Part 30 (1/2)
But fear is not the hall-mark of a coward; it is at worst a natural impulse to seek safety and take precautions, and at its best it is the intellectual penalty that a strong man pays for having a will-power that will not permit him to scurry away from danger and earth himself like a rabbit in its burrow.
I reached the valley without incident, scrambled down the historic slope, now as slippery as a child's mud-slide, and was half-way across the open s.p.a.ce before I received my first shock. Some queer sixth sense pulled me up in mid-stride. I had heard nothing, I had seen nothing; but for all that I knew that a strange and obtrusive presence was very close to me. The New Guinea native can at times tell the presence of an enemy simply by his sense of smell, and I suppose I've lived so long amongst them that I have acquired something of this kind. Be this as it may, I was aware of the other man's proximity long before my faculties went into action and confirmed me in my belief.
I slipped my shoulders out of the pack-strings and dropped it noiselessly on the ground. At that precise instant I heard a stealthy movement on my left hand. It was so dark that I could not see an inch in front of my face, but a little eddy of the breeze brought me the merest whiff of stale tobacco--the sort of smell that comes from a pipe that has been put out before it has completely burnt away. It was that dead scent that always seems to hang about the vicinity of a newly quenched fire. I was so close that I caught the sound of the man's breathing.
With every second breath there came a barely perceptible wheeze, and in an instant my mind flashed back to the night of the burglary in Bryce's house and the man I had caught coming out of the library. I was so sure of it that I wasted no further time in stalking him; no two men in the world could have that same regular wheezing breath. It requires a neat sense of distance to catch an invisible man round the throat when he and everything else tangible and real is hidden under cover of Stygian darkness; but this time I made the s.n.a.t.c.h of my life, and as luck would have it, had him by the windpipe before he realised that there was anyone within a quarter of a mile of him. I didn't give him a chance to cry out--I had no idea how close his friends were, if he had any--but just threw all my weight into my clutching hands and quietly but inexorably choked the life out of him. In the struggle his hat fell off and I released one hand and ran it through his hair. Up till then there was a lingering suspicion at the back of my mind, that after all I might have throttled c.u.mshaw by mistake, but the feel of that straight hair completely burked the last of my doubts. There was no possible chance of mistaking c.u.mshaw's curly crop for the strands I held in my free hand, for he suddenly went limp under my hands, and when I fumbled for his heart I could not feel it beating. At the time I felt rather cut up, and considered that I had practically killed the man in cold blood; but afterwards, when I came to reckon up the tally of disaster, I was sorry that I had pa.s.sed him out so peacefully. There were a lot of other methods I might have used had I known in time. But then I didn't, and that makes all the difference.
Satisfied in my own mind that the stranger was out of action for good and all, I rose to my feet and threaded my way back to where I had left my pack. I slipped the strings over my shoulders and set off again in the direction I hoped to find Moira and my companion. But scarcely had I taken a dozen steps forward when the silence of the night was shattered by the report of a revolver, and in an instant a perfect fusillade had begun. I dropped all caution at that. Throwing the pack from off my shoulders, I drew my revolver as I ran. I simply tore across the intervening s.p.a.ce like a red G.o.d of vengeance suddenly descended on a planet of sin. The sound of the shots had maddened me beyond all belief, and in my then mood I would have walked single-handed into a whole army.
Luckily for myself I had not gone far before I collided with a wattle bush, and the scratches I received brought me back to a saner frame of mind. I saw with an appalling clarity of vision that I was taking the worst possible course. c.u.mshaw and Moira were being attacked--that was beyond question--and my game was to come upon the attackers unawares and either rout or put as many of them out of action as I could with the weapons at my command.
So when I moved off again I had slackened my pace down to a stealthy cat-like tread that took me along with an incredible absence of noise.
As I moved forward I began to turn the configuration of the place over in my mind and wonder to what practical use I could put the fine natural cover of the bushes. As I could see none I put the matter out of my head and devoted all my energies to coming to immediate grips with the men who had murdered the eternal peace of the valley.
Presently I caught sight of a little red flash from one of the revolvers, but as I had no idea as to whose it was I held my hand and commenced to circle round the fight. It must be remembered, in order to gauge the seriousness of the situation, that the night was as black as the ace of spades, and that the only guide I had was the occasional flash from a revolver--a flash that might have come from either friend or foe; I had nothing to tell me which. It was in this queer fas.h.i.+on that I was progressing when the toe of my boot touched something soft and alien. I slipped down by the side of it and ran my hand over it. It was a man's body--the still warm body from which the pulsing life had suddenly been hurled. With my experience of the other man I had handled earlier in the night I felt for the hair, and, to my utter horror, I clutched a crop of short, crisp curls. It was Albert c.u.mshaw beyond a doubt. I did not waste a moment in useless sentimentality over the dead.
The truth flashed across my mind with the blinding clearness of lightning. Moira was by herself, fighting like some heroic G.o.ddess against those other b.e.s.t.i.a.l savages. I know it is the fas.h.i.+on to picture men in such moments as going berserker, but I don't think in my case that I have ever been so sanely clear-headed in my life. It was a monstrous and incredible thing that this quiet little corner of the quietest little State in Australia should be polluted by the presence of the incarnate fiends that had murdered Bryce, that had killed c.u.mshaw, and were even now seeking to send Moira to join them in the shades. A cold, pitiless anger took possession of me, and I set about my work of vengeance as calmly as if I were going rabbit-shooting. I knew now of a surety that I could shoot at any man who came within range without fear or favor.
It was then I blessed my stars for the matted undergrowth and the wild profusion of wattle. The one deadened the sound of my movements and the other gave me all the cover I needed. The game was now fairly in my hands, and if I lost it would be through no one's fault but my own. It was quite evident on the face of it that the attacking force had no idea that a third party was maneuvering outside the range of fire, and I counted on that fact to a.s.sist me in my work. The one drawback at present was that I had no notion which was friend and which was foe. The shots seemed to come from all round the compa.s.s, and any one of them might be Moira's. It was quite on the cards that she was moving round in a circle, in the full knowledge that every time she fired she shot at an enemy, and again it was just as likely that she knew nothing at all about c.u.mshaw's death. Clearly it was a situation that called for an immense amount of care on my part.
I had no time to waste puzzling the matter out; whatever I did had to be done as quickly as possible, for I had no guarantee that the one-sided warfare might not terminate fatally at any moment. One of the attackers was just as likely to hit Moira as she was to hit him. I had slipped up the catch of my revolver long before this, and was carrying it in such a fas.h.i.+on that it could be fired instantly. I felt ready for any emergency, and the contingency that presently arose found me well prepared. There was a stealthy rush through the undergrowth, and a man backed hastily in my direction. I couldn't see him, but I knew that it was a man by the sound of the footsteps. There is always a perceptible difference between the footsteps of a man and a woman, but it requires a trained ear to pick it out. I slipped down into cover as he rushed back, and, judging more by sound than sight, I fired as he pa.s.sed me. He came down heavily amidst a crash of breaking branches and the smas.h.i.+ng of twigs. ”I seem to be the only sure-footed man about to-night,” I thought as the fellow thudded to the ground. At that precise moment, as if to give the lie direct to me, a deafening report sounded right in my ear, a pain as of a red-hot needle stabbed through my right shoulder, and I pitched forward on my face. Even as my nose ploughed through the soft soil it occurred to me to wonder if I had received a shot intended for the other man, or if he was not as dead as I had fancied and signalised his escape by shooting me in his turn. I was more scared than hurt, and I quickly picked myself up and clapped an anxious hand to my throbbing shoulder. The ball, by the feel of it, had done nothing worse than skim through the fleshy part of my arm, and I was in no wise incapacitated. I thanked my lucky stars that I was whole and entire, save for a spoonful or so of unwanted blood, for I rather guessed that I had heavy work ahead of me before I went to sleep that night.
Just as my mind was clearing again I became aware that someone was striking matches. I distinctly heard the sc.r.a.pe of one along the top of the box, and I fancied I saw a tiny phosph.o.r.escent glow such as a match makes when it misfires, but in that I may have been mistaken. As I watched for another flash it dawned on me that the artillery had ceased fire, and, for aught I knew to the contrary, I was probably the last bird topped off that night. Therefore the person with the matches could only be one of the victorious side, and was just as obviously counting up the casualties.
There came another little interlude of sc.r.a.ping, a match spluttered undecidedly for a moment and then glowed brightly. After the Stygian darkness the light came as a queer physical shock, and for the s.p.a.ce of a heart-beat I blinked like an owl in broad daylight. I think the other person must have been just as much dazzled as I was, for the light died out and the glowing tip of the match fell to the ground without a movement from either of us. But it was followed almost instantly by another match, less damp than its fellow, for it splashed into light right away. And there in the little circle of radiance I caught sight of the one face on earth that I ever wished to see again.
”Moira!” I gasped and glided to her side.
She dropped the match in the surprise of the moment, and I heard her breath come and go before she answered, ”You, Jim! Oh, I'm so glad! I thought perhaps....”
”They didn't,” I said grimly, cutting across her thoughts. ”It was the other way about.”
”Mr. c.u.mshaw, Jim? Have you seen him anywhere?”
”No,” I said truthfully enough. I hadn't seen him; it had been too dark, and I dared not strike a match.
”Oh, I'm afraid he's been shot. We got separated in the darkness, and I don't know what happened to him.”
”How did you get separated?” I queried quickly.
”We were making for the cave and I lost him in the dark. After that they started firing, and I just fired back, more to keep up my courage than anything.”
”But where on earth did you get the revolver? You hadn't one of your own.”
”Yes, I had, Jim. I brought it with me, and I didn't say anything because I thought you might laugh or else be angry with me.”
”You've certainly shown that you know how to use it,” I said dryly.
Something in my voice must have told her what had happened. ”What do you mean?” she asked in a frightened tone. ”Did I shoot anyone?”
”Yes,” I said slowly. ”You pinked me. Right in the shoulder. It's only a flesh-wound; nothing to worry about.”