CHAPTER XXXV.
THE SERPENT VINE.
With his hands bound behind his back, unable to help himself, Frankreeled forward into the embrace of the deadly vine, each branch of whichwas twisting, curling, squirming like the arms of an octopus.
He nearly plunged forward upon his face, but managed to recover and keepon his feet.
He felt the vine whip about his legs and fasten there tenaciously, feltit twist and twine and crawl like a mass of serpents, and he knew he wasin the grasp of the frightful plant which till that hour he had everbelieved a creation of some romancer's feverish fancy.
Frank did not cry out. A great horror seemed to come upon him and benumbhis body and his senses.
He could feel the horrid vines climbing and coiling about him, and hewas helpless to struggle and tear them away. He knew they were mountingto his neck, where they would curl about his throat and choke the breathof life from his body.
It was a fearful fate--a terrible death. And there seemed no possibleway of escaping.
Higher and higher climbed the vine, swaying and squirming, the blood-redflowers opening and closing like lips of a vampire that thirsted for hisblood.
A look of horror was frozen on Frank's face. His eyes bulged from hishead, and his lips were drawn back from his teeth. He did not cry out,he did not seem to breathe, but he appeared to be turned to stone in thegrasp of the deadly plant.
It was a dreadful sight, and the two sailors, rough and wicked menthough they were, were overcome by the spectacle. Shuddering andgasping, they turned away.
For the first time, Gage seemed to fully realize what he had done. Hecovered his eyes with his hand and staggered backward, uttering a low,groaning sound.
Merriwell's staring eyes seemed fastened straight upon him with thatfearful stare, and the thought flashed through the mind of the wretchedboy that he should never forget those eyes.
"They will haunt me as long as I live!" he panted. "Why did I do it? Whydid I do it?"
Already he was seized by the pangs of remorse.
Once more he looked at Frank, and once more those staring eyes turnedhis blood to ice water.
Then, uttering shriek after shriek, Gage turned and fled through theswamp, plunging through marshy places and jungles, falling, scramblingup, leaping, staggering, gasping for breath, feeling those staring eyesat his back, feeling that they would pursue him to his doom.
Scarcely less agitated and overcome, Bowsprit and the negro followed,and Frank Merriwell was abandoned to his fate.
Frank longed for the use of his hands to tear away those fiendish vines.It was a horrible thing to stand and let them creep up, up, up, tillthey encircled his throat and strangled him to death.
Through his mind flashed a picture of himself as he would stand therewith the vines drawing tighter and tighter about his throat and his facegrowing blacker and blacker, his tongue hanging out, his eyes startingfrom their sockets.
He came near shrieking for help, but the thought that the cry must reachthe ears of Leslie Gage kept it back, enabled him to choke it down.
He had declared that Gage should not hear him beg for mercy or aid. Noteven the serpent vine and all its horrors could make him forget thatvow.
The little red flowers were getting nearer and nearer to his face, andthey were fluttering with eagerness. He felt a sucking, drawing,stinging sensation on one of his wrists, and he believed one of thosefiendish vampire mouths had fastened there.
He swayed his body, he tried to move his feet, but he seemed rooted tothe ground. He did not have the strength to drag himself from that fatalspot and from the grasp of the vine.
It seemed that hours passed. His senses were in a maze, and the wholeworld was reeling and romping around him. The trees became a band ofgiant demons, winking, blinking, grinning at him, flourishing their armsin the air, and dancing gleefully on every side to the sound of wildmusic that came from far away in the sky.
Then a smaller demon darted out from amid the trees, rushed at him,clutched him, slashed, slashed, slashed on every side of him, dragged athis collar, and panted in his ear:
"White boy fight--try to git away! His hands are free."
Was it a dream--was it an hallucination? No! his hands were free! Hetore at the clinging vines, he fought with all his remaining strength,he struggled to get away from those clinging things.
All the while that other figure was slashing and cutting with somethingbright, while the vine writhed and hissed like serpents in agony.
How it was accomplished Frank could never tell, but he felt himselfdragged free of the serpent vine, dragged beyond its deadly touch, andhe knew it was no dream that he was free!
A black mist hung before his eyes, but he looked through it and faintlymurmured:
"Socato, you have saved me!"
"Yes, white boy," replied the voice of the Seminole, "I found you justin time. A few moments more and you be a dead one."
"That is true, Socato--that is true! I owe you my very life! I can neverpay you for what you have done!"
In truth the Indian had appeared barely in time to rescue Frank from thevine, and it had been a desperate and exhausting battle. In anotherminute the vine would have accomplished its work.
"I hear white boy cry out, and I see him run from this way," explainedthe Seminole. "He look scared very much. Sailor men follow, and then Icome to see what scare them so. I find you."
"It was Providence, Socato. You knew how to fight the vine--how to cutit with your knife, and so you saved me."
"We must git 'way from here soon as can," declared the Indian. "Badwhite men may not come back, and they may come back. They may want tosee what has happen to white boy."
Frank knew this was true, but for some time he was not able to get uponhis feet and walk. At length the Indian assisted him, and, leaning onSocato's shoulder, he made his way along.
Avoiding the place where the sailors were camped, the Seminole proceededdirectly to the spot where his canoe was hidden. Frank got in, andSocato took the paddle, sending the light craft skimming over the water.
Straight to the strange hut where Frank and his companions had stoppedthe previous night they made their way.
The sun was shining into the heart of the great Dismal Swamp, and ElsieBellwood was at the door to greet Frank Merriwell.
Frank Merriwell Down South Page 35
