THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS.
FOR a moment the familiar sound, heard in the trackless wilds of the
underworld, set each man’s heart throbbing with a mad yearning for home.
Home! Would they ever again look upon the glorious blue of the
vault of heaven? Ever more behold the glowing splendour of the sun?
Would they again set eyes upon the white cliffs of the Homeland, whose
shores they had left so full of hope and enthusiasm?
Like the death-knell of their hopes rang the thrilling cry of
their enemies as they moved once more to the attack.
But their two previous receptions had taught the wolf-men a
lesson. No mad charge did they make this time. Evidently they had
conceived a wholesome dread of firearms. Stealthily the creatures
crept forward, seeming to wonder why the fire-weapons of these mighty
white strangers were silent.
When they discovered that the rifles were not only silent, but
useless, the end would not be long in coming.
The glare from the fire gulf lit up the hideous features of the
savages with startling effect, giving them an even more diabolical
expression, if that were possible. Nearer they came, gaining courage
with every yard they advanced, their bloodshot eyes rolling horribly.
Then suddenly, in a veritable living avalanche, they hurled themselves
upon the gallant quartette.
The rifle butts rose and fell with sickening monotony, and at
each stroke a wolf-man crashed to earth. The knives flashed like
lightning through the crimson glare as Wilson and the scientist flung
themselves pell-mell into the combat.
The engineer, plunging his weapon into the breast of a savage,
tore the spear from his grasp, and fell to with this new tool with
tremendous energy. Back and forth the struggling group swayed, one
moment perilously close to the brink of the fire gulf, the next many
yards away.
But the fight was too hot to last.
Slowly the four were beaten backward; then Wilson went down with
a jagged wound in his thigh, and Mervyn, stumbling over his prostrate
body, was struck senseless by a blow from the flat of a spear.
Another instant and Seymour and the Yankee would have fallen
before the weapons of their foes, but, in the nick of time, a shout
came pealing across the gulf.
“Aswani!” (“Courage!”)
At the word the wolf-men wavered in their attack, and a cry arose
from their midst, “Yos toreal Ayuti!” (“The last of the Ayutis!”)
While they hesitated the drawbridge fell with a clang across the
abyss, and over it an elk came galloping, his antlers gleaming like
gold in the ruddy glow from the gulf. But it was not upon this
magnificent creature that the gaze of the savages was fixed.
No: for astride the elk rode a man taller than any of the sons of
earth, and his form was as that of a god. A battle-axe flashed in his
right hand, and at his back swung a great embossed shield. This latter
he unslung as he came on.
Checking his giant steed at the end of the bridge by the pressure
of his knee, he sprang to earth and hurled himself upon the wolf-men.
Like a thing of life his great axe whirred and hissed, and before it
the savages fell as grain before the sickle.
For a while the two comrades stood astounded by this unexpected
reinforcement. Their case had appeared so hopeless, so utterly
desperate, that they had resigned themselves to destruction. They had
not expected to accomplish aught, even by their most strenuous
exertions. To sell their lives as dearly as possible had been their
only object. But now, by the timely arrival of this gigantic stranger,
whom the wolf-men called “The last of the Ayutis,” the tables had been
completely turned upon their enemies.
Against the Ayuti’s great flashing blade the savages hurled
themselves in vain. Vainly they cut and hewed, vainly they hacked and
slashed. Cut and thrust alike fell harmless; their spears shivered
themselves to fragments against the Ayuti’s shield. At every sweeping
stroke of the great axe a savage crashed to earth.
Amid the hideous, misshapen forms of the wolf-men the Ayuti
towered as a god among demons, and ever and anon a thrilling war-cry
pealed from his lips, ringing clear as a bell above the din. Not all
their ferocious courage could serve Nordhu’s savages now, nor could
their cunning aid them. Their gigantic enemy seemed to be wholly
without fear.
[Illustration: “AMID THE HIDEOUS FORMS OF THE WOLF-MEN AYUTI TOWERED
AS A GOD”(_p. 149._)]
The pile of dead grew, and soon, of all the wolfish horde which
had first attacked the fugitives, but a dozen were left. These, seeing
that all was lost, that further fighting was in vain, turned to
flee.
“Not one must escape!” roared the Ayuti, leaping forward in
pursuit, and Seymour, translating the words to the American, followed
him. Within five minutes not a savage remained on his feet. What the
axe of the Ayuti had missed the rifle butts had accounted for.
For a few moments hereafter the three men stood leaning on their
weapons, and now the two fugitives had a closer view of their splendid
rescuer. Over seven feet he was in stature; his splendid limbs were
left partly bare by the skin cloak which he wore suspended from one
shoulder. His curling hair fell in rich masses to his shoulders, and
his skin was little darker than the baronet’s own. The beauty of his
features, his exquisitely-proportioned form, and the grace of his
every movement made up a picture of god-like majesty, before which the
two friends felt inclined to bow the knee.
Instead of doing this, however, Seymour held out his hand.
“Friend,” he said in Ayuti, and there was a strange break in his
voice, “we cannot thank you for the service you have rendered us.”
“’Tis naught,” replied the Ayuti, grasping the proffered hand
warmly; “I would that I might aid ye again. But, see, thy brothers
still sleep. They must be awakened.”
An application of the spirit flask carried by Haverly quickly
aroused the two senseless men. Then, while the American dressed the
engineer’s wounded leg, Seymour told the Ayuti of the means of their
coming to this weird land, and of all that had befallen them
since.
A long recital it was, but deeply interesting, and the eyes of
the giant glowed with admiration as the baronet proceeded.
“Ye are men indeed,” he cried, when the story was finished, and
once more gripped Seymour’s hand. “Fairhair, thou and I must be
brethren, for thou art a man after my own heart. What say ye?”
“Gladly,” answered the baronet, smiling at the Ayuti’s quaint
reference to his golden hair and beard. “By what name are ye
called?”
“I am Chenobi, which should have been king of the city of Ayuti,”
was the reply; “but I am the last of my race, a king without subjects.
See, Fairhair, let us cast this carrion into the gulf of fire, that
Nordhu discover not the manner of your escape.”
With that the Ayuti commenced to pitch the bodies of the slain
wolf-men over the brink of the abyss. Overcoming his repugnance with
an effort, Seymour aided him in his horrible task, the Yankee also
lending a hand when he had made Wilson comfortable.
Then suddenly, at a moment when all seemed to be well, when all
danger appeared to be past, a catastrophe happened that appalled them.
Silas had stooped to grasp a corpse which lay almost on the verge of
the gulf, when, without a scrap of warning, the savage--who had
evidently been playing ’possum in hope of effecting his
escape--grabbed for his ankles. Taken entirely by surprise, the
Yankee tripped, lost his balance, and fell headlong over the
brink.
The Ayuti was the first to recover from the shock of this
terrible thing. With a roar of fury, he strode forward, gripped the
shivering savage by his girdle, and swung him, screaming madly, far
out into the abyss.
Fascinated, the adventurers watched his fall. Twice he turned
over in mid-air, then his body seemed to shrivel up in that terrible
heat, and it was naught but a cinder that struck the glowing sea
below.
“The dog!” Chenobi cried, a fearful passion blazing in his eyes,
“the cursed dog, may----”
A startled cry from Seymour checked his further utterance.
“Great heaven! Look!”
Shading their eyes from the glare, his friends looked over the
brink, the Ayuti, though not understanding the words, following their
example. On a ledge in the wall of the abyss, twenty feet below, lay
the senseless form of Haverly. His limbs dangled perilously over the
edge of the narrow shelf, and it was apparent to all that the
slightest movement would precipitate him into the molten billows which
rolled far beneath. At any moment he might come to and attempt to sit
up; then--his comrades shivered at the thought.
Yet how was his deliverance to be accomplished? Even had they a
rope, who would dare to descend into that fiery gulf, to dangle over
that flaming sea?
Chenobi answered the question in a fashion that sent a thrill
through the three spectators of his daring action.
Launching himself over the brink of the precipice, the Ayuti
began to make his way down to the ledge. Breathlessly his new friends
watched his perilous progress. From crag to crag he swung, at times
having the greatest difficulty in finding foothold. Once he slipped,
and the watchers gasped and averted their eyes, seeing him in
imagination hurtling into the raging sea below. But he recovered
himself, and, with splendid perseverance, continued the descent.
To the watchers it seemed an age ere he reached his goal and
stood beside the unconscious American. Then a new difficulty arose,
another predicament had to be faced.
How was he to get Haverly up the face of the cliff?
That he would need both hands free for his return journey was
absolutely certain. For a few moments Chenobi stood, thinking out the
best method by which to effect his purpose; then to his mind came a
daring idea. Unloosing the girdle which confined his skin cloak at the
waist, he bent down, passed it beneath Haverly’s belt, and rebuckled
it. First testing both straps to satisfy himself that they were
perfectly secure, he commenced to lift the American from the
ledge.
To any but one of his gigantic strength the attempt would have
ended in failure, and probably a swift and terrible death. The ledge
was very little over a foot in width, and it seemed utterly impossible
for the Ayuti to raise the dead weight of the unconscious man. But now
his magnificent strength revealed itself.
His mighty muscles stood up like knotted ropes beneath the skin;
his shoulders cracked again with the strain of his effort. Yet he
accomplished his purpose; slowly he raised his senseless burden until
he could stand once more upright on the ledge, with his back to the
cliff, and with Haverly dangling before him at the end of the
girdle.
“What a man!” Seymour cried admiringly, as he watched eagerly for
the Ayuti’s next move. “He’s a veritable Hercules!”
“Never have I seen so fine a man!” Mervyn exclaimed. “What a
noble race these people must have been! But, see, he is moving
again.”
Although their eyes ached with the glare, the watchers could not
tear their gaze from the scene below. There was a fearful attraction
about Chenobi’s heroic efforts. All natural law seemed to proclaim
that what he was about to attempt was an impossibility.
“He’ll never do it,” Wilson groaned, forgetting the pain of his
wounded limb in his anxiety. “Haverly’s weight will drag him over as
soon as he begins to climb.”
“We shall see presently,” the baronet answered; “if anyone can do
it he can.”
Gripping the American by the waist with his left arm, Chenobi
slipped the looped girdle about his own neck. Another pause of a few
seconds, and then, relaxing his grip of the limp body, he took all the
weight upon his neck. The strain must have been tremendous, yet he
kept his balance; more, he commenced to turn round upon the
ledge--thrusting Haverly behind him as he did so--until he
stood facing the cliff, ready for his climb.
The first part of his task had been accomplished in safety; but
what of the next? Would not the weight of his swinging burden drag him
backward, as Wilson had said? It would soon be seen, for now Chenobi
was commencing his perilous journey. Hand over hand he clawed his way
up, moving deliberately, and as one who was sure of his ground.
How he finished that fearful climb the spectators never knew,
for, appalled by the peril of his position, they retired from the edge
of the cliff, not daring to look lest they should see the daring
climber fall headlong into the fiery sea below. Each moment they
expected to hear a cry of alarm from the abyss--evidence that
Chenobi had lost his balance--but it never came. Soon the Ayuti’s
head appeared above the cliff top, and Seymour leapt forward to
relieve him of his burden. Haverly was saved!
Staggering a few paces from the edge, Chenobi flung himself down
upon the rocky ground, exhausted but triumphant. And here he lay for a
time, while Mervyn and the baronet used their utmost endeavours to
restore their senseless friend. Half an hour passed ere the American
came round, and for long afterwards he was weak and ill as a result of
his terrible experience. His gratitude, when he knew of Chenobi’s
heroism, was touching to behold; yet he said little. Only his eyes
showed how deeply grateful he felt.
Seeing him moving, the Ayuti rose and came towards him, whereupon
Silas tottered to his feet and held out his hand.
“Shake!” he said, and Seymour translated his words. “You’re a
white man all through!”
Chenobi showed all his magnificent teeth in a smile of pleasure,
as he gripped the Yankee’s hand; then turned to where the great elk
still stood, motionless as though carved in stone.
“Muswani!” he cried, “kneel!”
At the words the giant brute dropped to its knees. Lifting the
engineer, whose wounded limb made walking a matter of great
difficulty, Chenobi placed him across the elk’s back, himself mounting
behind. A further word of command, and the Ayuti’s strange steed rose
and stepped out upon the bridge.
“Come!” Chenobi cried, and the three friends followed across the
fire gulf.