THEY had reached the first of the scattered outer sentinels of the forest of slender palms. Dimly beyond it, by grace of the tropic star brilliance, they could see the looming mass which they must penetrate to reach the aeroplane.
So far they had met with nothing alarming. Everywhere, in and out, giant fireflies danced in a mystic saraband, very beautiful to behold, but also quite confusing to the eye. They had not yet used their torches, fearing to attract more of the terrible flying monsters, of which they had already seen quite enough to satisfy any morbid curiosity they might have felt.
“Here,” whispered the prince, although he could almost have shouted without fear of being overheard above the general uproar, “we must awaken Miss Weston.”
Jones saw his dark form bending over at the foot of the slender tree, and knew that he had laid his burden down.
“Shall I light up?” inquired Jones in an equally low tone, and speaking close to his companion’s ear.
“On no account. Not yet, that is. Will you hold up her head, please? That is right. Now — this liquor would well-nigh rouse life in the dusty veins of an Egyptian mummy.”
“If it’s the same you gave me, you’re right. Look out — there’s something behind you — look out, I say!”
Over Sergius’ shoulder he had caught a glimpse of two green eyes glaring, balls of fire set in the black velvet of night. Sergius, with the swiftness of a prestidigitateur, replaced the stopper in the small flask he had been holding to Miss Weston’s lips, reached with unerring grasp for one of the rifles laid across Jones’ lap, rose from knees to feet in the same motion and laughed softly and lowered the weapon. Stooping, he picked up a small stone and flung it straight at the glaring eyes. There was a startled snarl, a fiendish yell, and the eyes vanished, accompanied by a scuffling and crashing in the underbrush.
“A hyena,” commented Sergius, resuming his interrupted task with unruffled composure. “No use wasting a shot on that sort of vermin.”
“Good Heavens, man, have you the eyes of a cat? How could you tell what it was?”
“Oh, I can see better than most in the dark, I will admit. I should never have suggested this venture if it were not so. Now — ah, she is awakening.”
There was a cough, a little, strangled gasp, and Miss Weston sat up very suddenly. Unlike more ordinary people, she did not exclaim “Where am I?” although the query would certainly have been excusable, but seemed to spring instantly to full consciousness and knowledge of the situation.
Without a moment’s hesitation she reached up in the darkness and delivered a slap in Sergius’ general direction which would have been splendidly effective had he not sprung back with the same speed he had shown in dealing with the hyena. A second later she was on her feet, panting and sobbing, but not, Jones feared, with panic.
“Oh, you did it — you did it! You cowards! You left them there and carried me away when I was helpless. Oh — if I live till morning you shall be punished for this. You shall, I say!”
Gently, but with irresistible strength, Sergius took her small hands in one of his, and placed the other over her mouth.
“Be silent,” he said softly and sternly. “You must not endanger your own life because of your anger against me. Paul and the rest are, a thousand times more secure at this moment than we, unless you control yourself and use your splendid vigor and determination to a better purpose than recrimination. If I release my hold, will you come with us quietly and softly?”
A miracle occurred, for Miss Weston yielded — on that one point, at least. She must have nodded her head, although Jones could not see the motion in the darkness, for Sergius released her and stepped back.
“Do not imagine that you have greater concern for my brother than I, Miss Weston. We placed them all in safety, barricaded the entrance, and built a fire which will burn until morning. And now, you will please keep between Mr. Jones and myself. If we run, you must run also; and if we should crouch suddenly down, you must do likewise. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” came the answer in a tone of suppressed rebellion.
“Very well. Will you give me one of those torches, Roland? You have your rifle ready and cocked?”
“Yes — but I’m a darned bad shot.”
The nihilist sighed. “One cannot expect everything,” he said. “If I tell you to shoot, aim between the eyes — you are likely to see them; at any rate. And now, forward!”
Two long, white beams sprang into being, and by the shifting rays Mr. Jones saw the narrow, trodden trail from which they had emerged in the afternoon. More than ever he marveled at Sergius’ almost supernatural abilities. How had he managed to strike that one single place where they had a bare chance of entering the jungle successfully?
The Russian led the way, followed by Miss Weston, and Jones brought up the rear. And now they had entered the very center of pandemonium itself. Roars, shrieks, grunts, bellows rent the air upon every side.
“Don’t be frightened!” Sergius called back over his shoulder. “These torches will keep most of the brutes off — but, good God, not this one!”
Jones caught, a glimpse of a mighty bulk rearing itself high over the head of their leader; there were three sharp, rapid reports; then the thing, whatever it was, with a terrific snarl of rage, had lurched forward and downward upon the unfortunate nihilist. Miss Weston, with remarkable presence of mind, had turned, run back to Jones’s side, and then turned again to face this midnight terror, without a scream or act which could have impeded her sole remaining guardian.
He, staring with horror down his little, wavering beam of light, saw only a monstrous black head with snarling, savage jaws and two red eyes that glared like coals of fire.
“Shoot him — shoot him!” It was Miss Weston’s voice, and she was shaking his arm viciously. “Shoot him — or give me that rifle!”
“Between the eyes!” gasped Jones.
“You’re likely to see them!”
He had no idea of what he was saying, or that he had spoken. Then, as he stood there, shaking in every limb, he suddenly reached the extremity of terror, and passed beyond it into that unnatural coolness and calm which is so efficient and, sometimes, so hard to reach. The trembling palsy passed, and every nerve and muscle tautened to abnormal firmness. From numbed quiescence his brain leaped to lightning action.
He knew what he, “a darned bad shot,” must do if he would save the friend who lay invisible somewhere under that dreadful head.
With a sure swiftness of which none of his acquaintances would have deemed Jones capable, he handed the electric torch to the girl, darted forward to within ten feet of the monster, raised his rifle and fired, aiming at the center of the forehead, and pumping one cartridge after another into place as fast as he could work the lever.
Undoubtedly the fact that the brute had paused at all in its attack was due to the dazzling effect of the electric torch, and if it had not been for an unusual piece of luck Jones would probably never have lived to marvel at his own feat. For at the first report the light-blinded brute snarled again, started to lift itself, failed, drooped, and sank slowly down upon the path. Jones, however, emptied his magazine before he realized that he had actually killed the creature with that first fortunate bullet.
Then he called back to the girl: “Come quick, Miss Weston; we’ve got to pull it off from Sergius!”
She ran up, still bearing the light, and the two looked down in consternation at the mighty bulk which lay like a monstrous black tombstone over the body of Sergius Petrofsky. It was a great, hairless mountain of flesh, The............