The Web of the Golden Spider

by Frederick Orin Bartlett

  CHAPTER XXIV

  _Those in the Hut_

  In an angle formed by two cliff sides, within a stone's throw of thelake of Guadiva, a native, Flores by name, had built himself a hut.Here he lived with his mate Lotta in a little Nirvana of his own,content with his love and his task of tending a flock of sheep whichfurnished them both with food and clothing. Few came near this hut.The sky above, the lake before, and the mountains round about were allhis, his and his alone even as was the love of the dark-eyed womannear him. Within their simple lives they had sounded the depths ofdespair and reached the heights of bliss.

  The woman Lotta was the daughter of a chieftain of the tribe ofChibca, one whose ancestry went far back into the history of theGolden One. Some of them had been priests, some of them guards, andall of them had fought hard for their god. But the father of this girlincurred the displeasure of the Priest and finally, not yielding todiscipline, his wrath. The stern autocrat of these tribes condemnedhim to extreme punishment--a fast of thirty days in the hut upon themountain top--the hut of the Golden God. Cowed and frightened, theman, somewhat feeble with sickness, bade good-bye to his daughter andclimbed the rugged path. Below, the girl waited day after day untilthe strain became unbearable. She ventured, knowing well what thepenalty was, to visit him with food. She found him groaning upon thestone floor, eaten by fever and racked with pain. She nursed him untilher supplies were exhausted and then came down for more, choosing asecret path which she in her rambles as a girl had discovered. It wasthen she heard whispered among the gossips news of a white strangerwith marvelous powers who was hiding in the hut of a neighbor. It wasjust after the battle with the men from the sea--a battle terrible inits ferocity. This man was one of the refugees from the scatteredarmy, sheltered at first for gold and later because of the power hepossessed of stopping pain. A wounded native, member of the familywhich sheltered him, had been brought in suffering agonies and thestranger had healed him with the touch of a tiny needle. Lotta heardthese things and that night found the stranger's hiding place andbegged him to follow. He knew enough of the native language tounderstand and--to make his bargain. If she would guide him to themountain pass, he would follow.

  The man was Sorez.

  The next few hours were burned into Sorez' mind forever. At her heelshe had clawed his way up the steep hillside expecting at every step aspear thrust in his back. He tore his hands and knees, but, drawn onby a picture of the girl, moving shadow-like in the moonlight ahead ofhim, he followed steadily after. Pausing for breath once he saw thedark fringe of trees below the lava slopes, the twinkle of the campfires, and over all the clear stars. But this region here was a deadregion. He felt as if he were moving through some inferno, someghastly haunt of moaning specters, with the dark-faced girl guidinghim like some dead love. On they climbed in silence until his headbegan to swim with the exertion and the rarefied air. Suddenly thegirl disappeared as though she had dropped over a precipice. To theleft he saw a small path leading over a yawning chasm. She beckonedand he felt his way along. Then they came upon a tiny plateau uponwhich had been built a hut of rocks.

  The scene within was terrible. Upon the stone floor lay a brown-skinnedskeleton with bulging eyes and clawing fingers muttering incoherently.Sorez could do nothing but administer a small injection of the soothingdrug, but this brought instant relief and with it a few moments ofsanity. The doctor had picked up a small vocabulary and gathered fromwhat the dying man muttered that he, Sorez, a very much bruised andweary mortal, was being mistaken for one from heaven. A smilelighted the haggard face of the invalid and the bony hands cametogether in prayer. The girl bent over him and then drew back inhorror. She met the eyes of her father in some new-found wonder,gasping for breath. Then she bent her ear once more. The message,whatever it was, was repeated. Still, as though half doubting, shemoved to the rear of the hut and pounded with a large rock against whatwas apparently the naked face of the cliff in which the hut wasbuilt. It swung in, revealing a sort of shrine. Within this reposeda golden image. She turned her eyes again upon her father and thenwithout hesitation took out the idol and handed it to Sorez.

  "The God of Gods," she whispered, bending low her head.

  "But I don't want your god," protested the doctor.

  "You must. He says it is for you to guard."

  He had taken it carelessly to humor the dying man. And when the latterclosed his eyes for all time, Sorez remembered that the heathen imagewas still in his possession. He started to return it to the shrine,but the girl threw herself before him.

  "No. The trust is yours."

  Well, it would be a pleasant memento of an incident that was anythingbut pleasant. He brought it down the mountain side and put it beneathhis blanket.

  It was not until several days later that bit by bit he came to arealization of that which he had so lightly taken. The old man whobrought his food whispered the news through ashen lips.

  "The Golden One is gone."

  "Who is the Golden One?"

  "The Golden God in the hut above who guards the secret of the sacredtreasure. It is said that some day this image will speak and tellwhere the lost altar lies."

  The whole tribe was in the grip of an awful terror over thisdisappearance. But the Priest proved master of the situation.

  "It will be found," he said.

  In the excitement Sorez found his opportunity to escape, with the helpof the girl, the image still beneath his coat,--the image fated tolight in him the same fires which drove on Raleigh and Quesada. Beforehe reached the home trail he had a chance to see this strange Priestof whom he had heard so much in connection with the rumored treasurein the lake. He came upon him, a tall, sallow-faced man, when withinan hour of safety. Sorez had never before met eyes such as looked frombeneath the skull-like forehead of this man; they bored, bored likehot iron. The Priest spoke good English.

  "Leave the image," he said quietly.

  Sorez, his hand upon a thirty-two caliber revolver, laughed (even asQuesada had laughed) and disappeared in the dark. The next time he metthe Priest was many months later and many thousand miles from theAndes.

  The girl who, at the command of her father, had given Sorez the imagewas made an exile in consequence of this act by a decree of thepriest. But the thread of love is universal. It is the strain out ofwhich springs all idealism--even the notion of God--and as such isbounded by neither time nor place. It is in the beating hearts of allthings human--the definition perhaps of humanity. Civilization differsfrom savagery in many things, but both have in common, after all,whatever is eternal; and love is the thing alone which we know to beeternal. Just human love--love of man for woman and woman for man.

  Flores followed her into the mountains among which they had bothgrown. He built a shelter for her, bought sheep and toiled for her,and with her, found the best of all that a larger life brings to many.The Priest, of course, could have easily annihilated the two, but hehesitated. There was something in the hearts of his people with whichhe dare not tamper. So the two had been able to live their idyl inpeace, though Flores slept always with one eye open and his knifenear.

  It was quite by accident that Sorez and the tired girl came upon thetwo at the finish of his second journey into these mountains. Thewoman in the hut recognized him instantly and bade him welcome. Theone-room structure was given up to the women while Flores built nearit a leanto for himself and Sorez. This simplified things mightily forthe exhausted travelers, and gave them at once the opportunity formuch-needed rest. They slept the major part of two days, but Sorezagain showed his remarkable recuperative powers by awaking with allhis old-time strength of body and mind. He accepted the challenge ofthe lake and mountains with all his former fearlessness. He thought nomore of the danger which lurked near him than he did of the possiblefailure of his expedition. It was this magnificent domination of self,this utter scorn of circumstance, which made such a situation as thisin which he now found himself with the girl possible. No ordinary manwould, with so weak a frame, have da
red face such a venture.

  To the girl he had been as thoughtful and as kind as a father. Helavished upon her a care and affection that seemed to find relief forwhatever uneasiness of conscience he felt. Though Sorez realized thatthe Priest must know of his presence here and would spare no effort toget the image, he felt safe enough in this hut. With a few simpledefenses Flores had made secret approach to the hut practicallyimpossible. The cliff walls protected them from the rear, whileapproach from the front could be made only by the lake, save for shortdistances on either side. Across these spaces Flores had sprinkled drytwigs and so sensitive had his hearing become by his constantwatchfulness that he would awake instantly upon the snapping of one ofthese. As a further precaution he placed his sheep at night withinthis enclosure, knowing that no one could approach without excitingthem to a panic.

  Moreover, Sorez suspected that the Priest had kept secret from thetribe his failure to recover the image after his long absence inpursuit of it. Not only was such a loss a reflection on his power,but it challenged the power of the Golden Man himself. Would theSun God allow such a thing? Could the image be gone with no divinemanifestations of its loss? Such questions were sure to be asked.The Priest had no men he could trust with a secret so important. Hewould work alone. The matter would end with a rifle bullet or a stabin the dark--if it ended in favor of the Priest. With the vanishing ofthe treasure and the return of the image--if in favor of Sorez.

  During the three days they had spent at the lake Jo had grown veryserious and thoughtful. This seemed such a fairy world in which theywere living that things took on new values. The two were seated aroundthe fire with Flores and his wife in the shadows, when the girl spokeof new fears which had possessed her lately. Led on as much by whatshe herself saw and continued to see in the crystals, by thefascination she found in venturing into these new and strangecountries, but above all by the domination of this stronger and olderpersonality, she had until now followed without much sober thinking.If she hesitated, if she paused, he had only to tell of some rumor ofa strange seaman in the city of Bogova or repeat one of the dozen wildtales current of Americans who had gone into the interior in search ofgold and there been lost for years to turn up later sound and rich. Hehad hurried her half asleep from the house at Bogova and frightenedher into silent obedience by suggesting that Wilson might by forcetake her back home when upon the eve of finding her father. She hadlooked again into the crystal and as always had seen him wanderingamong big hills in a region much like this. What did it all mean? Shedid not know, but now a deeper, more insistent longing was lesseningthe hold of the other. Her thoughts in the last few days had gone backmore often than ever they had to the younger man who had played, withsuch vivid, brilliant strokes, so important a part in her life. Shefelt, what was new to her, a growing need of him--a need based onnothing tangible and yet none the less eager. She turned to Sorez.

  "I am almost getting discouraged," she said. "When shall we turnback?"

  "Soon. Soon. Have you lost interest in the treasure altogether?"

  "The treasure never mattered very much to me, did it? You have doneyour best to help me find my father, and for that I am willing to helpyou with this other thing. But I am beginning to think that neither ofthe quests is real."

  She added impulsively:

  "Twice I have left the most real thing in my life--once at home andonce in Bogova. I shall not do it again."

  "You refer to Wilson?"

  "Yes. Here in the mountains--here with Flores and his wife, I ambeginning to see."

  "What, my girl?"

  "That things of to-day are better worth than things of to-morrow."

  Sorez shifted a bit uneasily. He had come to care a great deal for thegirl--to find her occupying the place in his heart left empty by thedeath of the niece who lived in Boston. He was able less and less toconsider her impersonally even in the furtherance of this project. Hewould have given one half the fortune he expected, really to be ableto help the girl to her father. He had lied--lied, taking advantage ofthis passionate devotion to entice her to the shores of this lake withher extraordinary gift of crystal-seeing. He was beginning to wonderif it were worth while. At any rate, he would be foolish not to reapthe reward of his deceit at this point.

  "Well," he concluded brusquely, "we must not get gloomy on the eve ofvictory. To-morrow the moon is full--do you think you will be strongenough to come with me to-morrow night to the shrine of the GoldenMan?"

  "Yes," she answered indifferently.

  "He chose his own and surely he will not desert the agent of hischoosing."

  "No," answered the girl.

  Her eyes rested a moment upon the silver lake before her and then uponthe cliffs beyond. She had an odd desire this evening to get nearer tothose walls of granite. A dozen times she had found her eyes turningto them and each time she obeyed the impulse it was followed by a newlonging for David. She wished he were here with her now. She wished hewas to be with her to-morrow night when Sorez took her out upon thelake with him. She did not mind gazing into the eyes of the image, ofsinking under their spell, but now--this time--she would feel betterif he were near her. She had a feeling as though he _were_ somewherenear her--as though he were up there near the cliffs which she faced.