himself, “but I have found a soul—she shall be my soul. Von Horn could
not explain to me what a soul is. He does not know. None of them knows.
I am wiser than all the rest, for I have learned what a soul is. Eyes
cannot see it—fingers cannot feel it, but he who possess it knows that
it is there for it fills his whole breast with a great, wonderful love
and worship for something infinitely finer than man’s dull senses can
gauge—something that guides him into paths far above the plain of
soulless beasts and bestial men.
“Let those who will say that I have no soul, for I am satisfied with
the soul I have found. It would never permit me to inflict on others
the terrible wrong that Professor Maxon has inflicted on me—yet he
never doubts his own possession of a soul. It would not allow me to
revel in the coarse brutalities of von Horn—and I am sure that von Horn
thinks he has a soul. And if the savage men who came tonight to kill
have souls, then I am glad that my soul is after my own choosing—I
would not care for one like theirs.”
The sudden equatorial dawn found the man still musing. The storm had
ceased and as the daylight brought the surroundings to view Number
Thirteen became aware that he was not alone in the campong. All about
him lay the eleven terrible men whom he had driven from the bungalow
the previous night. The sight of them brought a realization of new
responsibilities. To leave them here in the campong would mean the
immediate death of Professor Maxon and the Chinaman. To turn them into
the jungle might mean a similar fate for Virginia Maxon were she
wandering about in search of the encampment— Number Thirteen could not
believe that she was dead. It seemed too monstrous to believe that he
should never see her again, and he knew so little of death that it was
impossible for him to realize that that beautiful creature ever could
cease to be filled with the vivacity of life.
The young man had determined to leave the camp himself—partly on
account of the cruel words Professor Maxon had hurled at him the night
before, but principally in order that he might search for the lost
girl. Of course he had not the remotest idea where to look for her, but
as von Horn had explained that they were upon a small island he felt
reasonably sure that he should find her in time.
As he looked at the sleeping monsters near him he determined that the
only solution of his problem was to take them all with him. Number
Twelve lay closest to him, and stepping to his side he nudged him with
the butt of the bull whip he still carried. The creature opened his
dull eyes.
“Get up,” said Number Thirteen.
Number Twelve rose, looking askance at the bull whip.
“We are not wanted here,” said Number Thirteen. “I am going away and
you are all going with me. We shall find a place where we may live in
peace and freedom. Are you not tired of always being penned up?”
“Yes,” replied Number Twelve, still looking at the whip.
“You need not fear the whip,” said the young man. “I shall not use it
on those who make no trouble. Wake the others and tell them what I have
said. All must come with me—those who refuse shall feel the whip.”
Number Twelve did as he was bid. The creatures mumbled among themselves
for a few minutes. Finally Number Thirteen cracked his long whip to
attract their attention.
“Come!” he said.
Nine of them shuffled after him as he turned toward the outer gate—only
Number Ten and Number Three held back. The young man walked quickly to
where they stood eyeing him sullenly. The others halted to watch—ready
to spring upon their new master should the tide of the impending battle
turn against him. The two mutineers backed away snarling, their hideous
features distorted in rage.
“Come!” repeated Number Thirteen.
“We will stay here,” growled Number Ten. “We have not yet finished with
Maxon.”
A loop in the butt of the bull whip was about the young man’s wrist.
Dropping the weapon from his hand it still dangled by the loop. At the
same instant he launched himself at the throat of Number Ten, for he
realized that a decisive victory now without the aid of the weapon they
all feared would make the balance of his work easier.
The brute met the charge with lowered head and outstretched hands, and
in another second they were locked in a clinch, tearing at one another
like two great gorillas. For a moment Number Three stood watching the
battle, and then he too sprang in to aid his fellow mutineer. Number
Thirteen was striking heavy blows with his giant hands upon the face
and head of his antagonist, while the long, uneven fangs of the latter
had found his breast and neck a half dozen times. Blood covered them
both. Number Three threw his enormous weight into the conflict with the
frenzy of a mad bull.
Again and again he got a hold upon the young giant’s throat only to be
shaken loose by the mighty muscles. The excitement of the conflict was
telling upon the malformed minds of the spectators. Presently one who
was almost brainless, acting upon the impulse of suggestion, leaped in
among the fighters, striking and biting at Number Thirteen. It was all
that was needed—another second found the whole monstrous crew upon the
single man.
His mighty strength availed him but little in the unequal
conflict—eleven to one were too great odds even for those powerful
thews. His great advantage lay in his superior intelligence, but even
this seemed futile in the face of the enormous weight of numbers that
opposed him. Time and again he had almost shaken himself free only to
fall once more—dragged down by hairy arms about his legs.
Hither and thither about the campong the battle raged until the
fighting mass rolled against the palisade, and here, at last, with his
back to the structure, Number Thirteen regained his feet, and with the
heavy stock of the bull whip beat off, for a moment, those nearest him.
All were winded, but when those who were left of the eleven original
antagonists drew back to regain their breath, the young giant gave them
no respite, but leaped among them with the long lash they had such good
reason to hate and fear.
The result was as his higher intelligence had foreseen—the creatures
scattered to escape the fury of the lash and a moment later he had them
at his mercy. About the campong lay four who had felt the full force of
his heavy fist, while not one but bore some mark of the battle.
Not a moment did he give them to recuperate after he had scattered them
before he rounded them up once more near the outer gate—but now they
were docile and submissive. In pairs he ordered them to lift their
unconscious comrades to their shoulders and bear them into the jungle,
for Number Thirteen was setting out into the world with his grim tribe
in search of his lady love.
Once well within the jungle they halted to eat of the more familiar
fruit which had always formed the greater bulk of their sustenance.
Thus refreshed, they set out once more after the leader who wandered
aimlessly beneath the shade of the tall jungle trees amidst the
gorgeous tropic blooms and gay, songless birds—and of the twelve only
the leader saw the beauties that surrounded them or felt the strange,
mysterious influence of the untracked world they trod. Chance took them
toward the west until presently they emerged upon the harbor’s edge,
where from the matted jungle they overlooked for the first time the
waters of the little bay and the broader expanse of strait beyond,
until their eyes rested at last upon the blurred lines of distant
Borneo.
From other vantage points at the jungle’s border two other watchers
looked out upon the scene. One was the lascar whom von Horn had sent
down to the Ithaca the night before but who had reached the harbor
after she sailed. The other was von Horn himself. And both were looking
out upon the dismantled wreck of the Ithaca where it lay in the sand
near the harbor’s southern edge.
Neither ventured forth from his place of concealment, for beyond the
Ithaca ten prahus were pulling gracefully into the quiet waters of the
basin.
Rajah Muda Saffir, caught by the hurricane the preceding night as he
had been about to beat across to Borneo, had scurried for shelter
within one of the many tiny coves which indent the island’s entire
coast. It happened that his haven of refuge was but a short distance
south of the harbor in which he knew the Ithaca to be moored, and in
the morning he decided to pay that vessel a visit in the hope that he
might learn something of advantage about the girl from one of her
lascar crew.
The wily Malay had long refrained from pillaging the Ithaca for fear
such an act might militate against the larger villainy he purposed
perpetrating against her white owner, but when he rounded the point and
came in sight of the stranded wreck he put all such thoughts from him
and made straight for the helpless hulk to glean whatever of salvage
might yet remain within her battered hull.
The old rascal had little thought of the priceless treasure hidden
beneath the Ithaca’s clean swept deck as he ordered his savage henchmen
up her sides while he lay back upon his sleeping mat beneath the canopy
which protected his vice-regal head from the blistering tropic sun.
Number Thirteen watched the wild head hunters with keenest interest as
they clambered aboard the vessel. With von Horn he saw the evident
amazement which followed the opening of the hatch, though neither
guessed its cause. He saw the haste with which a half dozen of the
warriors leaped down the companionway and heard their savage shouts as
they pursued their quarry within the bowels of the ship.
A few minutes later they emerged dragging a woman with them. Von Horn
and Number Thirteen recognized the girl simultaneously, but the doctor,
though he ground his teeth in futile rage, knew that he was helpless to
avert the tragedy. Number Thirteen neither knew nor cared.
“Come!” he called to his grotesque horde. “Kill the men and save the
girl—the one with the golden hair,” he added as the sudden realization
came to him that none of these creatures ever had seen a woman before.
Then he dashed from the shelter of the jungle, across the beach and
into the water, his fearful pack at his heels.
The Ithaca lay now in about five feet of water, and the war prahus of
Muda Saffir rode upon her seaward side, so that those who manned them
did not see the twelve who splashed through the water from land. Never
before had any of the rescuers seen a larger body of water than the
little stream which wound through their campong, but accidents and
experiments in that had taught them the danger of submerging their
heads. They could not swim, but all were large and strong, so that they
were able to push their way rapidly through the water to the very side
of the ship.
Here they found difficulty in reaching the deck, but in a moment Number
Thirteen had solved the problem by requiring one of the taller of his
crew to stand close in by the ship while the others clambered upon his
shoulders and from there to the Ithaca’s deck.
Number Thirteen was the first to pull himself over the vessel’s side,
and as he did so he saw some half dozen Dyaks preparing to quit her
upon the opposite side. They were the last of the boarding party—the
girl was nowhere in sight. Without waiting for his men the young giant
sprang across the deck. His one thought was to find Virginia Maxon.
At the sound of his approach the Dyak turned, and at the sight of a
pajama clad white man armed only with a long whip they emitted savage
cries of anticipation, counting the handsome trophy upon the white
one’s shoulders as already theirs. Number Thirteen would have paid no
attention whatever to them had they not molested him, for he wished
only to reach the girl’s side as quickly as possible; but in another
moment he found himself confronted by a half dozen dancing wild men,
brandishing wicked looking parangs, and crying tauntingly.
Up went the great bull whip, and without abating his speed a particle
the man leaped into the midst of the wicked blades that menaced him.
Right and left with the quickness of thought the heavy lash fell upon
heads, shoulders and sword arms. There was no chance to wield a blade
in the face of that terrific onslaught, for the whip fell, not with the
ordinary force of a man-held lash, but with all the stupendous power of
those giant shoulders and arms behind it.
A single blow felled the foremost head hunter, breaking his shoulder
and biting into the flesh and bone as a heavy sword bites. Again and
again the merciless leather fell, while in the boats below Muda Saffir
and his men shouted loud cries of encouragement to their companions on
the ship, and a wide-eyed girl in the stern of Muda Saffir’s own prahu
looked on in terror, hope and admiration at the man of her own race
whom she felt was battling against all these odds for her alone.
Virginia Maxon recognized her champion instantly as he who had fought
for her and saved her once before, from the hideous creature of her
father’s experiments. With hands tight pressed against her bosom the
girl leaned forward, tense with excitement, watching every move of the
lithe, giant figure, as, silhouetted against the brazen tropic sky, it
towered above the dancing, shrieking head hunters who writhed beneath
the awful lash.
Muda Saffir saw that the battle was going against his men, and it
filled him with anger. Turning to one of his headmen he ordered two
more boatloads of warriors to the Ithaca’s deck. As they were rushing
to obey their leader’s command there was a respite in the fighting on
the ship, for the three who had not fallen beneath the bull whip had
leaped overboard to escape the fate which had overtaken their comrades.
As the reinforcements started to scale the vessel’s side Number
Thirteen’s searching eyes found the girl in Muda Saffir’s prahu, where
it lay a little off from the Ithaca, and as the first of the enemy
clambered over the rail she saw a smile of encouragement light the
clear cut features of the man above her. Virginia Maxon sent back an
answering smile—a smile that filled the young giant’s heart with pride
and happiness—such a smile as brave men have been content to fight and
die for since woman first learned the art of smiling.
Number Thirteen could have beaten back many of the reinforcing party
before they reached the deck, but he did not care to do so. In the
spontaneous ethics of the man there seemed no place for an unfair
advantage over an enemy, and added to this was his newly acquired love
of battle, so he was content to wait until his foes stood on an even
footing with him before he engaged them. But they never came within
reach of his ready lash. Instead, as they came above the ship’s side
they paused, wide-eyed and terror stricken, and with cries of fear and
consternation dropped precipitately back into the sea, shouting
warnings to those who were about to scale the hull.
Muda Saffir arose in his prahu cursing and reviling the frightened
Dyaks. He did not know the cause of their alarm, but presently he saw
it behind the giant upon the Ithaca’s deck—eleven horrible
monstrosities lumbering forward, snarling and growling, to their
leader’s side.
At the sight his own dark countenance went ashen, and with trembling
lips he ordered his oarsmen to pull for the open sea. The girl, too,
saw the frightful creatures that surrounded the man upon the deck. She
thought that they were about to attack him, and gave a little cry of
warning, but in another instant she realized that they were his
companions, for with him they rushed to the side of the ship to stand
for a moment looking down upon the struggling Dyaks in the water below.
Two prahus lay directly beneath them, and into these the head hunters
were scrambling. The balance of the flotilla was now making rapid
headway under oars and sail toward the mouth of the harbor, and as
Number Thirteen saw that the girl was being borne away from him, he
shouted a command to his misshapen crew, and without waiting to see if
they would follow him leaped into the nearer of the two boats beneath.
It was already half filled with Dyaks, some of whom were hastily
manning the oars. Others of the head hunters were scrambling over the
gunwale. In an instant pandemonium reigned in the little vessel. Savage
warriors sprang toward the tall figure towering above them. Parangs
flashed. The bull whip hissed and cracked, and then into the midst of
it all came a horrid avalanche of fearful and grotesque monsters—the
young giant’s crew had followed at his command.
The battle in the prahu was short and fierce. For an instant the Dyaks
attempted to hold their own, but in the face of the snarling, rending
horde that engulfed them terror got the better of them all, so that
those who were not overcome dived overboard and swam rapidly toward
shore.
The other prahu had not waited to assist its companion, but before it
was entirely filled had gotten under way and was now rapidly
overhauling the balance of the fleet.
Von Horn had been an excited witness to all that had occurred upon the
tranquil bosom of the little harbor. He had been filled with
astonishment at sight of the inhabitants of the court of mystery
fighting under the leadership of Number Thirteen, and now he watched
interestedly the outcome of the adventure.
The sight of the girl being borne away in the prahu of the Malay rajah
to a fate worse than death, had roused in him both keen regret and
savage rage, but it was the life of ease that he was losing that
concerned him most. He had felt so sure of winning Professor Maxon’s
fortune through either a forced or voluntary marriage with the girl
that his feelings now were as of one whose rightful heritage has been
foully wrested from him. The thought of the girl’s danger and suffering
were of but secondary consideration to him, for the man was incapable
of either deep love or true chivalry.
Quite the contrary were the emotions which urged on the soulless
creature who now found himself in undisputed possession of a Dyak war
prahu. His only thought was of the girl being rapidly borne away across
the glimmering waters of the strait. He knew not to what dangers she
was exposed, or what fate threatened her. All he knew was that she had
been taken by force against her will. He had seen the look of terror in
her eyes, and the dawning hope die out as the boat that carried her had
turned rapidly away from the Ithaca. His one thought now was to rescue
her from her abductors and return her to her father. Of his own reward
or profit he entertained no single thought—it was enough if he could
fight for her. That would be reward sufficient.
Neither Number Thirteen nor any of his crew had ever before seen a
boat, and outside of the leader there was scarcely enough brains in the
entire party to render it at all likely that they could ever navigate
it, but the young man saw that the other prahus were being propelled by
the long sticks which protruded from their sides, and he also saw the
sails bellying with wind, though he had but a vague conception of their
purpose.
For a moment he stood watching the actions of the men in the nearest
boat, and then he set himself to the task of placing his own men at the
oars and instructing them in the manner of wielding the unfamiliar
implements. For an hour he worked with the brainless things that
constituted his party. They could not seem to learn what was required
of them. The paddles were continually fouling one another, or being
merely dipped into the water and withdrawn without the faintest
semblance of a stroke made.
The tiresome maneuvering had carried them about in circles back and
forth across the harbor, but by it Number Thirteen had himself learned
something of the proper method of propelling and steering his craft. At
last, more through accident than intent, they came opposite the mouth
of the basin, and then chance did for them what days of arduous
endeavor upon their part might have failed to accomplish.
As they hung wavering in the opening, the broad strait before them, and
their quarry fast diminishing to small specks upon the distant horizon,
a vagrant land breeze suddenly bellied the flapping sail. The prahu
swung quickly about with nose pointed toward the sea, the sail filled,
and the long, narrow craft shot out of the harbor and sped on over the
dancing waters in the wake of her sisters.
On shore behind them the infuriated Dyaks who had escaped to the beach
danced and shrieked; von Horn, from his hiding place, looked on in
surprised wonder, and Bududreen’s lascar cursed the fate that had left
a party of forty head hunters upon the same small island with him.
Smaller and smaller grew the retreating prahu as, straight as an arrow,
she sped toward the dim outline of verdure clad Borneo.
9
INTO SAVAGE BORNEO
Von Horn cursed the chance that had snatched the girl from him, but he
tried to content himself with the thought that the treasure probably
still rested in the cabin of the Ithaca, where Bududreen was to have
deposited it. He wished that the Dyaks would take themselves off so
that he could board the vessel and carry the chest ashore to bury it
against the time that fate should provide a means for transporting it
to Singapore.
In the water below him floated the Ithaca’s masts, their grisly burdens
still lashed to their wave swept sides. Bududreen lay there, his
contorted features set in a horrible grimace of death which grinned up
at the man he would have cheated, as though conscious of the fact that
the white man would have betrayed him had the opportunity come, the
while he enjoyed in anticipation the other’s disappointment in the loss
of both the girl and the treasure.
The tide was rising now, and presently the Ithaca began to float. No
sooner was it apparent that she was free than the Dyaks sprang into the
water and swam to her side. Like monkeys they scrambled aboard,
swarming below deck in search, thought von Horn, of pillage. He prayed
that they would not discover the chest.
Presently a half dozen of them leaped overboard and swam to the mass of
tangled spars and rigging which littered the beach. Selecting what they
wished they returned to the vessel, and a few minutes later von Horn
was chagrined to see them stepping a jury mast—he thought the treasure
lay in the Ithaca’s cabin.
Before dark the vessel moved slowly out of the harbor, setting a course
across the strait in the direction that the war prahus had taken. When
it was apparent that there was no danger that the head hunters would
return, the lascar came from his hiding place, and dancing up and down
upon the shore screamed warlike challenges and taunts at the retreating
enemy.
Von Horn also came forth, much to the sailor’s surprise, and in silence
the two stood watching the disappearing ship. At length they turned and
made their way up the stream toward camp—there was no longer aught to
fear there. Von Horn wondered if the creatures he had loosed upon
Professor Maxon had done their work before they left, or if they had
all turned to mush as had Number Thirteen.
Once at the encampment his questions were answered, for he saw a light
in the bungalow, and as he mounted the steps there were Sing and
Professor Maxon just coming from the living room.
“Von Horn!” exclaimed the professor. “You, then, are not dead; but
where is Virginia? Tell me that she is safe.”
“She has been carried away,” was the startling answer. “Your creatures,
under the thing you wished to marry her to, have taken her to Borneo
with a band of Malay and Dyak pirates. I was alone and could do nothing
to prevent them.”
“God!” moaned the old man. “Why did I not kill the thing when it stood
within my power to do so. Only last night he was here beside me, and
now it is too late.”
“I warned you,” said von Horn, coldly.
“I was mad,” retorted the professor. “Could you not see that I was mad?
Oh, why did you not stop me? You were sane enough. You at least might
have forced me to abandon the insane obsession which has overpowered my
reason for all these terrible months. I am sane now, but it is too
late—too late.”
“Both you and your daughter could only have interpreted any such action
on my part as instigated by self-interest, for you both knew that I
wanted to make her my wife,” replied the other. “My hands were tied. I
am sorry now that I did not act, but you can readily see the position
in which I was placed.”