Chapter 34
I jerked out my revolver, took swift aim, right between those great blazing eyes, and fired.
From the beast came a fearful roar, which seemed to end in a scream, and the long snaky head and neck (no more of the animal had been visible) disappeared.
"Good work, Bill!" applauded Milton Rhodes.
He had hardly spoken when the light came again, strong and beautiful. And the next instant came something else. A dark form, with a gleam of something white, rose into the air and drove straight toward us. I sprang aside and turned to fire, but I did not do so for fear of hitting the Dromans or Rhodes. There came a piercing shriek from Drorathusa, a sound made by cloth-rending talons. The monster had her.
"How like the big face of a fat man!"
"How like the big face of a fat man!"
"How like the big face of a fat man!"
I leaped toward it and emptied the revolver into its side, whilst Ondonarkus and Zenvothunbro sent each an arrow into the body. That of the former was driven with such force that it passed clear through the body and went on for a distance of six or eight feet. And down the beast fell dead, though still quivering, there in our very midst.
I turned and hurried to Drorathusa. Rhodes was already beside her. As I reached her, the darkness came down again upon the place, pitchy and awful. The claws had ripped her dress, from the thigh down, literally into ribbons; strangely enough, the flesh had escaped even a scratch.
Drorathusa was badly shaken, and little wonder, forsooth. It had been a miraculous escape from terrible injury, from a most horrible death. A few moments, however, and she was as composed as though nothing had happened. Truly there was much to admire in this extraordinary woman.
Rhodes and I turned and examined the body, now lying quite still. It was that of a big cat. Strictly speaking, it was not, I suppose, a cat; it was not like anything that we had even seen or heard of. But a cat I shall call it, not knowing what other word to use. The head was long and of an aspect strikingly, repulsively snake-like. So was the neck. This reptilian resemblance was enhanced by the head's being absolutely destitute of hair, save for the vibrissae, which were really enormous. The body was dark, curiously mottled with gray. The breast and the belly were snowy white.
"Hum," said Milton Rhodes. "A strange and terrible creature, Bill. This wilderness must be a real one when we find a carnivore like this subsisting in it. And Goodness only knows of what other beasts it is the habitat."
"Yes. And, with such creatures in the woods, our journey through them is likely to prove an interesting one."
"Most interesting. O well," said Rhodes, "we have our revolvers, and the Dromans have their bows and arrows, to say nothing of their swords. And they know how to use them, too."
"And that reminds me," I told him: "I haven't reloaded my blunderbuss."
"Save those shells, Bill."
"What for?"
"So we can reload them."
"Reload them? Do you think we'll be able to do that in this world called Drome."
"Why not?"
"But how—?"
Rhodes turned like a flash.
"Hear that?" he said. "By the great Nimrod, another one!"
The darkness still lay impenetrable, pitchy. We flashed our lights into the trees, this way and that, all about us; but no eyes were seen gleaming at us, nothing was seen moving save the shadows, and not the faintest sound was heard.
The Dromans were listening intently, but it was patent that they had not heard that sound which had whirled Rhodes about; nor had I heard it myself.
"Are you sure," I queried, "that there was a sound?"
"I most certainly thought that I heard something."
"Look!" I cried, pointing upward.
Through openings in the foliage, were to be seen pale flickerings of light.
"Thank Goodness," Rhodes said, "we'll soon again have light. I hope that this time it will last."
And we soon did—the strong mystic, and yet strangely misty, light pervading the mysterious and dreadful wood, the flickerings and flashes overhead soon opalescent and as beautiful as ever.
We at once (Ondonarkus having picked up his arrow and Zenvothunbro drawn his from the body of the cat) left that spot, to make our way deeper and deeper into that forest, which harbored enemies so terrible and so treacherous.
"Why," I queried, "didn't we camp up there on rocks, where it would have been impossible (save in one of these periods of darkness) for anything to approach us unseen? We had made a day's good journey; and here we have gone and left a place of safety to camp somewhere in this horrible wood."
"What," returned Milton Rhodes, "would that have been but postponing the inevitable? For into these trees we should have had to go, sooner or later, and the thing would have been watching for us just the same. As you say, we had made a good journey for the day; well, aren't we making it better?"
"It isn't ended yet."
"This place, after all, Bill, may not be so bad as it seems."
"Well, there is one consolation," I remarked: "there is no danger of our starving to death in this lovely Dante's Inferno. Look at all the fruit and nuts and things."
"Yes. From that point of view, the place is a veritable Garden of the Hesperides."
At length we reached the stream, considerably larger than I had expected to find it. At this point where we struck it, the water was deep, the current a gentle one. The rich forest growth hung out over the surface for some distance. There was a soft rustling of leaves, for some of the branches dipped into the water and were swaying to and fro. This and the faint, melancholy whisper of the gliding element were all that broke the heavy, deathlike stillness. It was a placid, a lovely scene.
The attainment of this their objective seemed to give our Dromans much pleasure; but, save for the fact that there was now no danger of our perishing of thirst, I could not see that we were any better off than we had been.
I thought that this would be the end of our march, now a long one indeed. But the Dromans merely paused, then started down the stream; and, of course, along with them went Rhodes and myself.
At times we had literally to force our way through the dense and tangled undergrowth; then we would be moving through lovely aisles—
"And many a walk traversedOf stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm."
"And many a walk traversedOf stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm."
"And many a walk traversedOf stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm."
"And many a walk traversed
Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm."
We pushed on for perhaps two miles, never moving far from the stream, and then made camp in a beautiful open spot, over which, however, the great branches formed an unbroken canopy of leaves.
A guard was arranged for the night. Rhodes had the first watch.
It was during my vigil that it came—a sudden, fierce, frightful scream, which awoke every member of our little party. It came from somewhere down the river, and it was replete with terror and agony; it was a sound that made the very air quiver and throb. It seemed human, and yet I told myself that it simply could not be. And then it ceased, as suddenly as it had come, and all was still again, save for the gentle, sad whispering of the water.
"What," I exclaimed, my voice, however, low and guarded, "could it have been? It sounded human, but I know that that sound did not come from the throat of a man or a woman."
"I think you are right, Bill," said Milton Rhodes. "What it was—well, that seems to be a mystery to the Dromans themselves."
I turned and saw Drorathusa, who had just issued from the tent, standing beside Ondonarkus and engaged in hurried and whispered dialogue, the troubled looks which she incessantly directed into the forest, in that quarter whence had come that scream, advertising dread and something for which I can not find a name.
"Evidently," Rhodes observed, "they know but little more about this place and the things in it than we do ourselves."
"And that is virtually nothing."
"Did you," he asked abruptly, "hear something else?"
"Something else? When?"
"Something besides that scream. And while it was filling the air. And just afterwards."
"I heard nothing else. Did you?"
"I believe that I did."
"What?"
"I can't say," was his answer. "I wish that I could."
"Well," I said, "all we know is that there is something sneaking or prowling about in this wood, that it has just got a victim and that, in all probability, it means to get one of us—maybe all of us."
Rhodes nodded, rather rueful of visage.
"We were fortunate enough," he added "to kill two carnivores—snake-cats; I wonder if we shall be as fortunate the next time. For there is another thing waiting, sneaking, watching, biding its time."
"Another, yes," said I. "But anotherwhat?"