The boatmen thus newly arrived off the estuary's mouth were proceeding in a leisurely and confident manner to make themselves and their vessel snug for the night, and Grenville had placed his second jug upon his raft when, without a sound having come to announce their movements, two or three Dyaks from the camp in the growth called some greeting or challenge from the shore.
That their words were interpreted in a friendly spirit by the shadowy natives on the anchored boat seemed to Grenville entirely obvious. There was something akin to cheer in the voices that replied across the water. Every man was seen to halt at his work and come to the shoreward side of the craft, to peer through the darkness towards the beach.
Three of the fiends with whom he had waged unequal battle now appeared on the sand strip a rod from where Sidney was standing. Their backs were presented as they called and gestured to the men beyond, and Grenville identified the chief once more by the fellow's unusual height.
Apparently an argument ensued, conducted, as to the shoreward end, by the tall and dominant leader. He waved quick, eloquent gestures, frequently towards the headland whence Grenville had come. That some report of recent proceedings was being thus delivered there could be no reasonable doubt. Expressions of astonishment, satisfaction, and a diabolical glee came back in guttural staccatos from the blood-loving creatures on the vessel.
Grenville almost forgot where he was, and why, such indignation burned in his breast as he grasped at the substance of the conference thus held across the tide. Four more head-hunters, come to swell the already heavily outnumbering forces of the island, was too much for Heaven to permit! Against such odds and such diabolism, what possible chance——
He smiled in a grim, sardonic manner at the thought that a fight between himself and the now augmented Dyaks would ever again be likely, with this boat anchored here before him, Dyaks camping in the jungle, and no trail left by which he could reach the terrace and Elaine, even could he creep away in the shadows and silence of the thicket.
It appeared to him now that the chief on shore was becoming impatient, or angry. He shouted orders and waved his hand down the length of the island in a style growing rapidly more and more imperative, while the new arrivals answered back in a stubborn and sullen dissatisfaction that Sidney began to hope might lead to open rupture. Should one of the factions war against the other, he would think these four boatmen a Godsend.
Even then, he reflected, the situation, as bearing on himself, might present no altered aspect till all was decidedly too late. Should he fail to return to Elaine with water to-night—she would doubtless never see his face again. Should morning still find him hiding here—their fates would have a sudden termination. And now, with this craft at anchor in the current, so close inshore, there could be no chance to escape around it unobserved, what possible alternative was offered but to stand here, nearly to his waist in the water, aware that the deadliest sort of snakes might be coiled within a foot of his hand?
One of the Dyaks a rod away now sat upon the sand. The colloquy continued. The domineering leader, waxing more and more imperious, made gestures now in both directions. That what he imparted and declared was again concerned with himself and Elaine, Grenville could not fail to understand. He was puzzled, however, to determine the reason for this lengthy contest of words.
It occurred to his mind the dispute might have sprung from rival claims as to sharing the trophies, when, at last, the defenders of the terrace should no longer require their heads. The ghastliness of the suggestion did not greatly disturb him; he was too far dulled and wearied by things already undergone.
When it seemed at last as if the verbal combat might result in a deadlier feud, the matter between the land and water factions was suddenly adjusted with accents amazingly mild from either side. Considerably to Grenville's astonishment, the boatmen heaved up their anchor, eased off their sail, and put about towards the farther end of the island.
The three men ashore called out additional instructions, presumably, and followed for a distance down the shore. The boat was presently gone from Sidney's view. He did not stir, though he ached in every bone and muscle, from his long, hard session of suffering and toil, and this cramp and strain of hiding. He was well aware that even the Dyaks would soon be obliged, either to retrace their steps and return as they had come, or force a way up through the jungle to cross to the island's farther side.
That the vessel would join the others, already at anchor behind the second hill, he had finally comprehended with a wildness of hope his heart could scarcely contain. The chief had undoubtedly ordered the craft away from this particular anchorage lest it be too readily seen.
With barely a grunt or two of conversation between them, the trio seen before him on the sand now presently returned. They stood about the estuary inlet for a moment, as if debating some second affair of importance, then finally glided away.
Even then Grenville stirred with silent caution, waiting with heartbeats once more quickened lest he move too soon, and be discovered after all. The place, however, was deserted. Stiffly, but none the less eagerly, and alert for the slightest alarm, he coaxed his raft from the overhanging shrubbery, urged it gently out across the bar, and, hurriedly lashing his jugs to the braces provided, pushed away and headed far out in the tide.
The current had turned. It was flowing strongly towards the cliff, in a certain impetuous manner that was far from being assuring. For while, in a measure, it assisted Grenville's float, it swirled and battled with other counter currents, into which he was helplessly carried. His frail, narrow raft was not infrequently threatened with disaster.
Twice, for a second, he well-nigh despaired of righting before he should sink or plunge end downward, capsizing himself and his jugs. He was shot far outward from his course by one of the treacherous torrents of tide, then rocketed straight for the rocks of the cliff by another. His paddles were wholly inadequate for such a struggle; his arms refused the demands that his will insistently made upon them. It seemed as if he must break at some vital center of his being before he at length was enabled to avoid a collision with the cliff. Then he sank exhausted, obliged for a moment to pause and rest, when the tide once more drifted him outward.
Before he could rouse his flagging sinews to another effort, he had floated by the cave. He was prodded to new desperation. The struggle he waged to regain that rocky niche—only to have the whirlpool cast him to the outside current as before, with his raft entirely submerged—-was enough to break his heart.
Nothing save the thought of Elaine could have availed to spur him yet once more to fighting vigor. He did fight again, till it seemed he must topple like a man of lead, and sink almost gladly in the sea, with a sense of welcome to its endless peace.
A weak and staggering figure he presented when the landing was finally achieved. He barely pulled his raft within the cavern. He had no strength left to conceal it in the passage.
Hugging his two heavy jugs of precious liquid, and also with the bottle weighing down his pocket, he groped and stumbled slowly up the gallery, pausing with ever increasing frequency to lean against the walls and recuperate his strength.
Elaine was aroused from a state of lethargy, where she watched and listened at the upper door, by sounds that for a moment filled her with alarm. That some noisily breathing animal was making its way up the passage from the sea was her first half-waking impression.
With a cry of relief and worry blended, she immediately understood. It was Grenville's labored panting she had heard, where he would not call for assistance for fear she should be alarmed. She caught up the torch she had kept so faithfully alight for his guidance, and ran hastily down to give him welcome.
He was leaning against the wall once more, his mouth a little open for the air his lungs demanded, his face drawn and white with his utter weakness and exhaustion. In one keen glance Elaine comprehended his condition.
"Sidney!" she cried. "Oh! but why did you go? Why would you work so hard to-night?"
He could conjure no smile to his lips. "I love you, Elaine," he answered. "It kills me to see you suffer."
"Oh please—please don't," she begged him. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
He sank on the floor of the passage as he tried once more to raise the jugs. And yet, when Elaine pounced eagerly upon the bottle full of water, and pressed it to his lips, his stubborn resistance was once more reasserted. He accepted a few sips only, then thrust it firmly away.
"That last little pull was steeper than I thought," he admitted, as he forced himself to rise and set his jugs more carefully in the rocks against the wall. "If you will oblige me by taking a drink of water——"
"Not now," Elaine interrupted, as self-denying as before. "I am not the least bit thirsty. If you'll only rest—if you'll go to sleep——"
"I shall go to no rest till you have taken a cup of water."
She knew he would not. She drank from the bottle, perhaps three ordinary swallows of the liquid, like nectar to her palate.
"Good-night," he said, with a touch of his old-time brusqueness, and, adding nothing more, he continued on to the barrier and out to his post of duty. There he sank on a rock before the door to guard Elaine from harm.
Elaine, softly crying, went back at last to her couch. And some time, deep in the silence of the night, she awoke sufficiently to creep to the door, where she listened to Grenville, deeply sleeping.
The smoke that for two forbidding days had veiled and grayed the headland, continued to drift from the jungle, when Grenville roused from his slumber.
He was much refreshed, yet had not entirely recuperated the strength so drained in the night. The aspect of the barren rock, engulfed in the fumes, was only what he had expected. He felt convinced that, like the mistral of the Riviera, this wind would continue for three full days at least. And the Dyaks were hardly likely to permit an abatement of the smoke while it brought no discomfort to themselves.
Apparently they had made no effort to bridge the gap that rendered the trail completely useless. It was clear to Sidney's mind, however, that so soon as they believed the adventure safe, they would swarm upon the terrace, if for nothing else, then in search of heads and the treasure.
With the possible development of an earlier plan in his mind, he crossed at once to his cannon, loaded and primed in its bed, and began to adjust a lot of loose stones above and upon it, to hide it completely from view. The fuse he drew, meantime, aside, where he meant to splice another length to its end.
Elaine came out from the narrow confines of her gallery in the hope of lending assistance. She was wearing the tiger's jeweled collar about her slender waist.
"I'm hiding the gun—masking our battery," Sidney informed her, quietly. "Its muzzle is still unobstructed and pointed as before. In case it seems wise to permit the Dyaks to climb up at last and look about, I prefer they shouldn't steal our thunder." If he noted the golden girdle, he made no unusual sign.
Elaine was considerably puzzled.
"But—why should we let them come?"
"To convince them their prisoners have flown. It may give us a chance to punish them harder, later on."
"If a steamer would only come!" she said, turning vainly to the sea, still shrouded from view. "Even a Chinese junk! Anything, almost, but more of these horrible fiends!"
"You see," continued Grenville, "I can make an imitation cannon, from one of my bamboo lengths, and leave it here to fool them. They may be led to think it the only gun we've had, and search no farther for our ordnance. The smoke is likely to lift, I think, which is why I'm at work before breakfast."
He did not complete the arrangements of his ruse before they broke their fast, however, since the making of an imitation cannon required at least an hour. The last of their meat, save a little intended for fishing-bait, was consumed with the insignificant remnants of their fruit supply, and Grenville took time to catch one silvery fish from the ledge in front of the cavern, as well as to gather a lot of the mussels, for luncheon and dinner, before he returned to the terrace.
Already the breeze was failing. There were streaks of highly acceptable air interspersed with the billows of smoke. Not without a certain impatience to have this business concluded before the veiling fumes should leave the terrace entirely exposed to the penetrative sight of the Dyaks, Grenville hastened the construction of his imitation gun, to be left by the heap of stones.
That a more convincing appearance of over-use might assist in creating the desired impression, he selected one of the bamboo sections already badly split. This he readily blackened by burning a handful of powder, loosely, inside its muzzle. With a rude vent cut and similarly treated, the affair was ready to be bound with discarded creepers, then lodged in the rocks above the genuine bit of artillery still ready for grim engagements.
All that remained of the powder in his cave was carefully moved to the passage, there to be most cautiously deposited, away from all possible fire, along with his coils of fuse. Somewhat to his disappointment, the northerly breeze seemed once more freshening as the morning hours advanced. He had hoped not only for a lifting of the smoke, but likewise to find the Dyaks' boat once more encircling the headland.
Beyond transferring his water supply from the jugs to a number of bamboo buckets, which permitted no waste by percolation, he had nothing further to employ his time as the day wore slowly on. The heat in the meantime was intolerable. The fish was roasted in an "oven" he fashioned of the heat-retaining tufa. The mussels were likewise "steamed" in their own exuding juices, occupying the large and basin-like sea-shell for the purpose.
It was not until nearly four in the afternoon that the wind definitely veered. Grenville had noted the coming alteration that would clear the hill of fumes in time to make all essential preparations for the Dyak watchfulness. His furnace of fire was duly banked, to continue a smoldering glow among the ashes without producing smoke. Elaine had retired within the passage, and the entrance door to this secret hiding-place was adjusted against the rock.
Grenville remained upon the terrace. No less a degree of vigilance than that previously exercised was, he felt, highly essential. Concealed in the caves or rocks comprised by the former camp he could not only guard against surprise by a bridging of the ruined trail, but his view of the sea, that might once more be haunted by the Dyak craft, was practicably without limit.
Apparently the Dyaks, too, had been aware the breeze would serve them no longer. The smudges in the jungle were extinguished. In a time comparatively brief, after the shifting of the wind, no smoke at all was visible. But during the final hour preceding sunset another phase of fiendish ingenuity developed.
The Dyaks began shooting arrows of fire all about on the summit of the terrace. They were shafts made highly inflammable by means of resin and pitch. Their flight through the air was not sufficiently violent to extinguish their glowing ends. If they did not blaze upon alighting on the rocks, they still retained sufficient heat and redness to ignite a pan of powder.
It was this that occurred to Grenville as he made up his mind that some genius of diabolism among the new arrivals was doubtless responsible for this effort to explode his magazine. His satisfaction with himself for his foresight in storing his powder anew was his one real joy of the day. He wondered how long this business might continue, and how many of the enemy must now be reckoned with.
As a matter of fact, with the four who had come under cover of the night, there were nine unscathed by previous engagements. Also, it was, as Grenville had suspected, one of the latest comers who had counseled the use of burning arrows. Since the terrace defenders were employing some dreaded explosive, the one course readily suggested was to reach his supply with a brand of fire—and, perhaps, thereby destroy its maker. In any event, deprived of this one deadly means of defense, the whites could be readily slaughtered.
Already the Dyaks had built a bridge, to be used, when the time should at last arrive, for spanning that gap on the trail. It was not impossible, many had urged, that the prisoners lodged on the headland's summit were already either dead or dying. How they had managed to survive so long, with no supply of water, was sufficiently mysterious. Should they still be found alive another day—all the greater the joy of bringing about the end!
The Dyak plan for reaching the magazine had been too hastily concocted. The supply of tarred and resined arrows was decidedly insufficient. Less than a score had been sent to the top of the terrace when the last was speeded on its way. But during the short remaining hour of daylight, and even by firelight, after dark, the shafts accumulated swiftly, against the coming of the dawn.
Meantime to Grenville had come an inspiration. His one clear hope for the morning was that more of the arrows might be shot from below to make his plans complete. If the Dyaks were busy after dark, they could scarcely have matched the fever with which he likewise toiled.
Down to the cool, dry chamber of the cavern he had carried no less than eight of his largest bombs, with coil upon coil of his fuse. Two mines of four bombs each he planted, concealing all with rocks. From each of the mines one fuse only was laid, to the inner angle of the passage. Each bomb had a shorter bit of fuse thrust in a handful of powder, to which the two main fuses led. The lines were carefully protected, not only against discovery, but as well against himself, or his boots, as he tramped back and forth from the cave. When this arrangement had been made complete, he could do no more in that direction till his favorable hour should arrive.
His next attention was directed to his bamboo float, which had been practically dismembered. He had utilized the heavy stems to construct a long and narrow platform, with two rude hooks lashed on the end to engage a rung of his ladder. This ladder he not only lowered down from the wall to a position in front of the cavern's opening, securing its end with more than ordinary caution among the rocks he piled upon it, but also he had tested the length, and every rung, by extending his platform across from the ledge and climbing from the sea to the terrace.
It was midnight before his final preparation was complete. This had been simply arranged. He had carried a canister of powder to the outside rocks, considerably back of Elaine's former shelter, together with two small bombs. The powder he laid in a six-foot ring, or spiral, that narrowed towards the center, merely to provide a lasting and widespread flash when at length it should be ignited.
The bombs were placed near by, simply laid in a cave of no considerable dimensions. Their fuses were trailed across the rocks to a place of observation, and were opened out in such a manner as to fire both the spiral and the noisy but harmless explosives.
Despite his nervous tension and the worry occasioned in his mind, lest, the Dyaks fail of their allotted part, Grenville finally slept as soundly as a boy, when at length he could work no more. But Elaine, strangely tingling with apprehension, concerned with the part that she must likewise play to render his plans effective, had not Sidney's weariness to overcome her nerves, and therefore rested badly.
For long she lay there, listening, as always, to the silence enfolding the island, thinking how fair it had really been when the wail alone had been with them, and wondering, eagerly wondering, if by chance her companion of the hours both bright and dark had noticed the girdle she was wearing.
The morning dawned in beauty, a few clouds riding with thistle-down lightness athwart the illimitable dome of blue, as intense as that of the sea. A light breeze stirred in the jungle, to wander aimlessly from one deep chalice of fragrance to another, before it trailed across the hill. Sea tang arose from the restless tide, that washed at the cliff incessantly.
As far as sight could pursue the richness of its causeway, the sun laid gold in glittering mosaic across the tropic ocean. Never had the sparkling waves seemed brighter, the world more promising, as Elaine peered forth through her chink in the door, awaiting—God only knew what.
She had never been more excited, and rarely more alarmed. The unknown element in Grenville's plans kept her nerves at the highest tension. They had eaten a breakfast solely of fish before the light of daybreak. Grenville had carefully closed the passage barrier, and crept out upon the terrace. On no account must she open the door, or call him, to her side. She must wait, and not even expect to hear a report of what was occurring.
The longest cord she had ever helped to braid was lightly secured to her arm. Its farther end was tied in the rocks at the lower exit of the passage. Until she should feel his tug upon this signal line, she could only imagine that Sidney was near, or, perhaps, was climbing down his ladder.
She dreaded the thought of that ladder, so frailly depending above the rocks and water, not to mention all its use might mean when the time for the signal should arrive. And she might be obliged to wait all day, as Sidney had warned her, duly—all day, while the wildest, the most tormenting of conjectures would leisurely elaborate themselves in her brain to convince her that Sidney was no more.
Should he fall from the cliff, should he chance to underestimate the Dyaks' treacherous activities—should any one of a dozen possible calamities occur—how long must she wait till she knew?
Meantime Grenville was barely less keyed to excited expectancy than Elaine in her prison-like retreat. Times without number he goaded his mind to review once more the inventory of his scheme, where the lack of one small detail might prove his entire undoing. Yet, after all, there were a few links only in the chain, though each was vitally important.
He counted them over carefully—the signs or proof of calamity, here on the hill, to convince the head-hunting demons his magazine was gone, and with it all possible defense; the ladder and platform down below, whereby he could reach the cave; the bombs for the climax, should his hope succeed; and fire for their certain ignition.
He had taken a double precaution to provide himself with fire. Down in the passage several brands were smoldering slowly in their ashes, while others did the same on the hill. He could think of nothing lacking—not even the cord to warn Elaine to open her door and flee outside when at length he should give her the signal!
But as if in mockery of all this careful business, the day began with never a sign from the jungle. The Dyaks, he feared, had altered their plan, and might shoot no more of their arrows. He could not have known they were waiting for the breeze to freshen and fill a certain sail. One of their boats had been prepared and manned to police the headland as before.
When Grenville at length beheld it, gracefully sharp and picturesque, as it rounded towards the master cliff, he was filled with conflicting emotions. He had wished for this, precisely, but not without the rest. The arrows first, had been his hope, and then this silent vulture, atilt in the purple tides.
The arrows presently arrived. He was still engaged in watching the movements of the boat, in an effort to count the crew, when the first of the flaming messengers struck dully against a bowlder and lay there, fiercely blazing.
Then the sudden flight, which, against an inky background, must have presented an extraordinary spectacle, afforded a sight strange enough, as Grenville presently conceded. The pitch and resin with which the shafts were tipped, burned with a black and heavy smoke, that trailed in their wakes like nebulous tails of cloud-producing comets. There were some of the flames that the flight only served to fan to fiercer heat and color. Like a candle sputtering in a draught they sounded as they flew.
Others that lost their yellow blaze smoked the more blackly in the air. In half a dozen different spots the hotly burning lengths of wood were soon consuming bits of scattered leaves and grass, one almost at Grenville's feet.
He was soon convinced that, should this rain of fire be long continued, he should have no need to fire his bombs and spiral. The arrows would actually accomplish the mission for which they were intended. He had no wish for a premature climax to the singular attack, but rather hoped to create the impression he was fighting desperately to protect his magazine.
When a heap of waste and useless creepers was presently ignited, he ran from his place and promptly beat it out. He wished he might be seen. He was gratified without delay. The rifleman, posted, as on previous occasions, in the rocks that crowned the second hill, promptly discharged his erratic weapon, and nearly killed one of his kind.
Grenville ran as if to cover. A shout of exultation came from below. A larger and swifter flight of the blazing shafts immediately ensued.
Sidney now cast a glance about for the ship that was cruising by the headland. Somewhat to his disappointment it had gone about as if to return to the west, from which the cave, his platform, and ladder could not, of course, be seen. He fancied, however, it had come up in stays at the sound of the shot on the hill. It certainly appeared to be paying off to continue about the headland. He dared not longer delay.
The arrows were blazing all about him. He feared at last that one lucky shot might even fire his cannon. Almost amused by the irony of the situation, he caught up the nearest blazing shaft of fire, and used it to light his fuse.
In the briefest time the serpent of fire sped down through the hollowed creeper to the spiral, where, also, lay the bombs. Of a sudden the powder was ignited.
With a flash of quickly leaping flames and a grayish geyser of fume, the destruction began. Then, as a cry of glee arose from the clearing below, the bombs went off in quick succession.
They made a splendid noise and smoke, scattering fragments of the tufa far and wide, till a rain of the smaller pieces spattered thickly down in the jungle. Grenville arose from his hiding-place, quite unharmed, and ran about on the terrace crazily, holding his head between his hands for the distant rifleman to witness his discomfort.
The Dyak was overjoyed. He shouted in reckless delight to his kind, who howled like a pack of wolves now certain of feasting. Yet they did not emerge from their places of concealment, nor undertake to bridge the trail, and immediately ascend the hill, as Grenville had somewhat feared.
He crept to a point of vantage, watching the clearing for a demonstration which, much to his gratification, did not arrive. Back once more towards the cliff at the rear he scuttled, beholding the Dyak craft at last heading well around towards the cave. The moment was ripe for his scheme!
Hurriedly creeping to the eastern brink, with one of his firebrands gripped between his teeth, he began a descent of the ladder. Halfway down he paused for breath, and furtively watched, from the tail of his eye, for the boat that should presently appear.
It came within range of his vision silently, and down he continued as before. He could only hope that he might have been seen, for never a sound arose from the crew to make the matter certain. For, perhaps, a distance of twenty feet he must have been plainly in view. The last fleeting sight he caught of the boat, she was putting about with a suddenness enormously exciting to his blood.
That the Dyaks had seen him, and were now intent upon turning away before he should turn and see their boat, and know himself discovered, was an inescapable conclusion. A moment later he was hidden by the ledge, and descended more at leisure, climbing inside the ladder presently, where it hung well out from the overhanging shelf, and so coming down upon his platform, with little or no exertion.
Immediately on landing under the mouth of the cavern, he lifted the platform bodily, disengaged the hooks from the ladder's lower rung, and drew it behind him to the cave. The ladder itself he could not remove without climbing up to the terrace and issuing forth at the hidden door, which would doubtless prove fatal to his plans.
He proceeded at once to his supplementary firebrands, in the larger spread of the gallery. Here all was going well. He extinguished one or two branches of the smoldering wood, to conserve the limited supply. After that it was simply a matter of waiting.
How long it would take for the boat crew to land, inform their fellow head-hunters of what they had seen, and fetch the entire company to capture him, here in the chamber, was not a matter for easy estimation. He hoped it might happen soon.
In this he was doomed to disappointment. The Dyak sailors had seen him, clearly enough. They had hastened back to report this eminently satisfying outcome of their tactics, and the nine eager fiends had then and there commenced their counter scheming. But they meant to commit no errors, assume no unnecessary risks.
For, notwithstanding the fact they were fully convinced the white man's explosives had been reached by their arrows and destroyed, they retained a vivid memory of punishments inflicted by the gun, where one more deadly hail of slugs might lurk to find them again. It was, however, important that one or more men should mount the terrace, to watch at the head of the white man's ladder, and even render its use a fatal experiment, should the climber attempt to regain the summit by its means.
They began investigations cautiously—all noted by Elaine. Peering breathlessly out at her narrow chink, her heart consumed with haunting worries, lest Grenville had met with some accident when the bombs were finally exploded, she now beheld a pair of the Dyaks in the clearing, apparently exposing themselves as if to draw any latent fire from the hill.
As the minutes went by and trouble failed to come, their boldness plainly increased. They were not particularly hurried, however, in producing their bridge for the trail. When at length four natives brought it from the jungle, Elaine's heart pounded in her breast like a hammer forging at her soul.
She had instantly recognized the bamboo platform. She thought that Sidney ought to come—to know of what was occurring. But he did not come, and could not leave his post below, where one of his fuses, he had found, had opened and spilt out its powder. This he was feverishly and gingerly working to repair, by the light of a glowing brand.
Not for a moment daring to abandon her place by the door, Elaine felt a horrible sense of weakness attack her entire system as the Dyaks cautiously adjusted their bridge, while watching against a new surprise.
That the four men now constantly visible must presently succeed in placing the slender platform from one broken ledge to the other, to mount in full possession of the terrace, Elaine could not fail to comprehend. The impulse to creep from her hiding-place and once more fire the cannon was fairly overwhelming. She was certain that Sidney, with all his wonderful scheming, had never contemplated this!
He had simply instructed her to wait—to remain in the passage, behind the concealing barrier, no matter what occurred, till she felt at last the tug of the cord on her arm. She felt she must obey, that even to desert her post for the little time required to hasten down the gallery and let him know of the dangers now about her might cost them everything!
Never had she in her life been subjected to such a trial as that which presently developed.
The Dyaks had spanned the gap where the ledge was broken. Two of them crept a little forward on the bridge. It was now or never to fire the gun, while the four were still in range. She dared not disobey the order given by her chief. Suddenly darting past the spot where the cannon had taken its toll before, the Dyaks gained the summit—and were finally in possession of the camp!
Grenville had hoped to be able to hasten for a moment up the gallery and assure Elaine that all was well, and the matter now merely one of patience.
His belated discovery that one of his fuses was deficient had somewhat shaken his nerves. Except for this timely restoration, his whole project must have been weakened, perhaps to absolute failure. His line of fuse was necessarily long, to assure essential safety for himself. He was obsessed with a fear that countless defects might have developed in the long line of powder-loaded creeper since the day it was made and laid away.
In a fever of anxious searching, he examined practically every inch of both the lines, meantime returning frequently to the cavern's mouth, to guard against surprise. Before he felt certain the fuse could all be relied upon to perform its part in the business, he finally detected a Dyak boat attempting to go about and escape his possible observation from the dark retreat, while obviously hovering near, to watch that he did not escape.
After that he dared not for a moment desert his post. And the longer the expected Dyaks remained away, the more imperative became his watchfulness and constant attendance at the cave.
Meanwhile, up at her flimsy door, Elaine leaned affrightedly against the chilling wall, no longer peering forth at the chink, but tensely listening—listening for the sounds of feet above her head. All four of the Dyaks were there on the terrace, and, therefore, a few rods only from the passage in which she crouched, alone.
There was nothing to see, save the platform and part of the trail, and she dared not stand so close to the door, lest her very breathing, or the beat of her heart, betray her presence at her post.
When at length the unmistakable sound of beings on the rocks directly overhead came dully down through the roof of pitted stone, she shrank entirely down to the floor, her heart in a sickening flutter. Just to have cried out Sidney's name and to run like a child down the passage to his arms, would have been a relief so incredibly vast its comfort could not have been measured.
But she did not move. She still obeyed, like the faithful comrade in arms she was, awaiting her portion, allotted by the Fates, though it might be death in its most revolting form.
What sounds were made by the Dyaks, in retreat from that particular position, failed to come down through the rock. She was, therefore, denied the abatement of her apprehension which she might otherwise have known. She was thoroughly convinced that one of the fiends had been posted above the passage opening to remain indefinitely on guard.
The Dyaks had, however, concluded their examination of the terrace rather promptly. There was almost nothing worth investigation. Grenville's imitation cannon had served its purpose to perfection. The head-hunters marveled that a gun so simply and readily constructed could have wrought such havoc in their ranks. But they found no reason to doubt it had been used, and they readily overlooked the small brass piece so artfully hidden by the stones.
They had lost no time in removing the bowlders that supported Sidney's ladder. One or two only they suffered to remain—sufficient to anchor the affair in place, yet permit their man to drop back in the tide, should he intrust his weight to it.
That the white man's powder magazine had been greatly diminished before their flaming arrows completed its destruction seemed indisputable. The bombs had torn out and blackened so much of a cavity that the Dyaks' gratification was complete. It was scarcely possible, they argued, that the man seen running crazily about had escaped a mortal hurt. He had certainly summoned the strength to escape to the cave, but there he might have died.
All the waste sections of Sidney's bamboo were thrown with his cannon and his flag-pole in the sea. A thorough search was made of Elaine's former shelter, as well as of all the rock heaps on the place, for the treasure the man might have taken from the cave and concealed about his camp.
Not until some time after noon did the visitors finally leave the hill and disappear in the jungle growth to mature their further plans. Elaine knew nothing of their departure. She still remained back in the darkness of the gallery, and, therefore, neither heard nor saw the movements made on the ledge. She was hardly less prepared than before to see the door of the gallery rudely torn away at any moment, and the hideous head-hunters confidently pouncing in upon her.
Grenville, down in the blackness of the cavern, was hardly more easy in his mind. The Dyaks had failed to appear before the cave. He realized they might conclude to starve him to death in the tomb-like place, rather than risk another of his traps. To return to the terrace was out of the question. Not only might the natives be present, but, if once he were seen, they must immediately realize he had some unknown means of passage from the cave to the summit.
That the ladder would be watched he was certain. It was also more than likely, he was sure, the Dyaks would either cut through the strands to weaken it, near the top, or displace the rocks he had heaped upon its end. Reflecting that to pull it down while one of their craft was cruising about the headland might convince them he had fallen in the sea, he laid his platform out on the ledge for the purpose before the terrace had been deserted. But the boat was not to be seen.
At noon the sun beat down on the rocks about the cave with a hot, intolerable glare. Grenville was weary, as well as thirsty once more, and faint from lack of food. He dared not abandon the cavern now, however, since any moment might find the Dyaks slipping to the open niche to complete the deed they had vainly attempted before.
Never had the long, sultry hours of afternoon dragged by more tediously. Never had the man so vividly realized how much it meant to be near Elaine, to hear her voice, to gaze in the depths of her eyes.
It was not till the sun was about to set that his long, impatient vigil was somewhat rewarded at last. The Dyak boat drifted barely in sight, as he crouched there on the shattered ledge.
Without a moment's hesitation, even as he saw that the craft was beating back, as before, to the shelter behind the cliff, he ran out his platform, dropped its end across a rung of the ladder, and cast a heavy stone as far out upon it as possible.
It hung there, solidly enough, for a moment, then slipped a foot—and abruptly the whole writhing length came down, to land in the whirlpool and sink. The platform, however, was recovered. Returning at once to his place behind the wall, Sidney waited in new expectancy for the Dyaks to appear.
They did not come. The sun went down—and with it Grenville's hope. The head-hunters feared him still! They must have determined some trick was prepared against their invasion of the cave! He was utterly sick with discouragement. His long, hard day, to say nothing of Elaine's, had been spent like this, in vain. He felt he had merely lost ground. The Dyaks were doubtless already in possession of the terrace, where he could not attack them to advantage, since precisely as soon as he made his appearance on the hill-top the passage must be revealed.
He clung to the hope that dusk would bring the murderous pack to his stand—that they might have waited for darkness to sneak upon him unawares. But the twilight faded into blackest night, with clouds obscuring the friendly stars, and still no head-hunters came.
When at length he was certain no native would dare intrust himself or his boat to the treacherous maelstrom of the niche, he abandoned hope for the night. Returning to the passageway, he closed its door behind him, secured it with the bar, and groped his way upward through the velvet gloom for a word of cheer with Elaine.
He called to her softly as he came towards the top, and she hastened down to meet him. She was certain something had gone amiss, but her courage was sufficient to sustain almost anything, so long as she knew he was safe.
"Got a bit hungry," he told her, off-handedly. "Those chaps do keep one waiting!"
"Sh-s-s-sh!" she said, in a warning whisper; "I think they're just outside."
"You saw them come up?" he asked her, eagerly.
"Four of them—after you fired the bombs. They put a bridge across the hole, as you thought, perhaps, they might."
"H'm," said Sidney, quietly, going to the door and peering forth on the jungle. "They haven't gone down since?"
"Not that I saw. I wasn't watching all the while."
"You haven't heard them talking, near the door?"
"No, oh no! I haven't heard a thing! I haven't known what to do—or whether you were alive or dead. I didn't know what my duty was when I saw them come up, and wanted to fire the cannon! I thought the day would never end! Have you had to give up at last?"
"Certainly not!" he assured her, cheerfully, aware from every accent of her voice what tortures she had suffered there alone. "I must soon return—and you must go to bed. I haven't the slightest idea they will come before next high tide, about eight, or later, in the morning. Meantime you did exactly right. They haven't the slightest notion of this secret passage, you may be sure, or nothing on earth could have kept them out. And they long since returned to their boats.... I suppose you have had neither food nor water. A little hurried supper for us both, and I must go down to the basement for the night."
Elaine had removed the cord from her arm, and secured it by the door. Sidney ignited a slender piece of torch-wood, by the smoldering brands maintained in the upper passage. He carried it promptly around the angle of the gallery, however, as an added precaution against the escape of one revealing beam through the chink that pierced the barrier facing the jungle world.
The dinner they ate was neither warm nor comforting. Cold fish is barely sustaining, while the tonic properties of water are scarcely worth describing. Elaine, however, was enormously reheartened, thus to have Sidney there again, and know he had suffered no hurt. She bade him good-night when their meager repast was finished, with the bravest cheer that Grenville had taken to heart for many a weary day. Then, with the cord once more on her arm, she resumed her place by the door.