THE ELK-HUNTERS.
FOR some time after the departure of their friends, Wilson and Haverly
sat yarning, the latter arousing the admiration of the engineer by his
thrilling stories of train robberies and Indian fighting on the early
railways of the States. Then their talk turned upon their absent
comrades, and the American had many a tale to tell of Seymour’s daring
in the face of dire peril.
So the time passed pleasantly enough, until suddenly, in the
midst of a particularly thrilling yarn, Haverly leapt to his feet and
strode to the door.
“What is it?” asked Wilson.
“Listen!” was the reply.
From somewhere in the jungle came a chorus of wolfish yelps,
succeeded by a faint cry, “Help!”
“It’s Seymour!” cried the engineer, and snatched up a rifle.
Silas darted out on deck, revolver in hand.
“Help!” The cry was repeated, this time much nearer than
before.
Quick as thought, Silas skimmed over the gangway, and leapt
ashore, closely followed by the engineer.
As their feet touched the shingle, some heavy body burst out of
the jungle.
It was the baronet! Gasping for breath and sweating at every pore
from his terrible exertions, he plunged madly down the beach, his eyes
fixed in a glassy stare of terror.
Suddenly he stumbled over a loose stone and fell heavily. It was
the most fortunate fall he ever had; for, as he pitched forward, three
great spears hummed out of the fungi, passing close over his prostrate
body.
Had he not tripped, he would certainly have been impaled by the
murderous weapons.
Emptying his revolver into the undergrowth to secure immunity
from further attack, Haverly assisted his friend aboard, and, after a
short rest, Seymour told his story.
“Wal!” exclaimed Silas, when the baronet had finished, “I allow
this licks all I ever heard! Mervyn carried off by a
tricera--what do you call it?--an’ Garth wiped clean out as
though he never existed, without you clappin’ eyes on the brutes that
attacked him.”
“What do you advise?” asked Seymour hoarsely; “we must act
quickly, whatever course we decide upon. There is a
chance--faint, I admit--that our friends are still alive,
and if we go well armed we may manage to effect their rescue.”
“And you don’t know what sort of brutes these are, that jumped
you?” the American questioned.
“Haven’t the least notion,” was the reply; “but I’ll admit they
fairly scared me. Those wolfish cries of theirs completely unmanned
me. There was something so devilish about the whole thing that my fear
got the better of me, and I bolted for my life.”
“Small blame to you,” replied Silas. “We heard a bit of the
entertainment here. But now for business. This is how I figure things
out. We’ll sink the boat, an’ trot her along a bit further up the
coast, in case any of the gentry that trailed you are hidin’ in the
mushroom bed there. Don’t think I funk meetin’ ’em; you know that
ain’t my style. But it won’t do to take no chances on a picnic of this
yer sort. With the lives of our two pards hangin’ on our efforts, I
guess we’ve got to hustle some. I assume you can find that gully you
mentioned again?”
“Blindfold!” returned Seymour.
“That’s well. If we don’t strike some kind of a trail, my name
ain’t Si. K. Haverly. You don’t mind stoppin’ aboard alone,
Wilson?”
“Certainly not,” answered the engineer; “but for Heaven’s sake be
careful. If you don’t return, and I am left alone, I think I shall go
mad in this ghostly hole!”
“I guess it’ll have to be a mighty smart nigger to get the drop
on me and Seymour,” Haverly asserted. “Just skip down to your engines,
like a good chap, an’ we’ll get a move on.”
Within a few moments the _Seal_--totally
submerged--was moving cautiously up the coast, under the able
guidance of the American, while Seymour hastily packed a couple of
knapsacks with provisions necessary for their expedition. Not knowing
for how long a time they might be absent, Seymour, with the
forethought of an old sportsman, stowed away the greatest possible
amount of food in the limited space at his command.
Then, filling a couple of cartridge belts, and chopping a handful
of cartridges into his pocket in addition, he judged the preparations
for the perilous undertaking to be complete.
For four miles the _Seal_ crept along the coast line, then
she was once more raised to the surface, and the two friends made
ready to disembark.
“Don’t shift the _Seal_ from here,” Silas said as they
stepped ashore. “If we are beaten back we shall make straight for the
boat.”
“You may depend on me,” Wilson called, and, at that, the two
would-be rescuers plunged into the jungle.
For an hour they pressed on, and, realising full well the need
for haste, they put forth every effort, while yet making their passage
through the fungi as noiseless as possible.
Scarce a word passed between them, and what little was said was
in whispers.
To Seymour, fresh from his terrible experience, every fungi-clump
concealed an imaginary foe, and every moment he expected to hear the
terrifying cry of his enemies.
But they reached the ridge in safety, and, with a final glance
round to assure themselves that they were not followed, they descended
into the valley, and passed out on to the plain.
Here Silas produced a small electric lantern, which, with his
usual forethought, he had brought with him; and, while Seymour kept a
sharp watch for enemies, animal or otherwise, he made a thorough
examination of the ground around the entrance to the valley.
The footsteps of the mighty Triceratops were plainly to be seen,
but of Garth or his captors there seemed no trace for a time.
Then suddenly a smothered cry left Haverly’s lips.
“Jupiter! I’ve got it!”
Seymour hurried to his side. In the ground at his feet, plainly
revealed by the light of the lantern, was the impression of a
horrible, ape-like foot, and close beside it was the imprint of a
boot.
The baronet gave a whistle of astonishment.
“The brute must have been close behind Garth when we turned for
the valley,” he said. “See, here are more footprints leading out
across the plain.”
With eyes bent upon the trail, the two comrades moved forward
over the spongy ground in the direction of the distant hills.
Two miles they covered, then a certain peculiarity about the
trail struck Haverly.
“Say, Seymour,” he remarked, “have you noticed? The footprints of
the critturs we’re followin’ run close alongside the trail of the
Triceratops. I reckon that looks considerable queer!”
“I think I can tell you what it means,” replied the baronet,
after a moment’s thought.
“Wal?” Haverly inquired.
“The brutes must have seen Mervyn carried off,” Seymour asserted,
“and have followed the trail in the hopes of his being pitched off the
animal’s back, when, of course, they could capture him, if he were
still alive, without much trouble.”
“I guess you’re right,” returned the American, and once more
silence fell between them.
Three hours went by, and then Silas called a halt.
Flinging themselves down in the shadow of an enormous
boulder--only one of many with which the plain was
dotted--they made a hasty meal.
They were sitting resting for a short time, ere resuming their
journey, when, sudden and terrible, the hideous wolf-cry they knew so
well trembled over the plain.
Thrice it was repeated; then, as the two men sprang to their feet
in expectation of an attack, the sound of running feet broke upon
their ears.
The next instant, through the twilight, loomed the monstrous form
of a gigantic elk.
“Jupiter!”
“Great Scott!”
The exclamations burst simultaneously from the two men, as the
huge bull--almost as large as an elephant--flashed past
them. His great tongue was lolling out, and his mighty sides heaved
madly, as the breath poured, hissing, through his nostrils.
He was evidently nearly spent, for, when he had covered a score
yards or so, he swung round and stood at bay, with his back against a
boulder almost opposite to the one in the shadow of which the rescuers
were flattening themselves, with their rifles at the ready.
His towering antlers gleamed like silver in the light of a great
fungus growing close at hand; yet, for all the vast size of the
creature, for all his great strength, there was something
indescribably pathetic in the droop of the proud head, and a great
feeling of pity rose in the hearts of the watchers for the hunted
brute.
“What a magnificent creature!” Seymour whispered; “but where are
its----”
His sentence ended in a choking gasp, and his face paled beneath
its tan, as, silent as phantoms, six sinister forms glided out of the
shadows.
So hideous were they in form that the two comrades stood as
though stunned, every energy being completely paralysed by the horror
of the things.
Had the creatures attacked Seymour and the Yankee at that moment
theirs would have been an easy victory, for neither man could have
lifted a weapon in defence; but they apparently had no idea of the
presence of other than themselves.
Their long, fearfully-distorted limbs, their hideous feet and
hands, armed with talon-like nails, their lean, emaciated bodies,
covered with coarse, brown hair; their low, receding foreheads, flat
noses, and immense, protruding, wolf-like fangs--all this,
crowned by a mass of thickly-matted hair, which hung almost to the
loins, seen in the dim, ghostly twilight of the underworld, made up a
picture of diabolical horror such as would be difficult, if not
impossible, to beat.
Their thick, coarse lips were drawn back in an everlasting snarl,
and their bloodshot eyes gleamed savagely as they sighted the
motionless figure of the giant elk.
“What are they?” Haverly whispered hoarsely, when the first shock
of their appearance had passed, “men or devils?”
“Heaven knows!” was the low answer. “They are more like wolves
than either!”
No scrap of clothing did the creatures wear, save a hide girdle,
in which was stuck a broad-bladed knife, fit companion to the
deadly-looking spear which each carried in its hand.
Straight towards the great ruminant the creatures glided, their
faces aglow with savage expectancy.
Half a dozen paces from their quarry they paused, and, squatting
on their haunches in a semicircle, raised a series of ghastly howls
which thrilled the two spectators.
The great bull trembled at the sound. Doubtless he knew these
wolfish brutes of old; perhaps had been hunted by them, and had
managed to shake them off. But now his time had come.
Planting his forefeet firmly, he stood with lowered head,
awaiting the end.
Suddenly one of the hunters rose. Gripping his spear firmly with
his teeth, he crouched for an instant, then leapt into the air.
The amazing height of his leap staggered the watchers, while
rousing a grudging admiration.
“The brute must have sinews like watch-springs!” Seymour
whispered, then----
A swift, upward flash of the great palmated antlers, a sound like
the ripping of sacking, and, with a fearful death-cry, the daring
leaper pitched heavily to the ground.
The elk had drawn first blood!
But it was his last effort in a hopeless struggle. Quick as
lightning another of the elk-hunters sprang.
High above the bull’s drooping head he leapt, and, ere the
ill-fated animal could make another move, the wolfish creature was
upon his back, stabbing out his life with his great spear.
A few moments of feeble struggling, and then the elk fell with a
crash, the life-blood pouring from his severed arteries.
Scarcely was he down ere the waiting four were upon him, rending
the still quivering flesh with their great nails.
“Poor brute!” Seymour muttered compassionately; “let those demons
have it, Silas.”
The reports of the two rifles rang out as one, and a couple of
the fearsome elk-hunters rolled over upon the carcase of their quarry,
the rest diving like a flash to cover behind it.
“I guess we’ll have to wipe them out now,” said the Yankee
grimly, “or they’ll bring a hull hornet’s nest about our ears in half
an hour.”
A spear flashed up from behind the carcase as he spoke, and,
missing Seymour by a hair’s-breadth, shivered itself to fragments
against the boulder.
“A close call,” remarked Silas.
“Close indeed,” Seymour returned. “They’ll have one of us next
time, sure as fate, if we remain here. Let us move round in opposite
directions, and outflank them. Down!” he hissed suddenly, pushing
Haverly violently to one side, as a second missile hummed towards
them.
His quick action saved the American, who would undoubtedly have
been transfixed by the great weapon but for that.
An instant later a hideous head poked up from behind the dead
elk.
Seymour let drive with a jerk, but, owing to the uncertain light,
missed, his shot striking a monstrous puff-ball growing within a few
feet of the spot whereon the carcase lay.
A vivid sheet of flame leapt from the fungus, followed by a
terrible explosion, the shock of which hurled Silas and the baronet
violently to the ground.