A LION LEADS THEM
The palm grove stood under the lee of the ridge, on a stretch of bare
ground. Other than seaward, the open space was hemmed in by grass
jungle, interspersed with clumps of thorn-brush. On the north side a
jutting corner of the tall, yellow spear-grass curved out and around,
with the point of the hook some fifty yards from the palms. Elsewhere the
distance to the jungle was nearly twice as far.
Blake dropped the bag and his weapons, flung down his hat, and started
up a palm shaft. The down-pointing bristles of his skin trousers aided
his grip. Though the lofty crown of the palm was swaying in the wind, he
reached the top and was down again before Miss Leslie had arranged the
contents of the lunch bag.
"Guess you're not extra hungry," he remarked.
She made no response.
"Mad, eh? Well, toss me the little knife. Mine has got too good a
meat-edge to spoil on these husks."
"It was very kind of you to climb for the nuts, and the wind blowing
so hard up there," she said, as she handed over the penknife. "I am
not angry. It is only that I feel tired and depressed. I hope I am not
going to be--"
"No; you're not going to have the fever, or any such thing! You're
played out, that's all. I'm a fool for bringing you so far. You'll be
all right after you eat and rest. Here; drink this cocoa milk."
She drained the nut, and upon his insistence, made a pretence at eating.
He was deceived until, with the satisfying of his first keen hunger, he
again became observant.
"Say, that won't do!" he exclaimed. "Look at your bowl. You haven't
nibbled enough to keep a mouse alive."
"Really, I am not hungry. But I am resting."
"Try another nut. I'll have one ready in two shakes."
He caught his hat, which was dragging past in a downward eddy of the
wind, and weighted it with a cocoanut. He wedged another nut between
his knees, and bent over it, tearing at the husk. It took him only a
few moments to strip the fibre from the end and gouge open the germ hole.
He held out the nut, and glanced up to meet her smile of acceptance.
She was staring past him, her eyes wide with terror, and the color fast
receding from her face.
"What in-- Another snake?" he demanded, twisting warily about to glare
at the ground behind him.
"There--over in the grass!" she whispered, "It looked out at me with
terrible, savage eyes!"
"Snake?--that far off?"
"No, no!--a monster--a huge, fierce beast!"
"Beast?" echoed Blake, grasping his bow and arrows. "Where is he?
Maybe only one of these African buffaloes. How'd he look?--horns?"
"I--I didn't see any. It was all shaggy, and yellow like the grass,
and terrible eyes--_Oh!_"
The girl's scream was met by a ferocious, snarling roar, so deep and
prolonged that the air quivered and the very ground seemed to shake.
"God!--a lion!" cried Blake, the hair on his bare head bristling like
a startled animal's.
He turned squarely about toward the ridge, his bow half drawn. Had the
lion shown himself then, Blake would have shot on the instant. As it
was, the beast remained behind the screening border of grass, where he
could watch his intended quarry without being seen in turn. The delay
gave Blake time for reflection. He spoke sharply, as it were biting off
his words: "Hit out. I'll stop the bluffer."
"I can't. Oh, I'm afraid!"
Again the hidden beast gave voice to his mighty rumbling challenge. Still
he did not appear, and Blake attempted a derisive jeer: "Hey, there,
louder! We've not run yet! It's all right, little woman. The skulking
sneak is trying to bluff us. 'Fraid to come out if we don't stampede.
He'll make off when he finds we don't scare. Lions never tackle men in
the daytime. Just keep cool a while. He'll--"
"Look!--there to the right!--I saw him again! He's creeping around!
See the grass move!"
"That's only the wind. It eddies down--God! he is stalking around.
Trying to take us from behind--curse him! He may get me, but I'll get
him too,--the dirty sneak!"
The blood had flowed back into Blake's face, and showed on each cheek
in a little red patch. His broad chest rose and fell slowly to deep
respirations; his eyes glowed like balls of white-hot steel. He drew
his bow a little tauter, and wheeled slowly to keep the arrow pointed at
the slight wave in the grass which marked the stealthy movements of the
lion. Miss Leslie, more terrified with every added moment of suspense,
cringed around, that she might keep him between her and the hidden beast.
Minute after minute dragged by. Only a man of Blake's obstinate, sullen
temperament could have withstood the strain and kept cool. Even he
found the impulse to leap up and run all but irresistible. Miss Leslie
crouched behind him, no more able to run than a mouse with which a cat
has been playing.
Once they caught a glimpse of the sinuous, tawny form gliding among the
leafless stems of a thorn clump. Blake took quick aim; but the outlines
of the beast were indistinct and the range long. He hesitated, and the
opportunity was lost.
Yard by yard they watched the slight swaying of the grass tops which
betrayed the cautious advance of the grim stalker. The beast did not
roar again. Having failed to flush his game, he was seeking to catch
them off their guard, or perhaps was warily taking stock of the strange
creatures, whose like he had never seen.
Now and then there was a pause, and the grass tops swayed only to
the down-puffs of the heightening gale. At such moments the two grew
rigid, watching and waiting in breathless suspense. They could see, as
distinctly as though there had been no screening grass, the baleful
eyes of the huge cat and the shaggy forebody as the beast stood still
and glared out at them.
Then the sinuous wave would start on again around the grass border, and
Blake would draw in a deep breath and mutter a word of encouragement to
the girl: "Look, now--the dirty sneak! Trying to give us the creeps,
is he? I'll creeps him! 'Fraid to show his pretty mug!"
Not until the beast had circled half around the glade did his purpose
flash upon Blake. With the wariness of all savage hunters, the animal
had marked out the spur of jungle on the north side, where he could creep
closer to his quarry before leaping from cover.
"The damned sneak!" growled Blake. "You there, Jenny?"
She could not speak, but he heard her gasp.
"Brace up, little woman! Where's your grit? You're out of this deal,
anyway. He'll choke to death swallowing me-- But say; couldn't you
manage to shin up a palm, twenty feet or so, and hang on for a couple
of minutes!"
"I--can't move--I am--"
"Make a try! It'll give me a run for my money. I'll take the next
elevator after you. That'll bring the bluffer out on the hot-foot. I
slip a surprise between his ribs, and we view the scenery while he's
passing in his checks. Come; make a spurt! He's around the turn, and
getting nearer every step."
"I can't--Tom,--there is no need that both of us-- You climb up--"
He turned about as the meaning of her whisper dawned upon him. Her eyes
were shining with the ecstasy of self-sacrifice. It was only the glance
of an instant; then he was again facing the jungle.
"God! You think I'd do that!"
She made no reply. There was a pause. Blake--crouched on one knee, tense
and alert--waited until the sinister wave was advancing into the point
of the incurved jungle. Then he spoke, in a low, even tone: "Feel if my
glass is there."
Her hand reached around and pressed against the fob pocket which he had
sewn in the belt of his skin trousers.
"Right. Now slip my club up under my elbow--big end. Lick on the
nose'll stop a dog or a bull. It's a chance."
She thrust the club under his right elbow, and he gripped it against his
side.
At that moment the lion bounded from cover, with a roar like a clap of
thunder. Blake sprang erect. The beast checked himself in the act of
leaping, and crouched with his great paws outstretched, every hooked
claw thrust out, ready to tear and mangle. In two or three bounds he
could have leaped upon Blake and crushed him with a single stroke of his
paw. As he rose to repeat his deafening roar, it seemed to Blake that he
stood higher than a horse--that his mouth gaped wide as the end of a
hogshead. And yet the beast stood hesitating, restrained by brute dread
of the unknown. Never before had any animal that he had hunted reared
up to meet his attack in this strange manner.
"Lie flat!" commanded Blake; "lie flat, and don't move! I'm going
to call his bluff. Keep still till the poison gets in its work. I'll
keep him busy long as I can. When it's over, hit out for home along the
beach. Keep inside the barricade, and watch all you can from the cliffs.
Might light a fire up there nights. There's sure to be a steamer before
long--"
"Tom!" she cried, struggling to her knees,--"Tom!"
But he did not pause or look around. He was beginning to circle slowly
to the left across the open ground, in a spiral curve that would bring
him to the edge of the jungle within thirty yards of the lion. There
was red now showing in his eyes. His hair was bristling, no longer with
fear, but with sheer brute fury; his lips were drawn back from the
clenched teeth; his nostrils distended and quivering; his forehead
wrinkled like that of an angry mastiff. His look was more ferocious
than that of the snarling beast he faced. All the primeval in him was
roused. He was become a man of the Cave Age. He went to meet death, his
mind and body aflame with fierce lust to kill.
The lion stilled his roars, and crouched as if to spring, snarling and
grinning with rage and uncertainty. His eyes, unaccustomed to the glare
of the mid-day sun, blinked incessantly, though he followed the man's
every movement, his snarls deepening into growls at the slightest change
of attitude.
In his blind animal rage, Blake had forgotten that the purpose of his
lateral advance was to place as great a distance as possible between him
and the girl before the clash. Yet instinct kept him moving along his
spiral course, on the chance that he might catch his foe off his guard.
Suddenly the lion half rose and stretched forward, sniffing. There was
an uneasy whining note in his growls. Blake let the club slip from
beneath his arm, and drew his bow until the arrow-head lay upon his
thumb. His outstretched arm was rigid as a bar of steel. So tense and
alert were all his nerves that he knew he could drive home both arrows,
and still have time to swing his club before the beast was upon him.
A puff of wind struck against his back, and swept on to the nostrils of
the lion, laden with the odor of man. The beast uttered a short, startled
roar, and whirling about, leaped away into the jungle so quickly that
Blake's arrow flashed past a full yard behind.
The second arrow was on the string before the first had struck the
ground. But the lion had vanished in the grass. With a yell, Blake
dashed on across to the nearest point of the jungle. As he ran, he
drew the burning-glass from his fob, and flipped it open, ready for use.
If the lion had turned behind the sheltering grass stems, he was too
cowardly to charge out again. Within a minute the jungle border was a
wall of roaring flame.
The grass, long since dead, and bone-dry with the days of tropical
sunshine since the cyclone, flared up before the wind like gunpowder.
Even against the wind the fire ate its way along the ground with fearful
rapidity, trailing behind it an upwhirling vortex of smoke and flame.
No living creature could have burst through that belt of fire.
A wave of fierce heat sent Blake staggering back, scorched and blistered.
There was no exultance in his bearing. For the moment all thought of
the lion was swallowed up in awe of his own work. He stared at the
hell of leaping, roaring flames from beneath his upraised arm. To
the north sparks and lighted wisps of grass driven by the gale had
already fired the jungle half way to the farther ridge.
Step by step Blake drew back. His heel struck against something soft.
He looked down, and saw Miss Leslie lying on the sand, white and still.
She had fainted, overcome by fear or by the unendurable heat. The heat
must have stupefied him as well. He stared at her, dull-eyed, wondering
if she was dead. His brain cleared. He sprang over to where the flask
lay beside the remnants of the lunch.
He was dashing the last drops of the tepid water in her face, when she
moaned, and her eyelids began to flutter. He flung down the flask, and
fell to chafing her wrist.
"Tom!" she moaned.
"Yes, Miss Jenny, I'm here. It's all right," he answered.
"Have I had a sunstroke? Is that why it seems so-- I can hardly
breathe--"
"It's all right, I tell you. Only a little bonfire I touched off. Guess
you must have fainted, but it's all right now."
"It was silly of me to faint. But when I saw that dreadful thing
leap--" She faltered, and lay shuddering. Fearful that she was about to
swoon again, Blake slapped her hand between his palms with stinging force.
"You're it!" he shouted. "The joke's on you! Kitty jumped just the
other way, and he won't come back in a hurry with that fire to head him
off. Jump up now, and we'll do a jig on the strength of it."
She attempted a smile, and a trace of color showed in her cheeks. With an
idea that action would further her recovery, he drew her to a sitting
position, stepped quickly behind, and, with his hands beneath her elbows,
lifted her upright. But she was still too weak and giddy to stand alone.
As he released his grip, she swayed and would have fallen had he not
caught her arm.
"Steady!" he admonished. "Brace up; you're all right."
"I'm--I'm just a little dizzy," she murmured, clinging to his
shoulder. "It will pass in a minute. It's so silly, but I'm that
way--Tom, I--I think you are the bravest man--"
"Yes, yes--but that's not the point. Leave go now, like a sensible
girl. It's about time to hit the trail."
He drew himself free, and without a glance at her blushing face, began to
gather up their scattered outfit. His hat lay where he had weighted it
down with the cocoanut. He tossed the nut into the skin bag, and jammed
the hat on his head, pulling the brim far down over his eyes. When he
had fetched his club, he walked back past the girl, with his eyes averted.
"Come on," he muttered.
The scarlet in the girl's cheeks swept over her whole face in a burning
wave, which ebbed slowly and left her colorless. Blake had started off
without a backward glance. She gazed about with a bewildered look at the
palms and the barren ridge and the fiery tidal wave of flame. Her gaze
came back to Blake, and she followed him.
Within a short distance she found herself out of the sheltering lee of
the ridge. The first wind gust almost overthrew her. She could never
have walked against such a gale; but with the wind at her back she was
buoyed up and borne along as though on wings. Her sole effort was to
keep her foothold. Had it been their morning trip, she could have cried
out with joy and skipped along before the gusts like a school-girl. Now
she walked as soberly as the wind would permit, and took care not to
lessen the distance between herself and Blake.
Mile by mile they hastened back across the plain,--on their right the
blue sea of water, with its white-caps and spray; on their left the
yellow sea of fire, with its dun fog of smoke.
Once only had Blake looked back to see if the girl was following. After
that he swung along, with down-bent head, his gaze upon the ground.
Even when he passed in under the grove and around the pool to the foot
of the cleft, he began the ascent without waiting to assist her up the
break in the path. The girl came after, her lips firm, her eyes bright
and expectant. She drew herself up the ledge as though she had been bred
to mountain climbing.
Inside the barricade Blake was waiting to close the opening. She crept
through, and rose to catch him by the sleeve.
"Tom, look at me," she said. "Once I was most unjust to you in my
thoughts. I wronged you. Now I must tell you that I think you are the
bravest--the noblest man--"
"Get away!" he exclaimed, and he shook off her hand roughly. "Don't
be a fool! You don't know what you're talking about."
"But I do, Tom. I believe that you are--"
"I'm a blackguard--do you hear?"
"No blackguard is brave. The way you faced that terrible beast--"
"Yes, blackguard--to've gone and shown to you that I--to've let you
say a single word--Can't you see? Even if I'm not what you call a
gentleman, I thought I knew how any man ought to treat a woman--but to go
and let you know, before we'd got back among people!"
"But--but, Tom, why not, if we--"
"No!" he retorted harshly. "I'm going now to pile up wood on the
cliff for a beacon fire. In the morning I'll start making that
catamaran--"
"No, you shall not-- You shall not go off, and leave me, and--and risk
your life! I can't bear to think of it! Stay with me, Tom--dear! Even
if a ship never came--"
He turned resolutely, so as not to see her blushing face.
"Come now, Miss Leslie," he said in a dry, even tone; "don't make
it so awfully hard. Let's be sensible, and shake hands on it, like two
real comrades--"
She struck frantically at his outstretched hand.
"Keep away--I hate you!" she cried.
Before he could speak, she was running up the cleft.