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We stood there, grouped about the body of the dead Grabritin, lookingfutilely down the river to where it made an abrupt curve to the west, aquarter of a mile below us, and was lost to sight, as though weexpected to see the truant returning to us with our preciouslaunch--the thing that meant life or death to us in this unfriendly,savage world.
I felt, rather than saw, Taylor turn his eyes slowly toward my profile,and, as mine swung to meet them, the expression upon his face recalledme to my duty and responsibility as an officer.
The utter hopelessness that was reflected in his face must have beenthe counterpart of what I myself felt, but in that brief instant Idetermined to hide my own misgivings that I might bolster up thecourage of the others.
"We are lost!" was written as plainly upon Taylor's face as though hisfeatures were the printed words upon an open book. He was thinking ofthe launch, and of the launch alone. Was I? I tried to think that Iwas. But a greater grief than the loss of the launch could haveengendered in me, filled my heart--a sullen, gnawing misery which Itried to deny--which I refused to admit--but which persisted inobsessing me until my heart rose and filled my throat, and I could notspeak when I would have uttered words of reassurance to my companions.
And then rage came to my relief--rage against the vile traitor who haddeserted three of his fellow countrymen in so frightful a position. Itried to feel an equal rage against the woman, but somehow I could not,and kept searching for excuses for her--her youth, her inexperience,her savagery.
My rising anger swept away my temporary helplessness. I smiled, andtold Taylor not to look so glum.
"We will follow them," I said, "and the chances are that we shallovertake them. They will not travel as rapidly as Snider probablyhopes. He will be forced to halt for fuel and for food, and the launchmust follow the windings of the river; we can take short cuts whilethey are traversing the detour. I have my map--thank God! I alwayscarry it upon my person--and with that and the compass we will have anadvantage over them."
My words seemed to cheer them both, and they were for starting off atonce in pursuit. There was no reason why we should delay, and we setforth down the river. As we tramped along, we discussed a questionthat was uppermost in the mind of each--what we should do with Sniderwhen we had captured him, for with the action of pursuit had come theoptimistic conviction that we should succeed. As a matter of fact, wehad to succeed. The very thought of remaining in this utter wildernessfor the rest of our lives was impossible.
We arrived at nothing very definite in the matter of Snider'spunishment, since Taylor was for shooting him, Delcarte insisting thathe should be hanged, while I, although fully conscious of the gravityof his offense, could not bring myself to give the death penalty.
I fell to wondering what charm Victory had found in such a man asSnider, and why I insisted upon finding excuses for her and trying todefend her indefensible act. She was nothing to me. Aside from thenatural gratitude I felt for her since she had saved my life, I owedher nothing. She was a half-naked little savage--I, a gentleman, andan officer in the world's greatest navy. There could be no close bondsof interest between us.
This line of reflection I discovered to be as distressing as theformer, but, though I tried to turn my mind to other things, itpersisted in returning to the vision of an oval face, sun-tanned; ofsmiling lips, revealing white and even teeth; of brave eyes thatharbored no shadow of guile; and of a tumbling mass of wavy hair thatcrowned the loveliest picture on which my eyes had ever rested.
Every time this vision presented itself I felt myself turn cold withrage and hate against Snider. I could forgive the launch, but if hehad wronged her he should die--he should die at my own hands; in this Iwas determined.
For two days we followed the river northward, cutting off where wecould, but confined for the most part to the game trails thatparalleled the stream. One afternoon, we cut across a narrow neck ofland that saved us many miles, where the river wound to the west andback again.
Here we decided to halt, for we had had a hard day of it, and, if thetruth were known, I think that we had all given up hope of overtakingthe launch other than by the merest accident.
We had shot a deer just before our halt, and, as Taylor and Delcartewere preparing it, I walked down to the water to fill our canteens. Ihad just finished, and was straightening up, when something floatingaround a bend above me caught my eye. For a moment I could not believethe testimony of my own senses. It was a boat.
I shouted to Delcarte and Taylor, who came running to my side.
"The launch!" cried Delcarte; and, indeed, it was the launch, floatingdown-river from above us. Where had it been? How had we passed it?And how were we to reach it now, should Snider and the girl discover us?
"It's drifting," said Taylor. "I see no one in it."
I was stripping off my clothes, and Delcarte soon followed my example.I told Taylor to remain on shore with the clothing and rifles. Hemight also serve us better there, since it would give him anopportunity to take a shot at Snider should the man discover us andshow himself.
With powerful strokes we swam out in the path of the oncoming launch.Being a stronger swimmer than Delcarte, I soon was far in the lead,reaching the center of the channel just as the launch bore down uponme. It was drifting broadside on. I seized the gunwale and raisedmyself quickly, so that my chin topped the side. I expected a blow themoment that I came within the view of the occupants, but no blow fell.
Snider lay upon his back in the bottom of the boat alone. Even beforeI had clambered in and stooped above him I knew that he was dead.Without examining him further, I ran forward to the control board andpressed the starting button. To my relief, the mechanismresponded--the launch was uninjured. Coming about, I picked upDelcarte. He was astounded at the sight that met his eyes, andimmediately fell to examining Snider's body for signs of life or anexplanation of the manner in which he met his death.
The fellow had been dead for hours--he was cold and still. ButDelcarte's search was not without results, for above Snider's heart wasa wound, a slit about an inch in length--such a slit as a sharp knifewould make, and in the dead fingers of one hand was clutched a strandof long brown hair--Victory's hair was brown.
They say that dead men tell no tales, but Snider told the story of hisend as clearly as though the dead lips had parted and poured forth thetruth. The beast had attacked the girl, and she had defended her honor.
We buried Snider beside the Rhine, and no stone marks his last restingplace. Beasts do not require headstones.
Then we set out in the launch, turning her nose upstream. When I hadtold Delcarte and Taylor that I intended searching for the girl,neither had demurred.
"We had her wrong in our thoughts," said Delcarte, "and the least thatwe can do in expiation is to find and rescue her."
We called her name aloud every few minutes as we motored up the river,but, though we returned all the way to our former camping place, we didnot find her. I then decided to retrace our journey, letting Taylorhandle the launch, while Delcarte and I, upon opposite sides of theriver, searched for some sign of the spot where Victory had landed.
We found nothing until we had reached a point a few miles above thespot where I had first seen the launch drifting down toward us, andthere I discovered the remnants of a recent camp fire.
That Victory carried flint and steel I was aware, and that it was shewho built the fire I was positive. But which way had she gone sinceshe stopped here?
Would she go on down the river, that she might thus bring herselfnearer her own Grabritin, or would she have sought to search for usupstream, where she had seen us last?
I had hailed Taylor, and sent him across the river to take in Delcarte,that the two might join me and discuss my discovery and our futureplans.
While waiting for them, I stood looking out over the river, my backtoward the woods that stretched away to the east behind me. Delcartewas just stepping into the launch upon the
opposite side of the stream,when, without the least warning, I was violently seized by both armsand about the waist--three or four men were upon me at once; my riflewas snatched from my hands and my revolver from my belt.
I struggled for an instant, but finding my efforts of no avail, Iceased them, and turned my head to have a look at my assailants. Atthe same time several others of them walked around in front of me, and,to my astonishment, I found myself looking upon uniformed soldiery,armed with rifles, revolvers, and sabers, but with faces as black ascoal.
The Lost Continent Page 7
