Part 30 (2/2)
Weirdly mystic the torch-lighted scene, the leader's voice intoning the first line, and the others furnis.h.i.+ng the chorus as they sang:
”G.o.d of our Hills!
Ho-ho, ho-ho!
The leopard is slain!
Ho-ho, ho-ho!
To thee our praise!
Ho-ho, ho-ho!”
To the flowing cadence of this refrain the six bearers of the leopard trotted down the mountain path in rhythmic swing.
At Mayo Thana, a mile down, and at Mandi, half a mile beyond, thrifty Mahadua collected his t.i.the as master of the hunt, and obtained torch-bearers, the lot from Mandi having the task of shouldering the burden till the elephant party was reached.
For an hour they travelled among heavy-bodied creepers and ma.s.sive trees when, through the solemn stillness, echoed the far-off tinkle of a bell.
Without command, Mahadua stood silently in the path, his head turned to listen. Five seconds, ten seconds--the sahibs sitting their saddles as silent as their guide, and again, now unmistakable, to their ears floated the soft note that Finnerty had likened to the clink of ice in a gla.s.s.
Mahadua, holding up his torch so that its light fell upon Finnerty's face, turned his eyes questioningly.
”It is Moti's bell?” Finnerty said, query in his voice.
”Yes, sahib; but it is not on Moti's neck, because it would not just speak and then remain silent, and then speak and then remain silent, for in the jungle her pace would keep it at tongue all the time.”
Then, listening, they waited. Again they heard it, and again there was silence.
”Easy, easy!” Finnerty commanded, and, moving with less speed than before, they followed Mahadua.
As they came to a break in the forest where some hills had burst through its gloomed shroud to lift their rocky crests into the silver moonlight, Finnerty heard, nearer now, the bell, and, startled by its unfamiliar note, a jackal, sitting on his haunches on the hilltop, his form outlined against the moonlit sky, threw up his head to send out a faint, tremulous cry. The plaintive wail was caught up as it died away by another jackal, and then another--they were like sentinels calling from posts in a vast semicircle; then with a cras.h.i.+ng crescendo of screaming yelps all broke into a rippling clamour that suggested they fled in a pack.
”Charming!” Lord Victor commented. ”Topping chorus!”
In the hush that followed this jackal din, Finnerty could hear the tinkling bell. ”Does it come up this path?” he asked the s.h.i.+kari.
”Yes, sahib, and I thought I heard Moti laugh.”
The major turned to Swinton. ”I've got a presentiment that somebody--probably the man that stuck a knife into Baboo Da.s.s'
thief--having the bell, has got Moti away from my fellows and is leading her up this path to the hills. I'm going to wing him.” He slipped from the saddle, his 10-bore in hand. ”Of course, if I can get my clutches on him----” He broke off to arrange action. ”Put out the torch, Mahadua, and have your match box ready to light it in a second. You two chaps had better turn your horses over to the syces. With Mahadua I'll keep in advance.”
Mahadua, putting his little hand up against Finnerty's chest, checked at a faint, rustling, grinding sound that was like the pa.s.sing of sandpaper over wood. Finnerty, too, heard it. Perhaps a leopard had forestalled them in waylaying the one who had signalled his approach; or perhaps the one had stilled the telltale sapphire tongue, and was near. No, it tinkled, a score or more yards beyond. The s.h.i.+kari's hand clutched spasmodically in a steadying grip of Finnerty's coat; there was a half-stifled gasp from its owner as two lurid eyes weaved back and forth in the black depths in which the path was lost.
Finnerty's iron nerve went slack; his boy days of banshee stories flooded his mind in a superst.i.tious wave as those devilish eyes hovered menacingly ten feet from the ground.
”A spirit!” Mahadua gasped as he crawled his way behind the major.
”Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!” The sound came just below where the eyes had gleamed; then a smothering cry--the crunching, slipping sound of sandpaper on wood; a rapid clatter of the bell; a noise like the hiss of escaping steam mingled with the crunch of breaking bones; and again the gleaming eyes cut the darkness in sinuous convolutions.
A gasp--a cry of: ”Gad, what is it?” came from behind Finnerty, and beyond there was a heavy thud, the clatter of a bamboo pole, as, with cries of horror, the men of Mandi dropped their burden and fled, gasping to each other: ”It is the goblin of the Place of Terrors, and if we look upon his eyes we shall become mad!”
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