THE SHADOW OF DANGER.
A few minutes later, Ziffak came through the door of the king's
residence and greeted the explorers.
His dusky countenance showed unmistakable traces of emotion, but like a
true warrior, he knew how to govern his feelings. When he spoke, there
was no agitation perceptible in his voice.
He motioned to his friends to enter the adjoining hut, where Bippo and
Pedros had been left. The Professor showing a natural timidity, he
stepped forward and led the way.
Immediately, the party found themselves within a structure, which while
no larger than the others, still, in view of the royal prerogatives of
the occupant perhaps, possessed more conveniences. The lower
apartment, or rather floor, was separated into three divisions, the
front being that in which the cooking was done, while serving also for
a sitting and general reception room.
The mother of Ziffak and King Haffgo was a tall, muscular widow of
threescore and ten, much wrinkled, but strong and active on her feet.
Her countenance was darker if possible than that of the head chieftain,
making it the more wonderful that Haffgo should be the reverse in that
respect of both.
The royal mother paid little heed to her visitors, probably believing
they were able to take care of themselves without help from her.
Indeed, shortly after the white men entered, she took her departure,
and was not seen again until dark, when she came in to help provide
them with their evening meal.
Bippo and Pedros finding themselves safe at last were doing what they
could to make up for the sleepless nights and hard labor they had
undergone on their way thither. They were stretched upon some skins in
one corner, sleeping heavily and refreshingly.
Ziffak sat on the floor with the whites. It was apparent from his
manner that he was on the point of making a communication of
importance, but he seemed to change his mind suddenly, and, for a time,
spoke upon matters of such trivial account that his listeners were
surprised.
The next astonishing thing which he did was to declare that the stories
he gave to Ashman the night before, when made a prisoner by him were
fables. There was no enchanted lake in the neighborhood, and his
account of the burning mountain was a myth, as were his yarns about the
diamonds obtained from the same mountain.
The Professor nodded his head, laughed and said he was glad to be told
that; for, while he wished to believe their good friend, when he was in
earnest, he found it hard to swallow those marvellous narratives which
exceeded anything that had ever come to their ears.
Long and Ashman also expressed great relief at the naïve confession of
the head chieftain. All the same, however, not one of them was
deceived by the fellow's subterfuge.
They knew that the stories which Ziffak related on the shore of the
Xingu were true. Seized at that time by a burst of confidence, he had
unburdened himself to the young man for whom he formed such deep
admiration.
Since that time, and especially since his angry interview with his
royal brother, he appreciated the grievous mistake he made and was now
anxious to recall it. He, therefore, declared the accounts to be of
the Munchausen order. His listeners read his purpose and it suited
them to let him think they accepted every word of his remarkable
recantation.
He impressed upon them that the king was angry because of their coming
to his village. Indeed Ziffak was afraid that he would recall his
permission to allow them to stay the two days, and might compel them to
leave that night.
This was startling news, and, when Ziffak was pressed, he admitted that
during his absence on the Xingu to meet them, Waggaman and Burkhardt
had returned and secured an audience with His Majesty. This explained
the new phase of matters and was anything but welcome information, but
there was no help for it.
The Professor asked Ziffak whether he could not bring the two white men
to his home, in order that an interview might be had. If that could be
done, Grimcke was hopeful that a better understanding could be
established, but the head chieftain replied that he had not seen either
of the white men since he returned, nor did he know where to find them.
They occupied a building on the opposite side of the king's home, but
he was told they were not there. No doubt they were purposely keeping
out of the way of the new-comers.
Suddenly Ashman asked their friend whether there was any objection to
his taking a stroll around the village and whether he was likely to be
molested. Ziffak promptly replied that there could be no earthly
objection to anything of that nature, and springing to his feet, gun in
hand, he bade his friends good-bye, saying he expected to be back with
them at the end of an hour or so.
It cannot be said that Ashman had any special errand in view, when he
formed this resolution, which was explainable upon the well known laws
governing the human mind.
He was tired of idleness. The prospect of sitting for hours in the
darkening apartment, talking with Ziffak, who, instead of being willing
to give information, was doing his most to withhold it, was not
inviting, but beyond this, he was restless because he was haunted by
those marvellous eyes, peeping from behind the curtain in the king's
room, and that smile of recognition when the gaze of the two met,
thrilled him with a new and strange emotion.
It was this feeling which drove him forth. He wanted to escape the
prying scrutiny of his friends, who, he fancied, suspected his secret.
He wanted to walk in the open air and think and revel in the bliss of
his new delight.
It was growing dark, when he stepped outside of the building. There
was no light visible in any direction, though there would be plenty of
it later on. The natives appeared to be moving aimlessly about, and
one or two near at hand scrutinized him curiously, but they neither
spoke nor made any movement to annoy him. They had not yet forgotten
the lesson given by Ziffak some hours before.
To escape attention, he walked toward the river, passing down the long
sloping bank, until he reached the open, cleared space which has been
referred to as caused by the overflow of the water. Here the walking
was easy, and, turning his face up stream, he walked slowly as a man
does who is in deep thought.
A man who is revelling in the first dream of love is not the one to pay
close attention to his surroundings. He is so apt to be rapt in his
own sweet meditations, that he fails in the most ordinary observation.
Reaching the bottom of the slope, Ashman glanced behind and on his
right. He caught glimpses of several figures moving about like
shadows, but so far as he could judge, none of them was interested in
him. Dismissing them from his mind, he moved on.
He had walked less than one-third of the length of the village front,
when the form of a man slipped softly down the incline, following in
his footsteps and moving as silently as a Murhapa warrior tracking his
foe through the forest.
He was dressed similarly to the American, having the same style of
Panama hat, shirt and boots, and he carried a rifle in his hand. Being
of the same race, he ought to have been a friend, but when the bright
moonlight fell upon his face, it showed the countenance of a demon.
He was Burkhardt, an escaped convict, who had lived for five years
among the Murhapas, and he was seeking the life of Fred Ashman, who, in
his enchanting visions of love, never dreamed of the awful shadow
stealing upon him.