will
be time until I get over this vile malaria. It may be that he himself
will have the fever."
"He will not have the fever," replied the girl, in a hopeless tone,
and she leaned back listlessly against the baobab, as Blake swung himself
up, frowning and sullen, and flung his weapons from him.
"Bah!" he grumbled, "I told you that brute was a sneak. I've chased
clean down to the pool and into the open, and not a smell of him. Must
have hiked off into the tall grass the minute he heard me."
"If only he had gone off for good!" murmured Miss Leslie.
"Maybe he has; though you never can count on a sneak. Even you might
be able to shoo him off next time; but, like as not, he'd come along
when we were all out calling, and clean out our commissary. Guess I'll
set to and run up a barricade down there where the gully is narrowest.
There're shoals of dead thorn-brush to the right of the pool."
"Ah, yes; I fancy the vultures will be so vexed when they find your
hedge in the way," remarked Winthrope.
"My! how smart we're getting!" retorted Blake. "Don't worry,
though. We'll stow the stuff in Miss Jenny's boudoir, and I guess the
birdies'll be polite enough to keep out."
"I must say, Blake, I do not see why you should wish to drag us away
from here."
"There're lots of things you don't see, Win, me b'y--jokes, for
instance. But what could you expect?--you're English. Now, don't get
mad. Worst thing in the world for malaria."
"One would fancy you could see that I am not angry. I've a splitting
headache, and my back hurts. I am ill."
Blake looked him over critically, and nodded. "That's no lie, old
man. You're entitled to a hospital check all right. Miss Jenny, we'll
appoint you chief nurse. Make him comfortable as you can, and give him
hot broth whenever he'll take it. You can do your sewing on the side.
Whenever you need help, call on me. I'm going to begin that barricade."