The Imperial guardsmen came into the open near the boiling lake, and, grateful to be out of the wilderness at last, started to cheer hoarsely. Their cries died in their throats, however, for the jungle behind them suddenly came alive, and the air was again filled with poisoned arrows. Then Marinus Boline realized that he was trapped; the lake of lava was at his back, and the tropical forests were filled with his enemies. He faced the jungle, waving his sword as he urged his men to rush into the hell from which they had just come.
The guards obeyed, and they fired as they approached the positions which the Caribs were occupying. But the soldiers were plainly visible and the Indians were not, so the ranks of Boline's faithful were quickly thinned. Again and again the guards charged, but each time their casualties were so heavy that they were forced to fall back. Finally a core of no more than sixty or seventy soldiers surrounded the Emperor. Most of the officers were dead, and the few who remained clustered around Boline. They seemed to be arguing with him, but he shook his head adamantly, apparently refusing to admit the possibility that he had lost. He ordered still another attack, and his men responded valiantly, only to be hurled back once more, and the survivors who huddled near the vapors rising from the lake made up a pitiful and lonely band.
Ethan walked to the edge of the line of trees and cupped his hands. "Boline," he called, "this is your last chance. I call on you to surrender honorably!"
The Emperor peered in the direction from which the voice of the man who had smashed his dreams had come, then he drew a pistol from his belt and fired it. "Never!" he shouted.
The bullet buried itself in a tree no more than a foot from Ethan's head. "Poda," he said, "we must kill the last of the devil-men."
"It is the will of Santro-kri," the Carib replied, and shot his blowgun at the enemy.
The warriors sent volley after volley of poisoned arrows at the guardsmen, who retreated, step by step, still fighting. They were doomed, and they knew it, but they continued to fire their muskets when the Indians, able to restrain themselves no longer, came into the open and swarmed toward them. As the hand-to-hand struggles began, Ethan raced toward Marinus Boline, his knife held high. But the Emperor, hacking left and right with his sword, was determined neither to be captured nor killed by his enemies.
He retreated slowly, step by step, with several of the natives closing in on him. Ethan shouted to them: "Stand aside! This one is mine!"
Boline recognized him, grinned maniacally and lunged desperately at this adversary who had brought him to ruin. His aim was excellent in spite of his fury, and he knocked the crude Carib knife from Ethan's hand. Unarmed now, Ethan seemed to be at the mercy of the mad Emperor of the West, and Boline, laughing loudly, came at him again with renewed vigor. There was only one possible escape, and Ethan leaped backward into the vapor of the boiling lake.
He found that he was standing a scant few inches from the shore of burning lava, and the heat was suffocating. The acrid fumes filled his nostrils and eyes, and, panting for breath, he dropped to his hands and knees. The continuing battle sounded far away to him; the shouts of the warriors, the clash of steel and even the musket shots were muffled, as though he had a thick blanket over his ears. Here and there through the murky steam he could see flames on the surface of the lake now, and as sweat poured down his face he thought that his end was near. No man could survive for more than a few minutes in this hell on earth.
Calling on his last reserves of strength, he tried to crawl away from the bubbling inferno, but the effort was too great for him, and he sprawled on the hot, moist ground, exhausted. His will to live remained stronger than his body, however, and he began to inch forward on his stomach. Each breath he drew was an agony, but after what seemed like a very long time the fumes became thinner, and he was able to pull himself at a slightly faster speed toward the clearing.
After what seemed like an eternity, he came at last into the open and lay on the ground, panting. As he recovered his senses and his strength he saw that the battle was still going on. There were bodies sprawled about in the clearing, and no one paid any attention to him. Then he caught sight of Marinus Boline, fighting on with the determination of a man inspired, and a renewed resolve took hold of Ethan.
Only a few feet from him was the dead body of one of the Imperial guards, the man's sword still in his hand. Ethan crawled toward him, loosened his grip on the weapon and took it into his own hand. Then he stood, and when his sense of balance returned and he felt like himself again, he called out in a loud voice, "Boline! I'm ready for you now!"
The Emperor turned, and his expression indicated that he thought he saw a ghost. Before he could recover, Ethan came at him, and he raised his sword to defend himself against the deadly onslaught. Steel clashed against steel, riposte followed thrust and both men struggled to take the offensive. Boline's strength was like that of an animal. Desperation gave him added cunning, but Ethan fought with all of the skill and courage at his command.
Gradually, imperceptibly at first but inexorably, he forced Boline to move backward. His sword was everywhere, darting first at the Emperor's face, then his throat, then his body. Step by step Boline edged toward the lake, and Ethan's heart leaped as he foresaw the vindication that would be his. Reckless now, and not bothering to hoard what remained of his ebbing energy, he pressed forward, and with a last, desperate spurt he drove his adversary into the vapor. The Emperor was smiling, and as he vanished he laughed. The sound rose sharply, then died away abruptly as Marinus Boline died in the lake of lava.
His guardsmen stopped fighting when they realized that he was gone. The Imperial high command was no more and the regiment of guards was totally shattered. The Indians threw the bodies of their victims into the lake. The revenge of Santro-kri was complete.
The Caribs would have begun their victory celebration at once, but Ethan was too experienced a commander to give the remnants of the Imperial army time to reorganize. His drums summoned all of the warriors of the nation, and the combined Carib forces moved down through the jungles to the community that Boline had erected on the beaches of Dominica. There they found scores of bodies. Fights had broken out between the survivors of the Emperor's corps, and most of the officers who had escaped from the Indians in the wilderness had been killed by their own men.
Dozens of small boats were heading out into the West Indian Ocean as Ethan and his warriors arrived at the beach, and no more than a handful of the living remained on the island. What had been left of Marinus Boline's army had disbanded, and only the buildings he had constructed stood as a monument to the mad schemer who had paid for his ambitions with his life. The fleeing soldiers had stripped the 'palace' and other buildings of every valuable, and virtually nothing remained but the bare shells of the houses. There were several seaworthy boats still standing in huge wooden cradles on the shore, however, and Ethan set up a guard over the vessels. Then he rounded up the few soldiers who had not yet escaped, and after promising to pass judgment on their individual cases in the immediate future, he and Poda started to make an inventory of the cannon, muskets and ammunition that the troops had left behind. They worked under a shade tree in what had been the Imperial compound, and although both were tired they meticulously checked off item after item as the weary braves brought the weapons into the yard and threw them in heaps.
Ethan was unaware of the passage of time, and he was somewhat surprised when a familiar voice interrupted his labors. "I have a feeling," Jed Moulton said, "that you could be king of the Carib if you had a yen for that sort of thing."
Before Ethan could reply he saw someone standing a few feet away, and he forgot everyone else as he jumped to his feet. "Prue," he said, and walked unsteadily toward her.
He knew even before he kissed her that she had forgiven him for all that had happened in the past, and he was sure that as long as he lived he would remember the look in her eyes as she lifted her face to his. The earth spun around as he embraced her, and not until they stepped apart again
did it right itself. He and Prudence were alone, the Caribs and Jed having tactfully withdrawn, and he stared at her in delight. Her face was washed clean, and in her expression was that mixture of tenderness and fire, compassion and pride that had always made her irresistible.
She already knew most of the details of the victory, so she related in full the story of Melanie's death. He did not speak until she was finished. Then he spoke.
"Then I'm free, Prue. Free to marry you, if you'll have me."
She laughed shakily. "Jed and David wanted me to wait for you at the village up in the mountains. But I refused. I told them that if necessary I was going to propose to you."
Again they kissed, and for a long time afterward they remained silent. Ethan's mind raced, and, with an arm firmly encircling Prudence, he told her of his plans. "We'll stay here for a little longer, so I can help the Caribs to reorganize and make sure they won't use the muskets they've captured to shoot each other to bits. Then we'll take one of the boats down the beach yonder and sail in it to Martinique. I imagine Jed and Dave will want to come with us. From there we'll take a ship for home." Suddenly he released her and looked at her searchingly. "You're sure you want to marry me, Prue?"
"Of course!"
"I don't have a penny in the world, remember. And I have no wish to go into the family business. I'm not made for that sort of life. What I want to do is to go out beyond Fort Schenectady and build a house there."
There had been a time when Prudence would have objected, but she smiled now, and her eyes were luminous. "I don't care where we go, Ethan. AH that matters is you and me—and being together."
The man who had conquered the Emperor of the West grinned at the girl he loved and was content.
THE END
of a Crest Novel of Adventure by Samuel Edwards
Devil's Prize Page 19
