* * * *
Soon their task was finished and big pieces of meat were put before the fire to roast. From a pot came the fragrant, appetizing odor of buck stew.
“I wonder where Dick is? He said he’d be back by noon, and it’s long past that now.” The girl’s tone was anxious.
“Where did he go?” Burgess’ tones were almost too casual.
“Up among the hills over there.” Dorothy pointed across the river. “I think he intends to climb every kopje in the country hoping to find the valley. I’m beginning to think we’ll never find it. What do you think?”
Burgess laughed shortly.
“Do you want my candid opinion?”
She nodded.
“Well, I think your father is a gullible fool. Just because one of his patients, an old prospector, tells him about a mysterious valley where there are diamonds to be had for the taking, your father chucks up his practise and comes up to this God-forsaken spot—looking for ‘the Mysterious Valley.’ Bah! Why even if it existed, what chance would we have of finding it? The vaguest of directions, no map—nothing but the babblings of a delirious old man.”
The girl sighed.
“I know. It does sound hopeless. But Daddy and Dick feel sure that there’s something in it—you forget that Old Tom had a large diamond which he claimed came from the valley. But if you thought the search was a hopeless one, why did you encourage Daddy by lending him money? Why did you come yourself?”
“Can you ask that?” he asked softly. “It was to be near you.”
“Scoff s ready, Missy.”
She jumped up gleefully at Jan’s call, and Burgess followed her, looking angrily at the grinning native.
“I’m anxious about Dick,” Dorothy said when, the meal finished, there was still no sign of the fourth member of their party.
“There’s no need to be worried,” Burgess replied lightly. “What can happen? He’s big enough to take care of himself.”
“I know, but—”
She rose to her feet with an air of determination.
“Perhaps he’s found the valley.” Burgess laughed.
She ignored the sarcasm.
“Are you all right, Daddy? I’m going to look for Dick.”
“Be careful, dear. Better take Jan with you. Yes, I’m all right.”
Jan came eagerly forward.
“Yes, I go, Missy. We go down to the ford and pick up the spoor where he crossed the river.” Burgess watched them hasten down to the banks of the stream, assailed by a sudden doubt, then, with a shrug of his shoulder, he ran after them, coming up with them just as they had crossed the ford.
“Here is Baas Dick’s spoor,” said Jan. “It points toward the hills. Missy had better stay here. Baas Burgess and I will follow the spoor.”
He started on the trail at a slow lope, but was quickly halted by a hail from Burgess.
“Here the trail leads back, Jan,” he cried.
Jan returned to Burgess’ side.
“Yes,” he said. “It is the homeward spoor.”
Jan followed it to the river, which he crossed and searched for a continuation of the trail on the other side.
Soon Jan returned with a woeful, puzzled expression on his face.
“What is it, Jan?” Dorothy asked breathlessly.
Jan shook his head slowly.
“Baas Dick came to the river, but there is no spoor on the other side.”
“Then he came back to this side?”
“No, Missy. The spoor does not say that.”
“Perhaps he came out on the other side, either above or below the ford.”
“No. He could not do that. Only at the ford can a man cross. Above and below the water runs deep.”
“What does it mean?” Dorothy appealed to Burgess. “Where is Dick?”
“It means that Dick will never come back.” Burgess’ tone was correctly mournful. “He must have stumbled, lost his footing and was carried away by the swift current. He’d have no chance against it, and even if he managed to swim to the bank, how could he get a foothold?”
Burgess pointed to the rocks which rose sheer out of the water on each side of the river.
Clever actor though he was, Burgess could not totally disguise his feeling of elation.
“I believe you’re glad,” the girl flashed suddenly. “But I can’t believe it’s true.”
Jan shook his head mournfully.
“Without doubt the baas speaks true, Missy.”
“Yes,” Burgess continued. Again the note of elation crept into his voice. “Now we can persuade your father to give up this fool search, Dorothy. You accused me of being glad that Harding had gone. I’ll be frank—in a sense I am glad. He didn’t like me and I didn’t like him. You know that and you know why.”
Dorothy began to cry quietly, and a sly, satisfied smile flickered over Burgess’ face.
“Take care of Missy, Jan,” he said. “I’m going back to tell the old baas.”
“It is an order, baas.”
Jan’s tone was meek, but his eyes flashed anger as he watched the white man ford the stream and vanish up the trail which led to the camp.
“Missy,” he said as soon as Burgess had passed out of sight, “Baas Burgess speaks freely, yet he hides much in his heart.”
Dorothy looked up hopefully.
“You mean there is hope for Baas Dick?”
“Not that, Missy, but without doubt Baas Burgess knows how Baas Dick died.”
“You mean, Jan, that he killed Baas Dick?”
“I no say that, Missy. Perhaps yes. We go down to where the water make big jump.” Jan pointed down stream. The dull thunder of falling water sounded clearly on the still air. “Perhaps the spirits will tell us things.”
CHAPTER II
TWO BULLET HOLES
They had not gone far along the precipitous bank of the river when Jan pointed excitedly to an object caught on a ledge of rock which protruded out of the river directly below them, close to the bank.
“What’s that, Missy?”
Dorothy’s gaze followed the pointing finger.
“It’s Baas Dick’s helmet, Jan,” she said excitedly.
“Jan will get it, Missy.”
He took the long rope which he habitually carried and made fast one end to a stunted tree standing back a few yards from the bank. Then, hand over hand, he lowered himself to the water.
Soon Jan came to the end of the rope and Dorothy heard him utter an exclamation of disgust.
“Tchat!”
She peered cautiously over the brink.
“What is it, Jan?”
“The rope’s too short, Missy. But wait—”
Jan lowered himself still farther until his hands were gripping the last inch of the rope. Hanging so his feet barely reached the ledge of rock and, by careful maneuvering he managed to get the helmet firmly between his feet. Then, hanging by one hand, he doubled up and, taking the helmet from between his feet, placed it firmly on his head.
He grinned assurance and a moment later scrambled over the top and lay gasping on the ground.
Quickly recovering, he sat up to find Dorothy staring at him wide-eyed.
“Look!” she cried excitedly, and taking the helmet from him pointed to the two small holes which punctured the crown. “You were right, Jan. Baas Burgess killed Baas Dick.”
Jan took the helmet from her and examined it closely.
“I think, Missy, the bullet did not kill Baas Dick,” he said. “Look.” He put the helmet on his head and pointed to the location of the holes. “Baas Dick’s head is bigger than mine, helmet not go so far down. Perhaps bullet only hurt him a very little.”
“Then do you think—?”
“Have you found something interesting?” They turned quickly at the sneering voice of Burgess, who had come up unobserved, so absorbed were they in their discovery.
Dorothy held the helmet toward him.
“We heard you fire twice,” she said, pointing a
ccusingly to the holes in the helmet, “and you didn’t miss your shot.”
He shifted uneasily before her direct gaze. “What do you mean?” The air of lightness was forced.
“That you shot Dick.”
He saw that evasion was useless, but his only feeling was one of annoyance. It meant a changing of his plans. But he had nothing to fear—from the girl, or the old man, her father.
“Yes, I shot him and now there’s nothing stands between us. You can’t prove anything and—”
“Do you call this nothing?” There was a world of hate and scorn in her voice as she pointed to the hat—the mute evidence of a cold-blooded murder.
Laughing, he made a move toward her, but she lightly evaded him, and before he could take another step he was seized from behind by two powerful hands.
High above his head Jan held the kicking, cursing Burgess.
“Shall I throw him down, Missy, down into the water?”
“No!” she said breathlessly. “We can’t do that. Put him down. I must think this out.”
“Better let me kill him, Missy,” Jan muttered as he obeyed her commands.
“Take away his gun, Jan, and tie him fast.”
Jan gleefully performed the task, nor was he very gentle as he trussed up the cursing man. With a small rope which he took from Burgess’ belt he tied the white man’s hands to the trunk of a tree. His legs he tied to another. In that position Burgess was helpless.
“I will stop his mouth, too, Missy; his talk is evil.” And Jan deftly inserted a gag in the white man’s mouth.
“I don’t know what to do with him, Jan!” she cried.
“Help! Help!”
The voice sounded faint and seemed to come from the ground under their feet.
“It’s Dick,” cried Dorothy.
She leaned far over the cliff, scanning the water below.
“Dick!” she called. “Where are you?”
As she spoke there was a movement in the reeds growing close to the cliff directly beneath her. As she watched, a man emerged from them and climbed on the ledge of rock from which Jan had rescued the helmet.
He pointed to the rope which still hung down the cliff.
“I can’t reach it,” he shouted. “Send Jan back to the camp for more rope.”
But Jan shook his head.
“It’s too far to camp, Missy. Baas Dick perhaps he get sick and fall off rock. I make rope longer.”
Jan untied the rope from the tree and looped it securely around his wrists, then leaned far over the cliff. With the additional length thus gained it was possible for Harding to pass it around his body.
“All ready, Baas?” Jan cried.
Again a wave of the hand.
“Then the Baas will hold the rope with his hand and try to walk up the rock. Now.”
Jan exerted his enormous strength. Inch by inch he moved from the edge of the cliff, and the man below ascended slowly but surely.
In a very little while Harding’s white face appeared over the top of the rock.
“Hullo, Dorothy,” he said with a smile, then fainted.
All thought of Burgess now forgotten, Jan picked up the unconscious man and started back for the camp.
At the ford they stopped long enough for Dorothy to bathe and bandage the wound that creased Dick’s forehead. He stirred fitfully under her ministrations, but it was not until they had carried him to the camp and had given him a generous dose of whisky that he fully recovered.
He looked at the anxious faces which surrounded him.
“Feel all right now, Dick?” Dorothy asked. “Head throbs a bit—but that’s nothing.”
He chuckled at a sudden thought.
“The Baas has a story to tell,” said Jan.
“Yes, Dick, what is it? We had given you up for lost. Lucky for you the bullet wasn’t an inch lower.”
Dick made a wry face.
“It’s bad enough, Doc, but if it hadn’t been for that I wouldn’t have found—”
Crompton looked up excitedly.
“You’ve found it, Dick” he cried. “You’ve found the valley?”
“Sit down, Daddy. You’ll bring on your fever again.”
“Bosh! Nothing can give me fever now.”
“Well, then, think of Dick.”
Crompton sobered instantly.
“Sorry, Dick,” he said, sitting down, “but I felt I must let off steam or burst. How’s your head?”
“Head’s all right now, Doc. I don’t blame you for being excited. I shall bust myself if I don’t tell you.”
“Then where is it?”
“Tell us from the beginning, Dick,” interposed Dorothy.
“When I came to the ford on my way back to camp,” began Dick, “I was pretty much tuckered out and stopped to have a drink of water. Directly after, I heard a shot and, looking up, saw a buck falling down the rocks. Then came another shot and a pain went through my head. All went black before my eyes, I became dizzy and fell into the river.
“The plunge cleared my brain and I tried to head for one of the banks, but the current was too strong. Then I was aware of the fact that the current was slacking. There was an abrupt turn in the river, and I was on the outside of the curve.
“I managed to swim a few strokes toward the bank and found the water was only up to my waist. Nearby was the ledge of rock on which Jan found my helmet.
“I was still in a mess, for, as you know, the banks of the river are very steep and I couldn’t see how I could reach the top without assistance. My head ached frightfully, so I took off my helmet and bathed the wound. Then I noticed a clump of reeds growing close to the cliff and, thinking that would make a good hiding-place in case Burgess came along—I was sure he had tried to shoot me—I made toward them. Something seemed to be pulling at my legs, dragging me toward the weeds. It was an undercurrent, and I thought it strange that it should be running at right angles to the natural flow of the river.
“When I saw that the reeds concealed the entrance to a sort of tunnel and, forgetful of everything else, I cautiously entered it. It led straight into the heart of the rock!
“The water came up to my waist and for the most part the roof of the tunnel was so high that I could barely reach it with my hands, and it was never so wide that I could not, by stretching out my hands, reach the sides.
“I started to explore the place—thinking it might lead to an opening so that I could get back to the camp in safety. Gradually the light which filtered through the opening became dimmer and dimmer. When I came to the place where no light reached me at all I was scared. It was like being buried alive!
“On I went in pitch darkness, afraid every minute I’d fall into some hole in the floor of the tunnel.
“After what seemed a long time the darkness lessened. Soon I was able to see, dimly, the walls of the tunnel and the dark, swirling waters.
“I hurried forward and came to the tunnel end where the water dropped a hundred feet or more into a valley below.
“To the left of the stream was a small, bare plateau. I climbed onto it and discovered a sort of game trail leading down into the valley. Then, as there seemed to be no other way of getting out of the valley, I started the return trip through the tunnel.
“That’s all,” Dick concluded gaily. “Now how soon will you be ready to make the trip into the valley?”
“Are you sure, Harding?” Crompton expressed a doubt he was far from feeling.
“Sure, Doc. Isn’t it all just as the old timer said? The hidden entrance; the dark river and—on the far side of the valley—I could see a waterfall.”
“Where is Burgess?” Crompton asked.
Dorothy looked at Jan, then burst out laughing.
“Why we left him trussed up like a fowl on the rocks back there. In the excitement of rescuing you, Dick, we forgot all about him.”
“Well, it won’t do him any harm. Let the cur stay there.”
“But we can’t do that, Daddy. We can’t leave h
im lying bound out in the open.”
“No, I suppose not,” grumbled Crompton. “Jan, go and get Baas Burgess. We’ll have to watch him very closely.”
Jan rose to his feet and ran down the trail leading to the ford.
“You go with him, Dick,” pleaded Dorothy. “Jan’s in the mood to drop Burgess over the cliff.”
CHAPTER III
FOOTPRINTS OF LEOPARDS
About an hour later Dick and Jan returned. Burgess was not with them.
“Where’s Burgess, Dick?” Crompton asked curtly. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
Dick shook his head.
“He’s vanished—”
“But how could he?” Dorothy’s tone was incredulous. “He couldn’t possibly have freed himself. He couldn’t move an inch. Jan, did you kill Baas Burgess?”
“No, Missy. Jan speaks true word. Baas Dick speaks true word. Together we came to the place where I tied Baas Burgess. He not there. The rope with which I tied him has gone—everything gone.
“No rope, no spoor, no Baas Burgess. Pouf! All gone!”
“It’s true, Dorothy,” said Dick, answering the girl’s appealing look.
“And there’s no spoor showing how he went? No sign of a struggle?”
Dick shook his head.
Later that night, after Dorothy was curled up in her blankets fast asleep, Crompton, Dick and Jan again went over the exciting happenings of the day and made plans for their expedition into the valley.
Just before they, too, sought their blankets, Crompton looked at Dick with a quizzical expression.
“Did you really kill Burgess, Dick? Not that I’d blame you if you did.”
Harding hesitated a moment before answering.
“No. The story was true—only—there was spoor—leopards’ spoor.”
“What do you mean by leopards’ spoor?” Crompton asked sarcastically. “Do you mean to tell me that leopards have eaten the man?”
Dick shook his head.
“There was no sign of that. No struggle; no blood—but all around where Burgess had been lying were the footprints of leopards. How many, Jan?”
“Six, perhaps seven, Baas.”
“What nonsense are you trying to tell me?”
“What we saw we have told you, Baas. What happened we cannot say. I cannot read the spoor. But of this I am sure: the Baas Burgess is not where I tied him, and there is nothing to tell how he went, save, as we have said, the spoor of the leopards.”
The Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 32
