"When I suddenly woke, it was past midnight by my watch. Clouds covered the stars and the fire had gone out completely so that I was in total darkness.
"But it was what awakened me that had me fully alert. It was a sound, and I knew that I hadn't dreamt it. Somewhere, not very far away, there had come a sound which had raised the hackles on my neck.
"I listened, straining every nerve. The sounds of the night were gentle, water falling in a tiny brook at the canyon's bottom, the wind in the bushes. I began to persuade myself that I had heard nothing.
"Then, just as I was dropping off again, it came. Rising to a crescendo and then dying away, the howl of a great wolf rang down the canyon. As it died away, it was answered, this time by a chorus of howls. The whole pack had gathered and were giving tongue. From the sheer volume of noise, they couldn't have been more than a few hundred yards off.
"D'you know, I was quite thrilled. Very few people have ever gotten this close to a wolf pack. There was no real danger; in summer, European wolves, even in Russia, are perfectly harmless. After a great battle or a winter famine, I suppose things can be different, but I wasn't a bit frightened.
"I was about to strike a light, since I was a trifle cold, and rekindle the fire, when something altogether different happened.
"Not from the direction of the wolves, but from down the canyon came first one shot, then a number close together. A scream rang out and to my horror, I realized that it came from a human throat. I sprang to my feet as I heard a hoarse voice shouting in Spanish, 'So, you Communist pig, that's one of you who won't bother the Government again.' The voice was that of Sergeant Sandoval!
"Then, as silence fell again, I heard from not far away, a low, pitiful moan and the sound of Sandoval's laugh. Wretched creature that he was, he never laughed without meaning ill to someone.
"At the same time, I saw the glow of a torch, a flashlight you know, not more than fifty yards away down canyon, and heard the Guardia sergeant speak again.
" 'Stop pretending to be hurt, Animal. If you want to be really hurt, then don't answer my questions. Now, why are you in these mountains at night? I have followed many of you. Where do you go? Speak, you—' Here he used a stream of filthy epithets.
"There was no answer except that I again heard a low groan.
"This was altogether too much.
" 'Sandoval,' I bellowed. 'Sergeant Sandoval,' I bellowed. 'Sergeant Sandoval, it is I, the Señor Ingles. I am coming over. Leave that man alone!'
"I scrambled down from my cave and following the flickering torchlight soon stumbled into a little pocket on the other side of the tiny rivulet. Two figures were revealed in the light.
"Sandoval had laid his torch on a big rock and it illuminated all of us. He stood with his carbine ready, aimed at my stomach, his face contorted with fury and suspicion. It relaxed a little when he saw that I was alone and unarmed, but not much, and the gun stayed aimed.
"Between us on the bare ground crouched the figure of a young man. He was one of the locals whose face I vaguely remembered seeing from the village, although his name escaped me.
"His uncured sheepskin jacket was oozing blood from the right shoulder and his eyes were wide with shock and pain. Why Sandoval had shot the lad I didn't know, but I was determined to stop any further beastliness.
" 'All right, Sergeant,' I said firmly. 'What's all this about? You woke me up with all your racket. What's this chap done, eh? Looks harmless enough, don't he?' My imitation of the authoritarian Pukka Sahib, I felt, was the best way to deal with Sandoval.
"It was only partially successful. The gun muzzle lowered a little and a speculative look replaced the venom in his eyes.
" 'Perhaps the Señor knows what this Basque dirt is doing here himself? Perhaps he was meeting the Señor for some secret purpose? Perhaps the Señor is an agent of the Ingles government, eh?'
"Sandoval was not half-witted and was well aware what the current Spanish hierarchy felt about England. This looked like a more than plausible chance to involve me in something illegal.
" 'Don't be a bigger damned fool than you can help, Sergeant,' I said briskly. 'I'm unarmed as you can see. If I were a spy or some such rot, I'd have shot you from ambush and no one would be the wiser. I certainly wouldn't have shouted your name and come to be slaughtered.
" 'Now sling that gun and we'll see what we can do for this lad here. He's bleeding badly, can't you see?'
"It was a good try, but it missed by a mile. The carbine muzzle came up and again centered on my midriff.
" 'Always the orders from the great Ingles,' said Sandoval in a very nasty voice. 'I think you are wrong, Señor. I have another idea. This cabron here murdered the poor Ingles traveller, and was caught in the act by me, Juan Sandoval, of the Guardia Civil, who avenged the Ingles nobly. Do you like that idea, Señor?'
"And he meant it. The bastard was going to shoot me down like a rat and blame it on the kid lying between us. It was easy in the torchlight to see there was murder in Sandoval's eyes, as he slowly raised the gun until I could look down the barrel. I couldn't believe it. I was frozen, don't you know, and at the same time realized that I would be dead in one second. Whew!
"At this point my legs came to life almost by themselves. I had no conscious idea of doing anything, I just jumped at him. There was a blast in my face and utter darkness.
-
"When I woke, there was singing. How appropriate, I thought to myself. Of course you're now Up Above and the singing is official.
"But then I realized that I had one king devil of a headache and that the singing didn't sound much like any heavenly choir I'd ever envisaged. I also realized that my eyes were tight shut, so I opened them. Then I shut them quickly. Then I opened them again. A wolf was looking at me from a foot away.
"The wolf said 'ah,' in a satisfied voice and went away. I really began to wake up then, and look about as well.
"I was lying on a bed of skins in a little stone-walled and ceilinged room lit by a small fire in one corner. My hands were tied in front of me and feet were tied together as well, both by a loose sort of leather strap arrangement. I could move, but only hobbled as it were, and I wasn't uncomfortable except for an aching head. The room was empty but that didn't last long. A skin curtain or hanging was twitched aside and two men came in. Here was my wolf, or rather wolves!
"They were dressed in skins, entirely, except for peculiar leather leggings of some sort, and set over their heads were the beautifully carved and decorated heads of wolves. These combined helmets and masks were apparently made of painted wood and the wolf's furry skull, somehow blended. The effect was striking, grotesque and most effective. Save for the eye slits, no trace of a human face was visible.
"Without a word, they came over and helped me to my feet. Half-leading, half-carrying, they got me through the skin doorway and out into the larger cave beyond.
"Of course, that's what it was. My room was a natural alcove off a huge grotto, at least two hundred feet long and twice that wide, and God alone knows how high. The light of the great log fire, in the center of the cave, and to one side, simply vanished up above in the blackness.
"Around the fire on the floor were at least fifty seated figures, all singing. This was the music I'd heard, a splendid, deep-chested chant that went on and on. The words were quite unintelligible. Every figure wore skins like my two guards, but the faces, or rather the masks, were a wide selection. There were wolves, the majority, but also some few badgers, at least one ibex, two or three bears and a number I couldn't identify by the firelight.
"While I'd been looking at all this, I'd been set down on a flat rock and my two attendants had sat down with me, one on each side. They began to sing also, but although they were roaring practically in my ears, one still couldn't make out the words. Still, there's no denying it was impressive.
"I was about thirty feet from the fire and I could see that it was dying; no one was trying to replenish it either, and as it died, other th
ings became visible. As the logs smouldered and collapsed, a great square block of stone appeared behind the fire and against the central wall of the cave. And the wall itself also appeared. It seemed to have been polished or smoothed down, for there were designs and things painted on it, but too dim for me to make them out in the dying light.
"Next the singing began to die out along with the light, and soon there was a hush, with only the crackle of the coals and blackening logs breaking the silence. Everyone, and I include myself, was waiting for something. One could feel it in the air like electricity.
"Now four men, all in wolf masks, appeared, carrying a heavy burden. They marched solemnly through a lane in the crowd and deposited the burden on the great stone altar. The big block could have been nothing else, you know, and the second I spotted it I knew what was coming. Somehow, something or someone was going to occupy that altar and I felt pretty certain who it would be! Still, no point in yelling, so I sat quietly. Nothing else I could do, actually.
"But on the altar now lay the body of a huge brown bear. The carriers had left and I could see it clearly, it's great clawed fore-paws spilling over the side of the stone, its massive, snarling jaws clotted with dried saliva open in a grin of rigor mortis. I can tell you chaps, it made me feel just a trifle easier in my mind.
"A new light appeared at the far end of the cave, and as it advanced a stranger and even more curious sight became visible.
"The new light came from a single torch, not a flash, a real torch, made of wood, and holding it was the damnedest figure in the whole assemblage. The mask this time was the neck and head, antlers and all, of a great red deer, a stag. The skinclad body beneath was naked to the waist and attached to the waist by a belt was a great, carved wooden phallus, strapped on over a kilt of fur and hide. The legs again were bare and on the man's chest were painted strange geometric designs. Oh, yes, there was a long tail of some animal or other fastened on behind. Sounds ludicrous in a description, I dare say, but it was anything but to see. I rather think I was still dizzy from that gunshot or head crease, but the whole wild scene was superb and this last entry a figure of tremendous and awful dignity.
"The chant began again with this new arrival and he seemed to lead it, singing out in a great roaring voice, quite audible over the rest. And the others began to rise and whirl about as they sang.
So did the chief, whirling his torch about so that the sparks flew. He moved like a ballet dancer, too.
"Several times as he did so, the torch illumined the back wall of the cave, and I saw the painted designs upon it clearly for a second or two. I'd seen them before, or others like them. Blackened by age and smoke, the wooly mammoth and the reindeer, the vanished aurochs and the wild horse marched across the wall as they had for countless millennia. The cave evidently had been in use for a very long time indeed.
"Now the man-deer held a great club in his free hand. All the others, save for my guards, had produced them too, and began to form a great line leading to the altar, with the antlered leader in front. While the mighty chant rose higher and higher, first he, then in turn the others, filed by the carcass of the bear and struck it each one tremendous blow. The dead body shook to the frightful pounding, but I'd rather have seen it than felt it, I can tell you!
"When all were done, I was amazed to see that blood was trickling down the face of the altar in a dark stream from under the bear skin. I should have thought this impossible in a creature dead so long, but I was clearly mistaken. No doubt the battering the body had received had caused it to flow afresh.
"The man-deer suddenly whirled up his snapping torch, by now almost the only light, and there was instant silence. Then, one by one, the worshippers approached the altar. As they did so, they briefly knelt while the chief hierophant dipped one finger in the blood and marked their beastly disguises on the muzzle.
"As they finished, my two wolfish attendants suddenly lifted me firmly to my feet and carried me also down to the altar stone. For a second I stared into the burning eye slits of the great deer mask, and felt the wet finger mark my forehead. I was no longer afraid. For I knew well, oh yes, I knew now I was in no danger. I had been sealed in the compact.
Then a bowl was brought and held to my lips. In silence I drank without fear and without fear felt the whole scene darken, then vanish as my drugged eyes closed.
"When I woke, the morning sun was streaming into my window at the inn. I lay for some time quietly in my pajamas, listening to the sounds of passers-by on the village street outside, smelling the stew cooking in the kitchen.
"Presently I rose, shaved and dressed. As I looked into my travelling mirror, I saw the weal on my right temple, but the headache was gone.
"I went downstairs to the big room, noting that it was about nine and called for coffee and bread. I was very hungry.
"The landlord brought the tray himself and after placing it in front of me, stood looking down at me, his broad face calm as always. I determined I'd say nothing and finally he spoke.
" 'You are well again, Friend? You were found on the mountain yesterday, having apparently fallen, but when we carried you down, my wife said you would be yourself after a good sleep. This is so, no?'
"That was the way it was going to be then. A 'fall' and a 'good sleep.' And then it came to me with a rush.
"You fellows must think I was awfully obtuse, but one thing had completely vanished from my thoughts. Sandoval! I'd completely forgotten a man who'd tried to murder first a village boy and then me! Where was the Guardia sergeant? The shock of remembering started to bring me to my feet in an involuntary spasm, when Urrutia's great hand fell upon my shoulder, calming me and preventing my getting up.
" 'We have had a worse tragedy, Friend, which is why we have not paid you the attention you deserve,' came his deep, resonant voice. 'The evil-spoken sergeant of the government police has vanished. All the men in the village are out looking, and his two men as well. It seems he left here very drunk, yesterday afternoon, and I fear that he has been foolish. Even you fell and you are used to the mountains, which he is not.'
"Presently his hand left my shoulder and when I eventually looked up, he was gone.
"I remained seated long after my coffee had cooled. How does one tell the last of the Cro-Magnon priest-kings that one strenuously objects to witnessing human sacrifice? I never did think of a way until I left.
"Still, as I say, the Chinese do not have a clear run on being the oldest at everything, you know."
I asked a question and Ffellowes looked thoughtful.
"The cemetery? I don't think they buried their dead locally, that's all. In fact, I think they were in the cave. Logical, eh? Well, goodnight all." He was gone.
-
SOLDIER KEY
Everyone in the club, even those who disliked him, agreed that Brigadier ("not Brigadier General, please") Donald Ffellowes, R.A., ret., could tell a good yarn when he chose. He seemed to have been in the British Army, the Colonial Police and M.I.-5 as well at one time or another, and to have served all over the globe.
People who loathed him and the English generally, said all his tales were lies, that he was a remittance man, and that his gift for incredible stories was a direct inheritance from Sir John Mandeville, the medieval rumormonger. Still, even those who denounced his stories the most loudly never left once he started one of them. If Ffellowes was a liar, he was an awfully good one.
Mason Williams, who was one of those who resented Ffellowes as both British and overbearing, had instantly ordered stone crab when he saw it on the club's lunch menu. Of the eight others present at the big table that day, only one besides Williams had ever had stone crab, but we all decided to try it; all, that is, except Ffellowes.
"No, thank you," he repeated coldly, "I'll have the sweetbreads. I don't eat crab or any crustacean, for that matter. I used to love it," he went on, "in fact I ate crab, lobster, langouste, crawfish and shrimp with the best of you at one time. Until 1934 to be exact. An unpleasant and
perhaps peculiar set of circumstances caused me to stop. Perhaps you would care to hear why?
"Now, I couldn't get it past my mouth, and if I did I couldn't swallow it. You see, something happened ..."
His voice trailed away into silence, and we could all see that his thoughts were elsewhere. He stared at the snowy tablecloth for a moment and then looked up with an apologetic smile. We waited, and not even Williams seemed anxious to interrupt.
"I've never told anyone about this, but I suppose I ought, really. It's a quite unbelievable story, and not a very nice one. Yet, if you'd like to hear it?" he queried again.
An instant chorus of affirmation rose from around the table. We were all men who had traveled and seen at least something of life, but none of our tales ever matched what we extracted from Ffellowes at long intervals.
The Peculiar Exploits of Brigadier Ffellowes Page 14
