With an odd sensation tingling in his veins, Grenville examined his find.
It was merely a cylinder, made of brass, fully three inches in diameter, and, perhaps, eight inches long. Its cap was rusted so firmly in place that he could not possibly remove it. He gave the tube a shake. There was something inside, but its weight was exceedingly light.
Once more he knelt before the secret locker to examine all its walls. But although his fingers finally played upon every square inch of the sides and ceiling, there was nothing further to be found. Apparently the only "treasure" the place had concealed was contained within the tube.
He thought of a score of documents the one-time captain of the barque might have thus desired to preserve, but the sun was rapidly nearing its purple horizon, and the old ship's hold was growing dark. Grenville gathered the last of the metal spoils he had found in an empty box, half rotted, on the floor. The tube he thrust firmly in his pocket.
What with the cannon balanced on his shoulder, his box of rusted metal hugged beneath his arm, and his bow, club, and arrows clutched tightly in his hand, he presented a singular figure as he finally made his way along the darkening trail, and came at length to the clearing, to be hailed from the heights by Elaine.
"Just for the sake of variety," he said, when he came to the terrace with his burdens, "we'll eat one more dinner of fruit."
"I couldn't think what you had killed," said Elaine, "when I saw you coming with this," and she placed her foot on the cannon he had gladly dropped to the ground. "What is it, anyway?"
"A pop-gun," he said, "to tickle my friend the tiger."
She was instantly apprehensive. "You have met him again?"
He had no intention of arousing her alarm.
"The brute is still about the island. I should like his skin for a rug."
"You could really shoot him with this?"
"Well—I shall mount it, in any case, though I have my doubts of his standing while I blow a few rocks through his person."
When he went for a fresh supply of fruits he brought up a log some four or five feet in length, with a burned-off prong at its end. This he intended to prepare as a "carriage" for the gun. He placed the pronged end down in his fire, to burn out a niche for the little brass piece, which he cleaned of its mud then and there.
His preliminary work on the bit of ordnance was soon concluded. When his log had burned to a moderate depth, he removed it to a near-by rock and gouged the charred portions away. Into the hollow thus rudely formed, the breach of the gun loosely fitted, ready to be firmly bound in place.
But the day was done, and Elaine had spread their "table," to which Sidney was glad to repair.
He had mentioned nothing of the tube still fatly bulging his pocket. Until he should first determine what the cylinder contained, he meant to arouse no unnecessary speculations in the breast of his companion. How much she might yet have to know of the barque and the mummy chained in its cabin he could not determine to-night. That something sinister lurked behind the mystery which this and the two headless skeletons involved was his constantly growing conviction.
It was not until night was heavily down, and Elaine had crept gladly to the comfort of her cave, that Grenville produced the brass cylinder, and stirred up new flames of his fire.
Then, sitting alone in the ruddy glow, with a rock for a stool, and another before him for an anvil, he scraped all he could of the greenish oxidation from the cover of the tube, and tried, as before, to wrench it off. The stubborn parts remained solidly rusted together.
This he had apparently expected. For he took up a rock of convenient size and, gently beating the cylinder just below its union with the cover, he bent it slightly inward about its entire circumference, meanwhile pausing from time to time to thrust his knife between the cemented pieces and force them a little apart.
The tube was considerably mangled by this process, while the cover still adhered. In a final burst of impatience, Grenville thrust the battered cap in the crevice between two bowlders and wrenched it roughly away.
Then he turned the hollow tube to the light, revealing, within, the edge of some document, thick and loosely rolled. This he readily removed and straightened in his hands, placing the tube beneath his arm.
For a moment the parchment seemed, despite the firelight upon it, a mere blank square, of leathery texture and weight. Then he fancied he saw upon its surface some manner of writing, or signs.
He resumed his seat and held the thing to the fullest light of the flames. It was yellowish tan in color, a trifle stiff, and inclined to curl to the shape it had held so long. Grenville turned it over, so dim were the characters it bore. There was nothing, however, on its outer side, wherefore he bent more closely towards his wavering light above such signs as he could finally discern.
Perhaps the fact that he began by expecting to find some ordinary map, or printed or written characters, for a short time baffled his wits. Howbeit, he began at length to discover the fact that a few large signs or hieroglyphics had been rudely sketched upon the parchment. When this discovery was finally confirmed, he had still considerable difficulty in tracing the lines that comprised these singular designs.
The firelight cast dark shadows in certain crease-like traceries that folds in the substance had formed. It was not until he presently managed to discriminate between these mere wrinkles and the "writing," that he made the slightest progress. His eyes at last became more keen to follow the artist's meaning. With his stub of a pencil, on a whittled bit of wood, he began to copy what he "read."
The result was, crudely, this:
parchment with signs and hieroglyphics
parchment with signs and hieroglyphics
It was not a map; it could hardly be a message—unless expressed in some short-hand system heretofore unknown—yet it must at some time or other have been accounted important to have been so elaborately preserved.
Grenville turned it upside down, compared his copy with the original repeatedly, and then examined the parchment with most minute particularity in search of some smaller writing to explain these mysterious signs.
There was nothing further to be seen—at least by the light of his fire. Two of the symbols only did he recognize as ever having come to his attention before. These were, first, the lines like a series of M's, and second the oval, about a human figure. This last suggested unmistakably an ancient Egyptian cartouch—the name or title of a king. But containing one sign only, and that apparently representing a mummy, it puzzled the inventor no less than the pyramids and curves.
That some either crude or crafty mind had combined this mixture of Egyptian and nondescript hieroglyphics with intent to reveal some secret message or information to other initiated beings, while concealing its import from all accidental beholders of the script, seemed to Grenville perfectly obvious.
He sat for three hours replenishing the fire and goading his brain for a key to the puzzle, before it occurred to his mind at last the tube might contain the explanation.
All this while he had held it beneath his arm, hard pressed against his body. As he peered down its dark interior once more, he likewise thrust in his fingers. It was they that discovered and fastened upon another sheet of something he had missed.
This clung so close to the tube's metal walls he wetted his finger to remove it. The light then shone opaquely through its substance. It was ordinary foolscap paper, the half of a sheet, gone yellowish with age, but otherwise very well preserved.
It was covered with roughly scrawled characters.
Grenville glanced it through—and irrelevantly longed for a pipe. He felt he should like some good tobacco to assist in the puzzle's solution.
He felt convinced, however, that a crude example of the simplest, most primitive cipher was contained upon the sheet. Should the words later prove to be in English he could finally read it all. He began to compare the recurrence of the various symbols at once, discovering that the sign in the form of a cross had been used no less than fourteen times, and was therefore almost certainly E. The next in importance was the figure 3, which he felt might be either A, or N, or S, since these, after E, are among the characters in English spelling most frequently employed.
second message
second message
On another clean chip of whittled wood he jotted down a few of the "words" with E's in each instance substituted for the crosses, and then began attempting to make clear sense by substituting A's, N's, and S's for the figure three, the figure one, and open squares, which, he found, had been often represented.
It was a blind and tedious business. His fire burned low, in his absorption, and the midnight constellations marched past the zenith of the heavens before he finally realized the folly of his quest.
"It's not a bit of good in the world, if I knew all about it," he finally confessed, "no matter what it means."
He went to bed. But he did not sleep. Those singular pyramids and the cipher still lingered before his inner vision. What was the mystery hidden behind the dead man chained in the rotting barque, the headless skeletons lying near the swamp, and now these documents, found in the tube and so carefully concealed?
"I give it up," he told himself at last, in an effort to dismiss it all and compose his active brain. "I wish I had a stouter tube to make a good bomb for the tiger."
He thought perhaps he could use the oxidized cylinder as it was, and began thereupon to wonder how he should make a fuse by which its powder contents might be ignited. Thus he drowsed off at last, with fantastic dreams swiftly solving the sum of his problems.
Grenville awoke with a brilliant idea, born in his brain as he slept.
It was not concerned with the documents found in the old brass receptacle, but entirely with the tiger. He knew how to fashion a fuse.
The creepers had answered this latest need, with their bark so readily hollowed. He had burned up yards of the drying stuff with the core removed, all of it shrunk and twisted tight, like long coils of vegetable tubing. He had only to fill it with his powder while green, and then let it dry in the sun.
He could likewise fill the useless cylinder, wrap it about to increase its resistance to the powder—and thereby render its explosion far more violent. If, after that, a chance were presented to ignite it under the tiger——
It was possible always, he confessed, the tiger might prove unwilling. However, both the cannon and bomb should be immediately prepared. There could be no peace upon the island while the brute remained alive.
All thoughts of the cipher were postponed for evening recreation. The day's work began after breakfast in preparing large quantities of powder.
At this Elaine assisted. She was glad of any employment. No less in her veins than in Grenville's the promptings of being in the primitive were daily surging stronger. Like himself, she was hungry for meat; and while she had no thoughts of turning Amazon herself, she felt an increasing interest in all that Grenville was attempting in his task of coping with nature.
Meanwhile Sidney was daily assuming a wild and unkempt aspect that he could not possibly avoid. His beard was an unbecoming stubble that he was powerless to shave; his hair was uncombed and a trifle long; his clothing was not without its rents. But what an active, muscular being he appeared, as he moved about at his work! He seemed so thoroughly fearless, so competent and at home with naked Nature. His thoughtfulness, moreover, had no limits, and neither had his cheer. He had made no further disquieting advances, but seemed rather to have forgotten, utterly, the lawless emotions to which he had one day given way.
This day it was he started the fires to bake his vessels of clay. They were all sufficiently dry for the purpose, and, huddled together, a bit removed, in a rudely constructed furnace made of rock, were piled about with abundant fuel to provide an even heat.
The morning was sped between the various duties. Some ten or more pounds of powder Grenville finally stored in his cave. The labor of grinding and mixing had undergone many interruptions while he attended the fire about his jugs. He finally fetched some creepers from the growth and, stripping out the pliable cores, poured powder in several of the hollow coverings, bound them together, here and there, with fibers, and placed them out on the rocks to dry.
With the withes thus provided to his hand, the cannon was bound upon the log he had hollowed a bit to receive it. This he knew to be crude and, perhaps, even quite insufficient, but the gun was, in any event, far too unwieldy for use against the tiger, unless the brute should deliberately pose as a target, in the clearing down below.
That mid-day the porcupine once more volunteered for dinner. His services were accepted. Grenville dispatched him with a club—and skinned him in the thicket. He was far too considerate of a woman's sensibilities to fetch the creature into camp, with his arsenal of spears still upon him. But the task of removing the hedgehog's hide was amazingly difficult.
Aware of two important facts—namely, that meat too freshly cooked is certain to be tough, while even fresh meat for three hours wrapped in paw-paw leaves becomes incredibly tender, Grenville lost no time, when the skinning was done, in thoroughly swaddling his "game." He had carved it up for more convenient handling. When he finally brought it for Elaine to see, it looked decidedly attractive.
"I shall save some scraps for bait," he said. "To-morrow we'll try for fish."
What with carving a number of tough, wooden hooks, preparing some line from various fibers, and supplying new fuel to the flames that were firing his needed potteries, his remaining hours were full.
At length, in preparation for their dinner of meat, he went below, dug a hole somewhat laboriously in the sand and earth of the clearing, and started another brisk fire in the hollow thus created, Elaine tossing down a few glowing twigs for the purpose.
And how brave she looked, he paused to note, as she came to the brink to be of this much assistance! How beautiful she was—and how delicate she seemed, to be cast into such conditions! Despite her sturdiness of heart and limb, she had always been tenderly reared. How far might she go, enduring this life, reduced to savagery?
These were thoughts that had come and been banished from his mind innumerable times. There was nothing he could do to alter or even greatly alleviate the hardships by which she was surrounded. Her aloofness from personal contact with himself, even her constant suspicions of his motives, and her lingering indignation for what he had done, he felt every hour of the day. But he could not have begged her forgiveness if he would—and would not have done so if he could.
How long would it last, he asked himself—and what would be the end? Would no ship ever come—or how long might it be till succor finally arrived? Would a search be made for the missing boat that had gone to the bottom of the sea? Or, before this could happen, would smaller craft arrive—the strange, swift craft of these eastern waters, manned by fanatical outlaws, pirates, or even the wild, head-hunting Dyaks, who had probably been here before?
When he finally placed his meat in the pit, where the fire had burned down to glowing embers, his mind was filled with the many plans he was impatient to materialize without another half hour's delay. He covered the leaf-and-clay-wrapped dinner, first with portions of the coals and heated ashes, and then with all the sand he had dug to make his natural oven, after which he returned to the terrace.
Neither the process of cooking, nor that of firing his earthenware could be hastened now by Grenville's presence.. He saw that his pottery furnace was properly supplied with fuel, and then sat down where Elaine was busily plaiting a flat sort of mat with withes she had somehow split to half their former size, and there he began to carve at some slender branches of wood he had brought from down below.
"What are you making?" he presently asked, as he watched her nimble fingers at their task.
"A platter for the meat," she told him, briefly. "And what are your sticks to become?"
"Forks for the same. I hope we shall need no knives.... I must soon find time to dig about and, perhaps, unearth some yams. They are not so good as potatoes, but they answer at a pinch."
"You have planned so many things to accomplish," she said. "Do you think you shall ever have the time?"
"Can't tell, but meantime I thoroughly enjoy this wresting an existence from more or less stubborn conditions. Just as soon as I eliminate the tiger I shall melt up my pieces of metal to make a number of tools."
Elaine looked up at the man in wonder, but not incredulously.
"What perfect confidence you seem to have in your ability to accomplish difficult things."
His utterance sank a tone lower as he answered:
"What I say I'll do—I'll do. What I say I'll have—I'll have."
It was the first word he had spoken since their coming to the island that might have been construed as a survival of the feelings he had demonstrated on the steamer.
Elaine felt her whole being suddenly burn with strange excitement. She felt the underlying significance of his speech, and her soul was instantly bristling with defiance.
His words went too deep and were uttered too gravely for any mere idle boasting. She had already seen, and partially acknowledged, the power that lay in this strong man's hands to compel his desired ends. She felt this potency emanating from him now—and resented the fact that she herself had been as much selected as the tiger for his ultimate conquering.
She was angry again on the instant, ready to fight like a very little demon, should he dare so much as lay a finger on her hand. She resolved anew that, though a hundred years should pass before they two escaped this island exile, not the tiniest bud of answering love should ever sprout in her breast.
For the past few days she had felt a new sense of security and ease. The man with whom she was working out this singular and intimate existence had made no sign of renewing his advances, had seemed to forget he had ever broached the subject of his passion, and had been a most agreeable companion, cheerful, resourceful, and courageous to the last degree.
Now that she knew what unworthy thoughts still lingered beneath the surface of his calm, indifferent demeanor, not even their earlier friendship seemed to her possible again—and for this she was disappointed and annoyed.
Her glance had fallen instantly back to her work. That her color burned up, to the tips of her ears for Grenville to see and, perhaps, enjoy, she felt with added irritation. But she would not confess, by word or deed, she understood the meaning of his speech.
When she spoke she employed a quiet and common-place tone of voice, and returned to impersonal subjects.
"I can understand," she said, "how you might possibly shoot the tiger, but I thought one needed furnaces, tall chimneys, and things, to melt up bronze and brass."
"Dead right," he answered, readily. "You see, you've got such a grasp on things that I never cease to be surprised—and delighted. I've engaged quite a chimney already."
She forced herself to continue the conversation, if only by way of ignoring the personal element of his answer.
"Engaged a chimney?"
"You'll see about that, later. If getting the tiger were only half as easy as some of the other things I expect to accomplish, I'd certainly be tickled clean to death."
She felt—she almost knew, indeed—-that she and her love were classified among the things he expected to "accomplish" so easily at last, and her hot resentment burned hotter. She was tempted to flash out her wildest cry of the loathing—the bitter, eternal loathing—his words had begotten in her bosom. She was tempted again to a desperate wish that the tiger might rend him in pieces—asshewould do if ever he touched her again. But she dared not trust herself to speak, or even to show, by the slightest sign, that his threat was comprehended. She clung in desperation to the subject she felt to be safe.
"Then—you do think the tiger dangerous—hard, at least, to kill?"
"Well, I wouldn't call him exactly plum pudding and gravy."
"Your cannon would kill him, though, of course?"
"If he'd pose in front of the muzzle, a rod or so away."
A cold chill crept along her nerves at thoughts of the savage animal she herself had twice encountered. She wondered just what Grenville's method would be—in overcoming some of the things he had vowed to conquer.
"You hardly expect to shoot the creature, then, after all?"
He held up the fork he was carving, for critical examination.
"I'm rather inclined to favor the plan of leaving a bait in the jungle, and letting go a bomb when he comes to dine."
Her natural concern for the man's own safety could not be long expelled.
"How shall you know when he comes?" she inquired, and she dared look up as before.
Grenville continued to bend his gaze on his labor.
"I expect to hang around and see."
A sudden fear and sinking of the vitals seized her, unaware.
"But—doesn't a tiger usually feed at night?"
"His club hours are usually rather late, I believe."
"And you'll wait around for him to come in the dark?"
"What else can I do? Can't expect him to 'phone me he's arrived."
"Oh!" she said, impulsively, "couldn't we build a wall of stone around enough of the fruit for just ourselves? I could help at that. I'd do so gladly!"
If an exquisite thrill shot directly to the deeps of Grenville's nature—a thrill aroused by her courage, her generous spirit, her honest and helpful sympathy—he permitted himself to make no sign. Also, he took no fulsome flattery to his soul. But he pictured her forth, with bleeding hands, and torn and grimy garments, as she rolled and carried great stones to the brink, to supply him with blocks for a wall; and his spirit was wondrously glad to think he had made no error of judgment in appraising her character.
That all she could do she would do, as mere assistance—do for anyone else in a similar situation, he comprehended fully. But he felt not a whit less exultant for the knowledge of the fact. She was never for a moment a mere useless dependent. She was daily, aye, hourly, assisting in his wholly unequal combat for their lives, and this was a joy to his heart.
But he spoke with his usual bluntness, and without a single hint of sympathy in all she had eagerly suggested.
"Wholly impractical scheme. I've thought of a dozen just as poor."
Elaine was instantly sorry she had proffered him her help. She placed a withe between her teeth, bit through it neatly, and began to divide it with her fingers.
"Here, don't do that. You'll spoil your teeth," said Grenville, brusquely. "I'll split you enough for half a day."
She made no reply as he went at the withes and split them with skillful ease, but she hoped he could feel, through some sensitive chord, how intensely she disliked him.
He could not. "I've been thinking," he said, "I may be obliged to make a loom to weave these fibers into some sort of cloth for garments. May need them before we get away."
Elaine once more responded, in her honest, impulsive manner.
"I could knit some things, I'm sure, if you'd cut me a pair of needles."
"Cut 'em to-night," he answered. "That meat must be done, and my potteries need attention."
He dropped in her lap the forks he had roughly completed, and strode away to his fire.
The porcupine dinner was good. In its ball of clay, Grenville brought it to the cave in the basket that he used for heavy burdens.
It was far too hot to be handled carelessly. And when he broke away the earthy covering and leaves, and arranged the steaming pieces on the platter Elaine had prepared, it was perfectly cooked, as tender as quail, and of a flavor surprisingly fine.
The banquet, however, would have been immeasurably improved by the commonest of bread and potatoes. To provide some palatable substitute for these essential commonplaces of civilization became another of Grenville's problems, which, he told himself, he must tackle—after the tiger.
Everything was after the tiger, or else over-fraught with danger. The thought of this made Grenville fret more than anything demanding his attention. That night, when Elaine had finally retired, he went to his fuses, broke off a length, and returned to light it at his fire. It was still too damp, from the juices of the plant, to burn efficiently. His bomb he, therefore, would not make until the following afternoon.
The fire about his potteries he was now permitting to die. It could not be altogether abandoned, since a too sudden cooling of the vessels would crack and ruin every one. Therefore, from time to time, he went to the furnace to regulate the heat. He had leveled a rock for a table, at the fireplace near his cave, and on this he finally spread the mysterious paper and parchment recovered from the tube.
They had been all day neglected. Grenville had thoroughly intended a daylight examination of the parchment, concerning the nature of which he was considerably in doubt.
A new supply of whittled wooden "tablets" on which to write lay ready to his hand. Scratching at his head with his pencil, he studied the hieroglyphics for an hour or more before he returned to the written sheet with the scrawl spelled out in cipher.
As a matter of fact, his mind refused the task on which he was endeavoring to focus his attention. Despite his utmost efforts, his thoughts would return to Elaine. He would have given almost his hope of eternity to secure her absolute comfort and freedom from anxiety. And, inasmuch as the tiger was responsible for much of her worry, his mind was made up that a trial should be made to slay the brute without another day's delay.... It is always so easy to plan!
He was finally staring straight into the fire, though his hand still rested on the parchment and the paper. The flames sank lower and lower, wavering finally like dull red spear-heads among the glowing embers.
At some fancied sound he turned sharply about, to peer through the darkness of the trail. All appeared as silent and calm as the grave. He wondered if, perhaps, Elaine had arisen to come to her door.
She was not to be seen at the indistinct entrance of her cave. He turned once more to stir his fire—then wheeled like one on a pivot.
His senses had not been deceived. Beyond, in the darkness, a few feet only from the cavern occupied by Elaine, two blazing coals had been fixed like twin stars by his movement.
A sudden recollection that he had failed to close the gap in the wall swept hotly and accusingly through him. Some beast of the jungle had passed the barrier, perhaps to enter the very cave that the wall had been built to protect!
With a note that broke the stillness abruptly, Grenville caught up a flaming branch of wood from the mass of embers in the fire, and sprang to the path to the cavern.
The prowling animal stood for a moment undecided, then started as if to spring before the oncoming man to the shelter of Elaine's rock retreat, doubtless to turn there in desperation for a mad encounter in the dark.
But, perhaps by a yard, the man was there before him. The brute, even then, refused to retreat towards the trail by which it had come. It leaped towards the place where Grenville made his bed—a shadowy form that he knew at last was not the arrogant tiger.
It turned for a moment in the mouth of the cave, as if aware this smaller retreat was too shallow for adequate shelter. But before the man could crack his fiery brand upon the creature's head, it leaped wildly past him, growling a savage protest, and reluctantly retreated towards the trail.
One more attempt it made, even then, to escape by Grenville's active form, and regain the larger cavern. But his fierce, hot rushes were not to be withstood. It finally turned with another sort of bellow, and cowered uncertainly upon the downward path.
After it no less desperately than before, Sidney plunged along the steep descent, his firebrand brightly glowing in the wind. A whine of fear escaped the jungle creature as he slunk at last through Grenville's gate to the outer precincts of the wall.
Almost immediately followed a frightful din of growls and wauling. There were certain deep gutturals and mouthings that Grenville was sure his tiger only could produce. There were sounds of a conflict, fierce and bloody, retreating down the trail. Like a battle of cats, enormously exaggerated, with screams and roars intermingled, the disturbance rose on the air. But Grenville had blocked his gate with logs and bowlders, and calmly returned to his place.
Elaine was crouching by the fire when he came once more to the terrace. She had called him in vain, and was visibly trembling as his form appeared within the glow.
"What was it?" she cried. "What has happened?"
"Why—it sounds like a couple of jungle politicians engaged in a tariff argument."
"You weren't down there?"
"I strolled to the wall, to make sure it was closed for the night."
"There was nothing—up here? I dreamed there was something—fighting with you—some terrible creature—like that."
She waved her hand towards the hideous sounds, retreating swiftly in the darkness.
"Can't understand such a dream," he said. "We've had no corned beef and cabbage. You'd better go back and try again."
He started at once for his pottery fire, in his brusque, indifferent manner.
Elaine stood there, watching his figure, retreating in the darkness, and made no move to retire. Like a dim silhouette of Vulcan, projected against the reddened glare of his furnace, he presently appeared, from the place where she eagerly kept him in her vision. She felt she could not bear to creep away until he should return.
She saw him stand for a little time observing his waning heaps of embers before he faced about to return once more to his seat. Then, slowly, as she heard his footsteps approaching, she glided silently back to her shelter, and so at length within the door. Even then she lingered eagerly, to make certain he was not far away. Until he sat down, and stirred up the flames, she did not return to her couch.
"To be so perfectly fearless!" she murmured, half aloud, and so crept away to her dark, uncomfortable cave.
Grenville pocketed the documents, still lying face up on his rock. He finally slept beside the fire, to finish his plans in dreams.
These plans, which were vague enough that night, matured fairly early in the morning. He had resolved to try for the tiger at the spring.
Fully expecting to encounter abundant signs of the animal conflict of the midnight hours, he descended the trail before Elaine had appeared, intent upon removing such evidence of trouble as might be found disturbingly near their tower.
There was nothing at all along the trail to show that a fight had taken place. Where the grass and shrubbery began in the clearing below the walls, there was one mere tuft of hair upon a twig. But a rod removed from this there was at least a hint as to what might have caused the engagement.
This was a trampled and slightly reddened ring where something had been eaten—some quarry doubtless captured by the smaller of the prowlers, who had found himself suddenly attacked and driven from the feast by the master hunter of the jungle, on whose sacred preserves he had probably dared to poach.
Grenville proceeded to the spring, not only to fetch a fresh supply of water, but as well to indulge in a vigorous washing of his hands and face, and to make some observations.
He found that by breaking several limbs a none too comfortable seat in the branches of a rubber tree might be prepared, provided he could climb to the perch. With a very long fuse attached to his bomb he might be enabled to execute a coup upon the tiger, under cover of the night. Could he only slay some animal—another wild hog, for instance—and place it here as a lure, his chances of securing the tiger's attendance would be infinitely increased.
A number of things were essential to his plan. The first, a rope ladder, was the simplest of the lot. That he could fashion with ease. His greatest problem was the fire with which to ignite his fuse, should he wish to explode his bomb. The wood he had found, that so amazingly retained its glow, might answer his needs for, perhaps, two hours, as he sat high up in the tree. It was all he possessed, and upon it he must needs rely. But how he should manage to discern his beast, in the darkness, when the prowler came at last to drink, was more than he could determine.
"A dead-fall might do for the brute," he soliloquized aloud, as the business revolved in his mind. "But I couldn't get one ready by to-night."
For several reasons a dead-fall was impracticable. The thought was, therefore, abandoned, while the details of loading and placing the bomb were elaborately planned. So vivid was Grenville's imagination that already he pictured himself high in the tree, heard the tiger come to lap the water, lighted his fuse—and ended that trouble forever.
He returned to the terrace, lightly whistling. The morning was perfect, a delightfully refreshing zephyr lightly stirring in the trees. Elaine beheld him approaching, and nodded from the cliff.
"The jugs look beautiful!" she called, enthusiastically. "The fire is barely warm."
He had brought their supply of water in the sea-shell, so variously employed. Before providing fruits for their breakfast, he went to his furnace with Elaine. The firing was complete, though the vessels were not yet cool. A few were cracked, slightly, despite the care that Grenville had exercised, and one was hopelessly ruined. However, he felt the product as a whole was surprisingly satisfactory, especially some of his molds and the crucibles meant for his foundry.
"At noon we'll fill a jug with water," he said, "and you'll find it will keep surprisingly cool. The clay is slightly porous. The water oozes through, evaporates on the surface, and thereby chills the contents. They use nothing else in Egypt, and, I think, in Mexico.
"If it weren't for the tiger," said Elaine, "I could often go to the spring."
"Right ho!" said Grenville, cheerily, believing he understood a wish that lay beneath her speech. "That reminds me. I believe I could manage to deepen a basin I saw in the rock on our lowermost shelf above the sea, back yonder, and easily fill it by dipping salt water with a jug on the end of a rope. Any nymph should enjoy such a pool."
"Oh!" said Elaine, delighted by the thought; "do you really think you could make it?"
"Well—I've thought of it, you see, on an empty stomach. After breakfast—— There's quite a bit to do, by the way, after breakfast."
With the fruits now presently gathered, he brought a fresh supply of creepers and leaves of the sisal, for labors soon to begin. And while Elaine prepared what was left of the meat, and the other things afforded by their larder, he went to the shelf of rock so completely protected by its wall, and made up his mind that, with one good tool, plus a hammer, he could hew out a bath with amazingly little trouble.
"Meant to go fishing this morning!" he confessed, as the sight of the clear, limpid tide below aroused new desires in his being. "There must be oysters and many good fish, if I had the time to get them."
Fish-lines and other "diversions" were again postponed when the breakfast was concluded, while Grenville braided fibers and tied stout rungs along their length, to form a rude sort of ladder. This he carried to the spring at length, and hung across the limb of his tree by lifting its end on a pole.
Once in the tree, he labored diligently, breaking or cutting away a number of interfering branches, and arranging a makeshift for a seat, on which to rest as he waited. The bomb would be better prepared in the afternoon.
On his way, returning to the camp, he gathered a bundle of the special wood that he used to retain his fire. It was while he was thus engaged, in an unexplored part of the thicket, that he came upon a fallen tree, fairly brittle with resin. He snapped off branch after branch of this, till his load was too heavy to carry. With all he could take he climbed the trail.
A piece that he tried at the embers of his fire blazed promptly enough, producing a volume of thick, black smoke, and a flame that burned slowly down the wood, as he held the lighted end aloft.
"If we happen to need a torch," he said to Elaine, who, as usual, was watching results, "this will always be stored here, ready." He placed the fagots in a near-by hollow of the rocks, against possible future need.
There was nothing further to be done at the spring until the hour of sunset. The jugs and vessels from the furnace were found to be sufficiently cool for handling, and were brought to the rear of his shelter.
The molds he had made excited anew his various ambitions.
"To-morrow I shall start operations on the smelter," he told his companion. "No tools means no boat—and no boat means no escape."
Elaine felt a bound of excitement in her veins at the mere suggestion of escape. She inquired: "How long will it take to build your boat?"
"Can't tell," said Grenville, briefly. "Never built one on a toolless island before."
"I only meant about how long," Elaine explained. "It will take at least a week, I suppose."
"More likely two," he answered, as before. "Meantime I'm going fishing. Want to come?"
Elaine had little liking for any such off-hand invitation.
"Not at present, thank you." She turned away from him, coldly.
"It's an art and a sport you ought to cultivate," he informed her, cheerfully. "Might sometime keep you from starving." He gathered up the necessary paraphernalia, adding, "I hope the fish will bite," and started on his way.
He had fully two hundred feet of the line he had braided from fibers. It was thoroughly "waxed" with juices from the rubber tree, and although it was frequently knotted along its length, it was strong as a wire, and not inclined to kink.
His wooden hook was clumsy, but tough as steel, while its point and its barb were exceedingly sharp. Also, the bait he thrust upon it concealed it well, except where the line was stoutly attached. With one of his old rusted hinges for a sinker, it was presently ready for use.
He had chosen that protected shelf of rock whereon he meant to hew out a bath for Elaine, since this was the nearest possible approach he could make to the water from the cliff. There, alas! at the very first cast attempted, his line was atrociously tangled, while the hook remained suspended some ten feet up from the tide.
In patience he sat himself down on the ledge to restore the line to order. Elaine, who had doubtless pondered wisely on his observation, anent fishing as an art to be acquired, came half reluctantly wandering over to his side, while Grenville was still engrossed with his mess of tangles. She watched him in silence for a time, then, finally, sank to the bench of rock and began to lend her assistance. He made not the slightest comment, and even failed to thank her when the task was finally concluded.
Once again, at last, he swung the line for a cast far out in the waters. It seemed to Elaine the hook and sinker would never cease sailing outward. Yet they fell and sank, much closer in than even Grenville had expected.
He began to pull it back at once, since there might be rocks on which the hook would foul, and his labor be wholly lost. The sinker, and then the bait, emerged from the crystal depths of brine without so much as a nibble. Again Grenville sent them full length out, and again drew in with no results, save a possible inquiry, far below, where he fancied he saw a gleam of silver.
The third cast fared no better than the others. But the fourth was no more than started homeward when a sharp, heavy strike was briskly reported on the line, and Grenville's jerk responded.
"Oh! you've got one!—you've got one!" cried Elaine, with all the true pleasure of a sportsman. "Please, please don't let it get away!"
Grenville was taking no chances on slack in the line, with his simple wooden hook. He hauled in, hand over fist, while his catch fought madly to escape. With a wild inward dash and a mighty flop, the silvery captive on the barb leaped entirely out of the water.
Grenville's answering maneuver with the line, snatching up fully a yard of its length, and instantly stooping to clutch it low again, was all that saved the situation. His fish barely touched the surface, after that, then was swiftly sailing up in air.
He was a beautiful specimen of his kind, but the species was new to his captor.
"What's the use of going to school?" was Grenville's query, his eyes as bright as a boy's. "The next one may be a whale."
The next one, however, was a long time coming. When it was hooked, the wise fisherman knew it was small, and, most unexpectedly, he delivered the line to Elaine.
"Now, then, give him the dickens!" he instructed. "You want to make him think he's struck by lightning."
Surprised as she was, and unprepared for this particular favor, Elaine did her best, and hauled in valiantly, but the captive got away.
Five or six casts were made after that before the hook was once more nibbled. Grenville was rather inclined to change for a spot more popular with the purple water's tribe. Yet he made another of his longest throws, and had drawn in much of the dripping line when a clean young tortoise so deeply swallowed the hook that he could not have spat it out to save him.
The fight he offered was tremendous. He dived and skittered through the crystal tides like some giant saucer of dynamics. Whole lines of the brightest silver bubbles arose as he visibly flapped about and scuttled towards the bottom. The line raced wildly here and there, cutting the waves with the sound of something hot and sizzling.
But it held for a full half hour of fighting. It was strong enough for the weight of a man, as Grenville afterward declared. It conquered the tortoise finally, and drew him up, but not before he had wearied the fisherman's muscles and greatly fatigued Elaine, who was panting with sheer excitement.
"There you are," said Grenville, boyishly exultant, "he's wash basin, comb, a few hairpins, and what-not, all in one, not to mention turtle soup."
There was no more fishing done that afternoon, nor were knitting needles carved. What with his turtle, his fish, the digging of several yams, and the making of his bomb, Grenville was amply employed.
Elaine was at length made acquainted with his programme for the night. She made no effort to dissuade him from his purpose, but excitement rose in her bosom. She feared for what the tiger might by mischance accomplish, and, also, she felt that in some occult way her own fate and the animal's were alike, if not related—that if such a brute must helplessly succumb to the man's superior prowess, there was no chance at all for anything as feeble as herself.
A wild, unreasoning hope was in her breast that the tiger might escape, or die in some different manner—do something, almost anything, rather than contribute one more testimony to Sidney Grenville's might. She could not wish the creature to live, nor yet to injure this bold, audacious man. She only knew that some dread of the being who could dare engage or attack this savage monster of the jungle was once more assailing her quaking heart and stirring her nature to rebellion.
In a manner that was largely automatic, she assisted in providing an early evening meal. It was dusk, however, when Grenville was finally ready to leave her on the hill.
She followed him down to the gate against the wall, in the way of a child who fears long hours alone.
"Good-night," he said to her, cheerily. "If you hear my little imitation of Bunker Hill—you might drop one tear for the departed."
Her dread of the night, and the outcome of his excursion, had suddenly increased. "If you kill him," she said, "you'll come home?"
He nodded. "Tickled to death and bragging like a pirate."
Then he placed the logs and rocks against the barrier, and once more bade her good-night. She waited till his final footsteps died away in the gloom, then hastened once more to the brink above for a final glimpse of his form.
He had passed, however, across the clearing, and not even the spark that he bore to the gathering darkness threw her back a dull red ray.
He had lost little time after leaving the foot of the trail. The jungle was wrapped in somber shadows as he made his way to the spring.
Some nimble little creature leaped lightly away when he came to the place. Otherwise there was not a sign or a sound to disturb the ringing silence. His bomb he placed beside the ebon water, where a ledge of rock would throw its violence outward. The fuse, which he carefully uncoiled and laid upon the grass, was amply long to meet his needs.
At length, with his fire-stick held between his teeth, he ascended the ladder to his perch. The end of the fuse he now brought to the limb, conveniently near for lighting. Then he settled himself to wait.
Once he blew on the coal slowly eating his brand, to clean the incandescent cone. Of a sudden, then, he heard the sound of something directly beneath him, rudely brushing the foliage aside.
His heart for a second stood still.