The Pulp Fiction Megapack

by Robert Leslie Bellem

  Next morning the party left for the journey into the valley.

  What little provisions they took were carefully wrapped, together with their rifles, revolvers and ammunition, in waterproof sheets.

  Dick, sure of the absence of any pitfalls, led the way through the tunnel at a fast pace.

  Each member of the party carried an electric flashlight, but they used them but little. The lights only disclosed the slimey sides and roof of the tunnel and attracted swarms of winged insects—clammy and evil-smelling—so that Dorothy preferred the darkness.

  Once a cold, squirming, loathsome something fell on the girl’s neck.

  “On my neck, Jan, look quick.” Her voice was tense with fear of the unknown.

  Jan, who was behind her, switched on his light and knocked the thing off with his hand.

  “It was only a lizard, Missy,” he said with a laugh.

  But Dick and Crompton, who had turned at the girl’s cry, saw that “it” was a black adder, and knew that its bite was fatal.

  Their eyes silently conveyed a message of thanks; Jan’s light went out, and the journey onward was resumed.

  Coming at last onto the bare plateau Dick had spoken of, they sat down in silence and looked over the wonderful valley which lay at their feet.

  After weeks of sojourning among barren hills, this fertile valley, clothed in soft verdure, was a paradise.

  But Jan seemed to escape its influence, and he, rising to his feet, walked slowly up and down, examining the ground carefully.

  Soon his uneasiness was conveyed to Dick and Crompton, who, joining him, questioned his fears.

  “This is a bad place,” the big negro said. “Look!”

  Following his pointing finger to the edge of the plateau where the trail into the valley began, they could distinguish the spoor of several leopards.

  “I do not like this place,” repeated Jan. “Let us go before evil overtakes us.”

  Harding laughed uneasily.

  “Afraid of leopards, Jan?”

  “Of such leopards, yes, Baas.”

  “There’s nothing to fear, Jan. Who ever heard of leopards attacking men? Look, see that place?” Crompton indicated a shady grove which seemed to nestle at the foot of the hill. “Let us build our camp there as soon as possible. We ought to get out of these wet things before the chill gets us.”

  Crompton started off as eagerly as a boy newly released from school, followed closely by the girl.

  Jan looked at Dick, who shrugged his shoulders, heavily burdened with the packs, they, too, took the trail which led to the valley.

  Dorothy and her father were already lost to sight in the thick undergrowth which fringed the base of the hill, but Dick could hear the girl’s voice raised in gleeful laughter.

  Suddenly Dorothy’s laughter changed to an agonized cry—then all was still.

  Alarmed, the two men broke into a run, Jan hastily undoing the pack which contained the revolvers.

  * * * *

  Soon they came to the place where the footprints of the girl and her father stopped abruptly. Yet the ground around was soft, and had they gone on to the right or to the left, or had they retraced their steps, they would surely have left a spoor.

  But there was not a sign. They had apparently vanished into thin air.

  Wild-eyed, Dick looked at Jan, hoping that he could give some explanation of the mystery.

  “It is beyond my knowledge, Baas Dick.”

  “But they must be near here somewhere. They can’t have vanished just like a burst bubble.”

  “If they are here, where, then, are they? Where is their spoor? No, they have gone to the Land of the Spirits. As Baas Burgess went, so have they gone.”

  Jan’s voice sounded to Dick’s ears like the voice of Fate.

  “Yet here is no spoor of leopards, Jan.”

  “What then? It remains that Missy and the Old Baas have gone and, save that we go their way, we cannot find them.”

  “Do you know that way?”

  Even as he spoke Dick sensed the folly of his question.

  “Without doubt it is the road of the spirits. Only by the death of the body can we find them.” Even as Jan spoke there was a rustle in the branches of the tree under which they stood. Nooses were dropped down over their shoulders and they were drawn up into the tree.

  “Have good cheer, Baas,” Jan gasped. “We are going to the spirits. Soon we shall find Missy and the Old—”

  Jan’s voice ended in a gurgle as if the noose had slipped from his shoulders and was tightening about his neck.

  * * * *

  Without a chance to see his captors Dick was blindfolded, bound securely hand and foot, then lowered to the ground. There he was left for a little while, and he struggled furiously with the ropes which bound him, but finally, seeing the futility of such a course, gave up in despair and wondered what possible fate was in store for him.

  He was not left long to his thoughts, for his captors soon returned and placing him, as he judged in a sort of litter, carried him along at a fast pace. He strained his ears to catch some clue as to what tribe his captors belonged. But they did not speak.

  After a time the pace decreased, and Dick could tell by the tilt of the litter that they were going up hill.

  A loud, thundering noise sounded in his ears. The air was moist, and occasional drops of spray dashed in his face. He guessed that they were ascending the rocks in close proximity to the waterfall!

  The litter was lowered to the ground. He was taken from it and his hands and feet untied. He struggled violently, vainly. Then, holding him by the hands and feet, they carried him nearer and nearer to the sound of falling waters. He felt a sickening sensation as if he were standing at the edge of a bottomless pit.

  Stopping, they swung him backward and forward between them, then, with a mighty heave, flung him from them.

  He hurtled through the air—and down—down. A sudden shock of falling water struck him. He gasped for breath and a moment later landed with a dull thud.

  All the breath seemed to be knocked from his body, and for a few minutes he was unable to move.

  Gradually recovering, he tore the bandage from his eyes and gazed wonderingly about him.

  He was in a large cavern hollowed out of the solid rock, the entrance to which was screened by the avalanche of water through which he had passed. He had actually passed through and was now behind the falls.

  He watched the descending water for a time, half-hypnotized by the flickering beams of light which filtered through. Then he turned to examine the cavern itself.

  He wondered if his landing there had been intended or if it was by luck that he had been saved from death. But a quick examination convinced him that chance had played no part in this. The floor of the cavern was thickly covered with bundles of soft grass which had broken his fall.

  A voice suddenly hailed him from the dark depths.

  He stopped short in amazement, for coming toward him was the form of a man.

  “Burgess, by all that’s holy,” he cried, “where are we? How did you get here?”

  But Burgess was in no condition to answer then, as, sobbing hysterically, he fell down on his knees before Dick and groveled at his feet.

  “Brace up, man,” Dick said in disgust. “I’m in the same boat as you are. At least we’re alive—that’s something.”

  “But where are the others?”

  “God knows,” answered Harding solemnly. “But at least there’s no reason to suppose that they were killed. Apparently our captors do not intend to kill us out of hand.”

  And Harding, electing to ignore the other’s attempt to murder him, briefly told Burgess the adventures that had befallen him.

  “Do you mean that we’re in the valley the old prospector told about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why then probably the rest of the story is true, and there are diamonds here as he said.”

  “Without doubt. But a fat lot of good that will do us
.”

  “You don’t think they mean to kill us, do you? Old Tom got out alive, didn’t he?”

  “That’s so,” assented Dick hopefully. “I’d overlooked that. But how did you get here? Jan and I came back to look for you yesterday, but could find no trace of you.”

  Burgess shuddered.

  “It was not long after Jan and Dorothy had started back to camp with you that I knew there was something in the bushes. I could not see anything and, save for a rustling noise, I could not hear anything. The strong, pungent odor of some beast came to me, and I tried to break loose from the ropes with which Jan had tied me. I couldn’t. I tried to call for help, but Jan—the black—had gagged me.

  “The rustling noises grew louder and the stench of the beast was overpowering. I thought there must be a band of lions around me. I closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew I was being untied from the trees and a bandage was put over my eyes. I thought it was Jan, but my hands touched the hairy skin of an animal, and then—I must have fainted. The next thing I knew I was lashed to a pole, being carried down a steep hill. My head banged against a rock and again I fainted. The rest of the journey was like a nightmare.

  Dick nodded sympathetically.

  “It’s damned funny,” he said. “I wonder what their game is?”

  “Perhaps they’re saving us for some special feast?”

  “Maybe. And you didn’t hear them talk at all?”

  “No. Except for the sound of the fall—and the screams—I haven’t heard a thing.”

  “Screams? What do you mean?”

  Burgess shook his head.

  “I wish I knew—but you’ll hear ’em tonight.”

  “How about food?”

  Burgess pointed to a large platter and a pot near by.

  “It wasn’t there last night, but when I woke this morning I found the jug full of native beer and the plate heaped up with chicken and mealy meat. I ate all the food, but there’s still some beer left.”

  Dick walked over to the pot and took a deep drink of the refreshing beverage.

  A puzzled look passed over his face, and he drank again, slowly, so that he could taste the full flavor.

  “That beer was not made by a Mashona,” he said decidedly.

  “Well, what of it?”

  Dick drank again.

  “It was brewed by a Zulu woman,” he said flatly.

  “How the hell can that be? A Zulu krall in the heart of Mashonaland. Bosh!”

  “There’s no doubt about it,” Dick said positively.

  As he spoke, the form of a woman seemed to materialize out of the black depths of the cavern.

  In her hands she bore a platter of steaming food; on her head was balanced a large pot of beer.

  Silently she placed the food and beer before them.

  “I thank you, mother,” said Harding in the Zulu language.

  She made no sign that she understood or even heard him.

  “Without doubt you spoke truly,” went on Harding, turning to Burgess, but still speaking the native dialect. “This woman is a slave. Her tongue has been cut out—she cannot speak.”

  The woman’s face was wrathful—but she made no reply to the taunt Dick had leveled at her.

  “It is a thing of shame,” he went on, “that such a woman should have been condemned to silence. From such beauty should flow words of honey.” Where the taunt had failed, the subtle flattery succeeded.

  * * * *

  “You do wrong, white man,” the woman said in a soft, sweet voice, “to suppose that I am a slave. I am a head wife—aye, I am the head wife of the Keeper of the Beast.”

  “Your pardon, mother, but how should we know? What is this Beast you speak of?”

  “That you will learn in time,” the woman answered with an enigmatic smile.

  With that she turned and fled from them as if fearing she had said too much.

  Dick, quickly following her, ran headlong into the solid rock which formed the back wall of the cavern. He felt closely along the whole wall of the rock hoping to locate the exit he knew must be hidden there—but failed.

  Crestfallen, he returned to Burgess.

  “Let’s eat,” he said, and the men fell to, each engrossed with his thoughts.

  Burgess’ fear was for the moment smothered by the companionship of Harding and the realization that Dick had seen fit to ignore the shooting affair of yesterday.

  As for Harding, he refused to be other than optimistic. That his life and Burgess’ had so far been spared argued that the others were still alive.

  With the setting of the sun the air in the cavern became perceptibly colder, and the two men huddled together for the sake of warmth.

  The monotonous rumble of the falls acted as a soothing lullaby and, completely worn out, the two men were soon fast asleep.

  How long he had slept Dick had no means of knowing when he was awakened by the voice of Burgess calling:

  “Wake up, Harding. Wake up.”

  To men trained to the life of the veldt lands, as was Dick, the barrier between sleep and wakefulness is thin.

  With every sense alert he sat up.

  “What is it?”

  “Listen!” Burgess was trembling with fear.

  A long drawn out wail echoed weirdly through the cavern. Soft at first, it increased in volume until the fierce intensity of it threatened to rupture the eardrums of the listening men. The wail became a scream—but there was no hint of fear in it; rather it suggested a menace, a blood lust. The scream ended in harsh, hacking coughs and then—silence.

  “What is it, Harding?”

  Dick laughed, but did not fully succeed in concealing the fear which had clutched at his heart, as he answered:

  “It is the hunting cry of a leopard.”

  CHAPTER IV

  THE LEOPARD’S BRIDE

  With the coming of morning the two men awakened to find the woman, again bearing food, standing before them.

  “You are sound sleepers,” she said softly. “Aye, mother. And would have slept even sounder had the Beast not cried.”

  She laughed.

  “The Beast had pleasant dreams—he could smell your blood. How could he keep silent?”

  Now for the first time, Dick noticed that the woman was gaily bedecked with flowers.

  “There is to be a feast, mother?” he asked. “Aye. A great feast. Today—” she stopped confusedly. “What magic is it that you use, white man, that makes my tongue wag like that of a foolish maiden? But see! I have brought you food.

  “Eat well that you may be refreshed and ready when the messenger comes for you.”

  With that she walked quickly away. Nor did Dick attempt to follow her.

  “I wonder what she meant,” he mused. “It can’t be that they intend to kill us. What did she mean by the messenger?”

  Burgess’ eyes rolled in fear.

  “Perhaps she meant the messengers were going to take us to the Beast. I’ll throw myself in the waterfall rather than be eaten alive.”

  His voice ended in a shrill scream.

  “Don’t be a fool, Burgess,” Dick said curtly. An hour later a stalwart native entered the cavern.

  “Greetings, white men,” he said in a deep, booming voice.

  “And to you, also.”

  “Will the white men come with me?”

  Dick nudged Burgess.

  “They’re damned polite all at once,” he said. “Too damned polite,” growled Burgess. “Where do you take us—and to what end?” asked Dick.

  “I take you to the hut of the king—may his shadow wax fat—what he intends to do with you is beyond my knowledge.”

  “It is well. We will come with you.”

  The messenger led the way to the rear of the cavern and at a certain place in the rock pressed lightly. A portion of the rock swung back as if on a pivot, closing again as the men passed through into a dark, narrow passage.

  This passage turned abruptly to the right and Dick saw that it was re
ally a cleft in the rock for, far above him, he could see the bright blue of the open sky.

  Just past the turn of the passage they came to the caged entrance of what appeared to be another cavern. A strong animal smell came from it and as they were directly abreast of the cage, a magnificent leopard leaped at the bars and snarled wickedly at them.

  “There’s the Beast,” said Dick, turning to Burgess. “I’m glad he’s caged. I wouldn’t like to face him unarmed.”

  A few yards beyond the cage the passage opened out into a large arena encircled by a high, stone wall on three of its sides; the fourth side was the solid rock of the cliff through which they had just passed and Dick noticed, with a feeling of foreboding, that built into the rock were many cages similar to the one they had just passed.

  Beyond the arena was a large kraal consisting of at least five hundred large, well-built huts. Toward this kraal the messenger now led them.

  It was a scene of bustling activity and the signs indicated that preparations for a big feast were under way.

  They met large groups of people hastening out toward the arena. These, though they eyed the white men curiously, made no hostile demonstration.

  Here and there among the crowd Dick noticed women wearing leopard skins about their shoulders.

  * * * *

  Coming to a group of huts set apart from the rest of the kraal, and surrounded by a stout stockade, the messenger halted.

  “Here I must leave you,” he said. “Fear not. No harm shall come to you.” Then he ran swiftly away toward the arena.

  Not a little amazed the two white men, now apparently left to their own devices, entered the enclosure.

  Dick’s heart gave an exultant leap and he ran forward joyfully for, standing before one of the huts, were Dorothy and her father.

  After the first greetings were over—and even Burgess was treated with kindness at this glad moment of reunion—they exchanged their experiences of the past night.

  “So you see, Dick,” concluded Crompton, “we have all been treated exactly the same, even to the manner of bringing us here.”

  “What do you make of it all, Doc? I suppose you’ve discovered that they belong to the Zulu tribe?”