The Web of the Golden Spider

by Frederick Orin Bartlett

  CHAPTER XXVII

  _Dangerous Shadows_

  In the narration of what had befallen her while in the care of Sorez,Wilson came to have a new conception of the man. With the exception ofthe fact that Sorez had considered his own interest alone in bringingthe girl down here, and that he had lured her on by what he knew to bea deliberate lie, Sorez had been as kind and as thoughtful of her asher own father could have been. After their imprisonment in Bogova andwhile in hiding from Wilson he had supplied the girl with the best ofnurses and physicians. Furthermore, in order to make what recompensehe could to her in case of an accident to him or in the event of thefailure of their mission, he had, before leaving Bogova, made hiswill, bequeathing to her every cent of his real and personal property.The chief item of this was the house in Boston which he had purchasedas a home for himself and niece, a few months before the latter'sdeath. In addition to this he had in the end made the supremesacrifice--he had given his life.

  Sitting there in the starlight she told Wilson these things, with asob in her voice.

  "And so he kept his word after all--didn't he? He brought me to him."

  The older man by her side looked up at her.

  "My daughter," he murmured. "My daughter."

  She placed her arm over his shoulder scarcely able to believe the goodfortune which had at once placed her here between her father and herlover.

  "The golden idol did some good after all," she whispered.

  "The idol?" asked her father. "What idol?"

  "You remember nothing of an image?" broke in Wilson.

  "An image? An idol? I have seen them. I have seen them, but--but Ican't remember where."

  He spoke with a sort of childlike, apologetic whine. Wilsonhesitated a moment. He had brought the idol with him after finding itin the hut where Manning had carried it from the raft--apparentlyunconsciously--and had taken it, fearing to leave it with Flores. Hehad intended to throw it away in the mountains in some inaccessibleplace where it could never again curse human lives. This image oughtto be final proof as to whether or not Manning could recall anythingof his life as a priest of the Sun God or not. If the sight ofthis failed to arouse his dead memory, then nothing ever could. Ofall the things in this life among these mountains no one thing hadever figured so prominently or so vitally in his life as this.About this had centered all his fanatical worship--all his power.

  As Wilson rose to get the image from where he had hidden it nearStubbs, the girl seized his arm and, bending far forward, gasped:

  "The shadow--did you see it?"

  Wilson turned with his weapon cocked.

  "Where?" he demanded.

  But underneath the trees where she had thought she saw a movement allwas quiet again--all was silent. With a laugh at her fears, Wilsonsecured the image and brought it back. He thrust it towards Manning.It was clearly visible in the moonlight. The girl shrank a little awayfrom it.

  "Ugh!" she shuddered. "I don't like to look at it to-night."

  In the dull silver light it appeared heavier and more somber than inthe firelight. It still sat cross-legged with the same cynical smileabout its cruel mouth, the same bestial expression about the brow, thesame low-burning fires in the spider-like eyes. As Wilson and herfather bent over it she turned away her head. Once again she seizedWilson's arm and bade him look beyond the thicket in front of them.

  "I saw something move. I am sure of it."

  "You are a bit nervous, I'm afraid," he said tenderly. "If only youwould lie down for the rest of the night."

  "No, no, David. I am sure this time."

  "Only a shadow. There is a light breeze."

  "I couldn't see anything but--it didn't _feel_ like a shadow, David."

  "You felt it? Has the image----" he asked a bit anxiously.

  "No--oh, I can't make you understand, but I'm sure something moved inthe bushes."

  "Stay close to me then," he laughed quietly.

  He turned back to Manning who was turning the image over and over inhis hands with indifferent interest. To him it was nothing more than acurio--a metal doll. But when he caught the glint of a moonbeam on thejeweled eyes, he bent over it with keener concern. He raised it in hishands and stared steadily back into the cold eyes. This stare soonbecame fixed and Manning began to grow slightly rigid. Wilson snatchedthe object from his hands. For a moment the man remained immovable;then he rubbed his hand over his brow, muttering incoherently tohimself. This nervous symptom disappeared and Manning apparentlyinstantly forgot the idol again. He called for his daughter. She camecloser to his side and he rested his head against her shoulder.

  "Dear father," she murmured affectionately.

  "I--I can't think," he said.

  "Don't try, Daddy. Wait until we get out of here and you are all wellagain."

  "If I could reach my ship," he muttered.

  "What ship, Daddy?"

  "Why, my own--the 'Jo Manning.'"

  That took her back to the time she was a very little girl. Sheremembered now that he had named the ship after her,--the last shipwhich he had sailed out of Newburyport. Poor old daddy! What adifferent man he was this moment from him who had held her in his armsand kissed her with tears rolling down his bronzed cheeks. It wrenchedher heart to watch him sitting there so listlessly--so weakly--solittle himself. The fear was growing in her heart that he never wouldbe the same again. Almost--almost it was better to remember him as hewas then than to know him as he sat there now. Had it not been for thecomfort, for the joy of another order, for the safety she felt in thisyounger man by her side, her heart would have broken at the sight. Ifonly she could have found him during those few days he was inBoston--when the crystals had first shown him to her--when he musthave passed within a few feet of her, it might not then have been sodifficult to rouse him. But at that time he would not have known hisown.

  A bedlam of raucous, clamorous shrieks settling into a crude sort ofwar cry brought all four of them to their feet. Wilson thrust the girlback of him towards the cave-like formation behind them. Thiseffectually protected them in the rear and partly from two sides.Stubbs swept the bags of jewels into his arms and carried them to onecorner of this natural excavation. Then he took his position by theside of Wilson and Manning, who was unarmed. The three waited theapproach of the unseen demons. Not a light, not the glint of a weaponcould be seen. But before their eyes, in and out among the treesmaking up the dense growth, shadows flitted back and forth in a sortof ghost dance. In addition to the hoarse shouting, the air was rentfrom time to time by the sound of a blast as from a large horn.

  The effect of this upon Manning, who had been thrust behind them byWilson, was peculiar. At each blast he threw back his head and sniffedat the air as a war horse does at sound of the bugle. His eyesbrightened, his lean frame quivered with emotion, his hands closedinto tight knots. The girl, observing this, crept closer to him inalarm. She seized his arm and called to him, but he made no response.

  "Father! Father!" she shouted above the din.

  He started forward a pace, but she drew him back. Seeing her he cameto himself again for a moment. She scarcely knew him; the old look ofintensity which strained almost every feature out of the normal hadtransformed him. He stood now as it were between two personalities. Hepartially realized this, for he stepped forward behind Wilson andshouted:

  "They come! They come! I--I think I can stop them--for a little.If--if I do, don't delay--don't wait for me."

  Wilson thought he rambled.

  "Do you hear? Quick--tell me?"

  "Yes," shouted Wilson.

  The din seemed to be approaching in an ever-narrowing circle. It camefrom all sides--a noise so deafening, so full of unusual sounds thatit was in itself terrifying. Again came the blast, followed by anotherand another. Manning caught sight of the image upon the ground. Itacted like magic. He snatched it up. But the girl, regardless ofdanger, ran to his side.

  "Don't," she cried in a panic. "What is the matter, father?"

  He looked do
wn at her with eyes which scarcely reflected anyrecognition.

  "Don't go, father. Don't you know me? Don't you know your daughter?See, I am Jo--Jo! Do you understand?"

  Even in the midst of this other danger--the noise and imminent peril,the two men heard and turned away their heads at the sight withthroats straining with emotion. Manning looked back with hardly agleam of his true self showing in his eyes. And yet there wassomething left which made him pause--which in one flash brought himback for a second. He stooped and kissed her. Then he raised himselfand facing the two men pointed towards the woods behind them.

  "Go," he commanded.

  Another blast and he clutched the idol to his breast. He raised hiseyes to the East and the three stood dumbfounded--from his throatthere issued a cry so wild, so weird, that it checked their breathing.Instantly following there was silence from the shadows. One, two,three, four seconds passed--still that silence which was nerve-rackingin its intensity. Then a cry rang out from among the trees so piercingthat the girl put her arm up over her eyes as though to ward off ablow. A hundred forms appeared from the trees. Stubbs and Wilsonraised their rifles. But with a sweeping motion back with his hand,the Priest bade the two men pause. He disappeared into the shadowswhere he was greeted with a sort of paean of joy. Then silence. Then afew sharp-spoken words. Then silence again.

  Wilson, scarcely believing this was not some evil dream, grippedStubbs' arm.

  "Come," he gasped. "Let's get out. This--this is hell."

  He took the half-swooning girl in his arms.

  "Get a grip on yourself, Jo--just for a little. We must go--at once."

  "But Daddy--Daddy----"

  Wilson closed his eyes as though to shut out the sight he had lastseen when looking into the face of that man.

  "It is better--as it is."

  Stubbs, still with a care for the jewels, helped Wilson on with hisbelt and fastened his own into place. He had had a good rest and feltcomparatively fresh, but the others tottered as they walked.

  Into the dark among the trees they went, following the fainttrail which led towards the big mountains which were still abarrier,--on--on--on until the girl dropped in her tracks fromexhaustion and Wilson beside her.

  For six hours Stubbs maintained a grim watch over the two, his rifleacross his knees, hoping against hope for one bit of good luckmore--that if so be there was another attack, he might have at leastone fair shot at the Priest. Whether the man was the girl's father ornot (and he privately doubted the story) he felt that this was theonly thing which would ever take from his mouth the taste of rope.

  But he was disappointed. The morning broke fair and peaceful with, sofar as they could see, the birds and squirrels the only occupants ofthis forest besides themselves. In fact, the next three days save forthe strain of being constantly alert were a sort of idyl for Wilsonand Jo. They had little difficulty in shooting sufficient food fortheir needs, and water was plentiful. The trail led through a fairland gay, at this time of year, with many flowers.

  The girl, to be sure, sobbed at first a good deal in the dark but thetwo men knew nothing of this. Soon, after the first acute pain of thepersonal loss, she was able to reason a little with herself. It seemedto her then, remembering how much a child he was when with her and howstrong and powerful he looked as he stepped into the woods, thatperhaps, after all, he would be happier with his many children thanwith her. Then always there was the opportunity of coming back tohim,--coming under better auspices and with better opportunities forreally bringing him to his own. It was this last thought that finallybrought her real consolation.

  "Perhaps," she said to Wilson, hesitating a trifle in fear that hemight not approve of the suggestion, "perhaps some day we can comeback here to him, David."

  "I had thought of it, dear. He saved our lives; if he had remained,not one of us would have got out of here. That in itself is enough tomake us everlastingly beholden to him. But--" he paused, "I think,dear heart, that it is kinder to let him remain even among heathenpeople a strong man with power, than to bring him back, a child, todie."

  "He chose for himself, David."

  "Yes--and was able to realize and be glad that he had been givenanother chance to do for his daughter."

  The girl thought a moment. Then her face brightened.

  "That--that alone makes the trip worth while."

  "That--and this," he answered, drawing her to his side.

  "Yes," she whispered, "and in a way he gave me you--he gave me you."