For a while he treaded water there in the dark, listening and straining his eyes for some clew to what was going on. He heard a few guttural remarks among the Bamangani which told him that all of his friends had been made prisoners; then he saw a number of dark forms leave the beach and heard a rustling of the vines which showed that the ape-men had proceeded inland. From this he guessed that the captives had been carried to the camp, from which they would probably be next day transported to the Bamangani village at the base of the volcano. Satisfied that he could do nothing to help his friends just then, the Dyak turned around and slowly swam back to the Condor.
When he climbed on board and sat down his eyes stared hard and his nostrils twitched nervously. He was feeling very, very sad, and for the first time since they had reached the island he was frightened; also he was exceedingly angry. For a little while he sat still in the darkness, trying to collect himself; then as he became calmer he began to think.
Since the ape-men evidently intended to take their prisoners to their village he felt fairly sure that they would do them no further injury for the present. He was well acquainted with their method of procedure in such cases, and he guessed that the captives were to be preserved for some great sacrifice, which, unless the customs of the Bamangani had been changed during the past few years, would undoubtedly be held at the hour of sunrise.
Reasoning further, he decided that at least twenty-four hours must elapse before the sacrifice could be held, since it would take nearly that long to carry the victims inland and arrange for the public ceremonies so dear to the Bamangani priests.
Arriving at this conclusion, Batu stood up and shook himself. If his deductions were correct, and he felt confident that they were, he had a little over twenty-four hours in which to rescue his friends, or, if he failed, to die with them. Just how he was to attempt this rescue single-handed he did not know at the moment; that would come later on. First, he must overhaul the seaplane and have everything in readiness for an instant start, for there must be no delay once his final plans were made.
He went to the forward part of the hull and listened carefully for several minutes, hearing nothing but the croaking of the frogs and the other commonplace sounds of the jungle night. Apparently the ape-men had no intention of visiting the seaplane that night, but since there was so much at stake Batu took nothing for granted.
After an instant’s hesitation, he lowered himself into the water and swam ashore again. Here, making use of all the woodcraft and jungle lore which a long line of ancestors trained in the art had handed down to him, he prowled about for nearly three hours.
Just what he learned during this nocturnal excursion he never told, but when he returned at last to the Condor his eyes were glistening with the light of a set purpose. He had made up his mind as to just what he should do, and with characteristic energy he set to work.
Safe inside the seaplane, he switched on the electric lights, which were supplied by a powerful storage battery in the hull, and made an inspection of the interior of the ship. The light would, of course, warn the ape-men of his presence on board, but it would also increase their susperstitious awe of the bird-boat, and the Dyak was confident that they would not try to attack him before daylight. By that time, if all went well, he would be able to take care of himself.
Except for a considerable disorder among its movable furnishings, he was elated to find that the Condor had suffered very little at the hands of the Bamangani. The untutored savages had probably been too much in awe of the seaplane to tamper with it much, for the engines were in perfect order and the huge fuel tanks below the floor of the hull had not been touched. Even some rifles and revolvers, which had been locked in a chest in the cabin were intact, and when he had strapped a heavy automatic pistol around his waist Batu felt better.
Satisfied that the plane was in running order, he went into the little kitchen and ate a hearty meal of canned foods. Then he went on deck again.
By this time the first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to lighten the sky, and the island was shrouded in a thick mist which cut off his view of the shore like a wall. There was not a sign of life anywhere; not a sound came through the fog; and after a long look in all directions the Dyak went below and started the engines.
For several minutes, his head cocked to one side, he listened with critical ears for the faintest irregularity in their popping roar, and when he could discover none he grinned to himself. Then, paying no heed whatever to a confused shouting from the direction of the beach which signified that the Bamangani had been aroused by the noise, he pulled up the anchor, stowed it away, and slipped into the driving seat. Ten minutes later, without taking to the air at all, he swung the seaplane around the end of the island and came to a halt midway between the horns of a large cove.
After a glance around had assured him that everything was snug, he lay down on a bunk in the inclosed cabin and deliberately went to sleep. He knew that he had done all that could be done for the time being, his plans were all made for the rescue he meant to attempt when the hour was ripe, and in the meantime, since he was sure that the Bamangani, thinking he had fled, would never find him, he was conserving his strength for the desperate venture which would mean either life or death to both himself and his friends.
It lacked about half an hour of dawn on the following morning when Batu carefully maneuvered the Condor until he was clear of all possible entanglements. Then he gave the engines more gas and still more. Their cacophonic buzz rose to a deafening roar, and the slender pontoons began to cut through the black water with increasing speed.
For some yards the spume blew upon and spattered the glass windows of the cabin. Then the lifting power of the planes made itself felt, and the seaplane skimmed the surface of the lake instead of plowing through it. The speed gradually increased, and suddenly the feel of the water against the pontoons ceased. The Condor was riding the air with a smooth and easy motion that was steady and firm.
Batu spiraled slowly to four thousand feet and headed straight for the volcano. It was near the twin peaks of the mountain that the Bamangani village was situated, and he meant to circle above them until he could discern what was going on below and choose a landing place for the great machine which was so responsive to his will.
Never had he known the Condor’s powerful motors to sound a sweeter roar than they did on this morning when so many lives depended on their perfect operation. Desperate as he knew his venture to be, the Dyak grinned with the exultant delight of a born birdman as he settled down into his seat and peered ahead.
A light westerly wind, laden with sulphurous fumes from the volcano, drove against the plane as it attained the higher levels and straightened out for its flight. Batu was not flying any faster than was necessary to keep his craft under perfect control. From where he sat the island seemed only a misty, unfathomable blotch below him. He would need more light by which to descend, and he did not wish to bungle matters by too much haste. First, he must circle around the mountain and locate his objective; then, just as the sun came over the horizon behind him, he would swoop down, trusting to luck and the superstitious fear the sight of the Condor would arouse in the ape-men to give him an opportunity to pick up his friends.
At best he would be taking a desperate, almost an impossible, chance, for the landing alone would be a hazardous thing in that rocky, tree-filled region, but no fear of personal hurt could daunt him. It was his creed never to forgive an enemy nor to turn his back on a friend, and he would not shirk now when the time came to practice it.
CHAPTER X
“SURE, MIKE!”
As the dawn broke, the great plane was circling over the mountain at a five-thousand-foot altitude. Even at that height the fumes from the steaming crater were noticeable, and occasionally the Condor encountered “pockets” in the heated atmosphere which caused it to side-slip and buck dangerously. Clever maneuvering, however, outrode these, and presently Batu was able to distinguish the village of the Bamangan
i and a number of moving dots which he knew were men.
When he saw that these dots were all traveling toward the top of the mountain to join a dark mass of people who were gathered together on the flat apex of the highest pinnacle, he caught his breath sharply. He guessed instantly what that gathering meant, and even before Irene’s golden hair drew his gaze to where the three prisoners were grouped, he knew what he would have to do.
Circling once more, he studied the pinnacle top as carefully as he could in the circumstances. He saw that it was flat and comparatively smooth, and large enough perhaps to accommodate the Condor if he was very, very careful; he saw, too, that he would have to fly perilously close to the steaming crater; but he did not hesitate.
He completed his circle, dropping until the altometer at his side showed only twenty-five hundred feet; then, with the rising sun directly behind him, he drove straight for the crater. At just the right distance from his goal he pushed a lever, and the plane began to tip forward until to the throng below it seemed to be standing on its nose; then Batu shut off his power and shot downward.
For an instant of sickening suspense it seemed to Irene, who alone of the three prisoners had not taken her eyes from the plane, that Batu had miscalculated. It looked as if the Condor were going straight on down into the fiery maw of the crater, but just then the Dyak pulled a lever, and the plane shot up a little to settle the next instant as gently as a falling leaf in the very center of the pinnacle top.
There was a crash and a chorus of wild cries as the tip of one of the wings knocked down a dozen ape-men who had been too spellbound to get out of the way. Then silence followed.
“Quick, tuan,” shouted Batu, springing over the side as the plane came to a standstill, automatic in hand. “Come quick!”
Hardin did not hear him, however. He was locked in a death struggle with the Bamangani chief, who, furious at the turn things had taken, was fighting like a madman. Never before in his life had Hardin such good reason to be thankful for his strong body and perfect physical condition as he had at that moment. Taken partly unawares though he had been, the big ape man was proving himself a terribly tough customer.
Three times already the two had gone to the ground together and risen again, and even yet the odds were with neither man. What the chief lacked in science he made up in brute strength and agility, and if Hardin had not managed to disarm him at the very first onslaught, the white man would certainly have been killed.
Just as the Condor landed, however, the banker secured a favorite wrestling hold and began to put forth his great strength. At first the ape man fought stubbornly; the muscles and sinews stood out in knots on both men as they strove, the one to break, the other to keep his hold; but flesh and blood could not endure the strain, and suddenly he collapsed and fell down unconscious.
Picking up the club which his adversary had dropped, Hardin whirled about.
“Into the plane, hurry!” he cried, running to his wife. “Quick, before they wake up!”
He was rushing Irene and the wounded scientist toward the Condor, when Makosi, who had been staring like a man in a trance at the wonders enacted before his eyes, seemed suddenly to come to life. Waving his arms wildly, the man began to scream at his people, fairly frothing at the mouth in his rage and excitement.
As his words fell on their ears, some of the Bamangani began to pluck up heart, and a few launched spears at the fugitives as they hurried toward the plane. They gave up and fell back, however, when Batu turned his automatic loose upon them, and a few seconds later the entire party was safe inside the cabin.
As the plane rose into the air and the island fell rapidly away below them, Hardin gathered his wife into his arms. “Phee-u!” he exclaimed, setting her down at last. “That was certainly a close thing. Thank God you’re alive, dear.”
“I shall,” she answered soberly; “but first I’m going to thank Batu.”
“Batu!” Hardin turned to glance at the Dyak, who, imperturbable as the Sphinx, was guiding the rushing plane in the direction of the coast. For a moment the white man watched him in silence, and his eyes were very tender. Then he spoke.
“Pretty close thing, wasn’t it, Batu?” he said.
The Dyak turned and flashed a grin at them over his shoulder.
“Sure, Mike!” he answered.
THE YELLOW CURSE, by Lars Anderson
The clammy fog swirled and twisted like a monstrous yellow shroud. A battered roadster purred along the graveled road from the direction of the city. Arn Flannery sat tensed behind the wheel. He was driving slowly, blue eyes vainly boring into the concealing mist, grunting eloquently as the car bounced over the washboarded apology for a highway.
“Seventeen million for roads in five years,” he mused, sarcastically. “And look at this!” Thin lips twisted in a sneer about the cold pipe-stem gripped in strong, white teeth.
He shot a glance at the tiny clock on the dash. It was almost ten o’clock in the evening. He should reach his destination soon now. Would he be able to find it in the hellish murk? Had anything gone wrong with Elena’s plans? Why had she written so briefly, asked him to come to her tonight instead of following through with their set date for Saturday?
Abruptly, a scream, high-pitched, blood-curdling, broke through the saffron curtain of the mist. Flannery tensed, braked the car to an instant standstill as the tortured wail knifed his ears. He leaped from the car, slipped, went to his knees in the gravel. Off to one side he heard a gasping moan. For a moment, he hunched there on all fours, listening.
The mist grew momentarily in its shrouding, yellow intensity. It mocked him as it rolled about on its clammy belly like some swaying, poisonous monster of the night. It was impossible to see six feet in front. Nature seemed in the mood for aiding and abetting anything that was going on in the fog-choked darkness.
The lanky reporter scrambled to his feet, swore softly, dug a flash from the door pocket of the roadster. His fingers trembled, fumbled at the switch. It was a poor light, but better than nothing at all. He turned the sickly, orange glow into the teeth of the mist. It was no match for that thick shroud, but it would have to do. Cautiously, he made his way in the direction from whence had sounded the shrill, fearful outcry.
Flannery could hear nothing now except the click and crunch of his shoes against the roadway. He paused, stood listening, his strong shoulders hunched, hard eyes narrowing. The hellish saffron billows clung to him like a material pall. Then, he heard it again. A gasping, whining moan of ineffable horror and anguish. It crescendoed upward, terminated abruptly. Then, there was no sound to be heard.
The next moment, Arn Flannery saw her. He lunged forward, leaned over the still, feminine form. The figure, scantily clad in filmy underthings, lay upon its side. The reporter smothered a curse as he turned the girl face upward.
“Holy Moses!” he gasped.
The prostrate girl had once been very beautiful. She was small and dainty. But her youthful cheeks were somewhat sunken, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her butter-hued hair was a mass of silken disarray about her rounded shoulders.
But one thing Flannery noticed with a start. The coloring of her smooth skin. It was of a ghastly hue that matched the golden satin undergarments. In the faint rays of the flash, her exposed loveliness gave off a hideous sheen that seemed to make her a part of the ghostly, macabre mist!
“It’s as if this damnable fog had smirched her with its evil,” Arn Flannery thought.
Just then, her long lashes fluttered weakly open; she gazed up at him with glazing, pitiful eyes.
“What in heaven’s name has happened?” he asked, softly. “Are you hurt? Tell me.”
Abruptly, a shiver shook her body and somehow, the man realized that it was not caused by the chill atmosphere.
“The yellow curse!” she moaned, weakly. “Go for—help—before it is too late! Get—get key—key—”
Another horrible tremor stabbed her body; her piquant face twisted with pain; he
r soft flesh quivered and crawled as though at the memory of some malignant and evil thing. Then, suddenly, she went limp, her golden head lolling to one side.
Flannery fell to his knees beside the half-naked body, placed a gentle ear against the girl’s left breast. There was no murmur, no sound of life. “Dead!” he gasped.
Suddenly, as he straightened to his feet, a light loomed off to the left in the encompassing gloom. The fog swirled thickly yellow and ghastly between it and the man. It couldn’t be far away! Striding forward, Flannery found a side road which led in its direction.
He considered a moment, returned to his roadster, slid beneath the wheel. He stepped on the starter, guided the battered car into a deep ditch beside the road. He tensed hard muscles, braced himself, as the machine went over on its side. Cautiously, he crawled from the wreckage, uninjured, grinning, serene. A moment later, without a backward glance, his tall figure was cutting through the clinging mist in the direction of the light.
The driveway from the main road ran upgrade along a narrow ridge. He followed its winding course with cautious tread till he faced a huge, ugly edifice, a piled mass of masonry, grim, forbidding. Obviously, it had once been a mansion of some grandeur. Now, however, it had deteriorated; its gables sagged, its general aspect was as evil as Arn Flannery had anticipated. At one end a round tower thrust upward, gaunt in the eerie yellow mist. A single light blinked like an evil eye from a window on the lower floor.
The reporter shivered as he put foot upon the high porch. It, like the rest of the house, was of a deeper, more sinister yellow than the fog that surrounded it. He approached the front door, banged with an immense brass knocker. It sent echoes whispering through the interior of the place like ghostly mutterings in a tomb.
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