“Hell,” snorted the tall one, “I ain’t a fool.”
He raised his voice in a sharp call.
Instantly the chattering sound of the many voices which came from beyond the screen of trees subsided.
The tall man called a few sharp commands in the strange tongue. He was answered by someone from beyond the screen of foliage, and then raised his voice again, this time giving harsh rasping orders which thundered down the leafy aisles.
There was a period of silence.
“It’s a damn fool thing, coming into the village,” he muttered to Phil. “They ain’t found the dead drummer yet. If they had, they’d be mad enough to rush me. As it is, I’ve run a bluff, and told ’em I’d kill their king if they didn’t send out two men with the man and the woman they’ve captured. I left orders for all the rest of ’em to get down on the ground and lie on their faces.
“But they’ll make trouble before we get away. They’ve been wanting me for a long while. They’re frightened now, but they’ll try to cut off our escape when we start back...”
There was a bit of; motion ahead, then Phil saw two natives, so frightened their knees wobbled, bringing the two captives along the trail.
“Tell the natives to go back,” said Phil.
And his captive obediently rattled forth another order.
Then Phil raised his own voice, called to the girl.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Come on the run!”
She gave a glad cry, started to run. Professor Parker joined her, his face wreathed with smiles.
“Well done,” he said; “that was a masterly—”
The tall captive rasped forth an oath.
“Never mind that stuff. Get back quick. They’ll be trying to ambush us! Save your breath for running. Let’s go.”
And, despite the bound arms which interfered with his balance, he turned and started at a long jog trot up the trail.
“Can you keep up?” Phil asked the girl.
“I think so,” she said, “but, tell me, how—”
“Later. We’ve got work ahead of us, and I’ve got to watch this spindle-shanked hombre in front. He’s about as trustworthy as a rattlesnake.”
They ran on in silence, their feet beating the trail in rhythm. Behind them all was silence.
The moist air of the jungle growth seemed heavy and oppressive. The trail was steep, and the man in front stumbled twice, finally stopped.
“I’ve got to have my hands free,” he panted.
Phil stepped forward. “I’ll just get the keys to your castle,” he said. “Then you won’t feel so anxious to run off and leave us.”
The lips twisted back in a snarl, as a rattling volley of oaths showed that Phil had discovered the man’s intentions and checkmated him.
Phil searched the pockets, found the keys, unbound the man’s hands.
“Keep well ahead and in the trail,” he warned.
The man laughed grimly, pointed back around the shoulder of rock.
“Look at ’em,” he said. “Trying to get ahead of us and ambush us.”
Phil looked.
There, winding up the face of the cliff, was a swarming horde of naked men, armed with bow and arrow and spear, climbing in swift silence, some six hundred yards away.
They were making an almost miraculous speed up the sheer slope of the rock.
Phil flung up the rifle, fired.
The bullet hit the rock directly in front of the leader, flinging up a cloud of dust and stinging splinters of rock.
Phil slammed the lever of the gun, fired again and again.
The savages flung themselves down behind whatever meager shelter they could secure. Phil waited until one raised a cautious torso, got to his feet, started to climb again, and then fired. The bullet slammed from the rock, making a little geyser of stone dust. The savage hurled himself back and down behind his shelter.
“Man,” said Phil’s captive, “that’s shooting, and I don’t mean maybe!”
Phil motioned.
“Get started,” he said.
The tall man shook his head.
“Look at ’em, over on the other side. They’ll head us off!”
So natural was he, so genuine did his consternation appear, that Phil swung about, half raised the rifle.
He heard a warning shout from the girl, the swift rustle of menacing motion, and the big man came down on him like a swooping hawk.
The spring had been well timed. Phil was downhill from his assailant, and the force of the rush brought him down to his knees. The man’s wounded hand seemed to check him not at all. His hands clasped about the rifle.
Phil felt the impetus of the other’s charge wresting the rifle from his grip. He suddenly loosed his grip on it, dropped to his knees, shook off the other man.
That individual, possessed of the rifle, let forth a roar of rage and swung the muzzle, only to find Phil, still on his knees, the butt of the automatic in his hand, eyes glittering, tense, and ready. The cowpuncher, trained in a quick and sure draw, had snaked the smaller weapon from its holster with a speed that was almost incredible.
“Drop it!” he yelled.
The tall man hesitated, and in that instant of hesitation there sounded the sharp twang of a bowstring. Something flashed through the air in a whispering path of hissing menace, struck the man square between the shoulders. With a thudding sound the arrow arrested its progress, quivered there in the man’s back.
Phil snapped his automatic around, fired into the jungle growth in the general direction from which the arrow had come. The report of the weapon rang out on the hot air, subsided with a volley of echoes.
There came the sound of running steps, a crashing of brush, and silence.
The tall man dropped the rifle, swayed. His eyes were already glazing. The snarl came to his lips. He tried to curse, and his voice failed him. He wobbled, tottered, crashed to the earth.
Phil grabbed the gun. “No time for sentiment, folks. Let’s go while we may.”
It was well that his forest training had enabled him to mark each turn of the path, each intersection which marked the branches of the trail. Now he ran with swift certainty of direction.
From the high divide, with the castle well within reach, and a downhill trail to follow, he called a halt, looked back.
The savage band had once more gone into motion. Here and there, through breaks in the foliage, could be seen the moving flash of dark skin as some runner pressed ahead of his mates up the trail.
Then came a wild shout from the place where the tall man had fallen. The shout was taken up, became words, was hurled back down the trail from screaming throat to screaming throat, a wailing cry of savage exultation.
Then the big drum began to boom forth some code message.
Phil nodded.
“They’ve found him. He was the one they wanted. I imagine we won’t be bothered now if we move fast.”
And move fast they did.
It was only after Phil had fitted the keys to the iron gate, heard the welcome click of the lock, that he felt safe. He ushered the others into the gate, closed and locked it, went through the smaller gate, and surveyed the domain to which he had taken title by right of conquest.
There was a massive patio to the rear, a plateau which ran out over the outcropping of rock, surrounded by the smooth sides of the wall. On this plateau were trees and vines. There was a very commodious house, furnished with hand-carpentered furniture. The whole thing was an impregnable fortress, well equipped with guns and ammunition.
Phil climbed to the roof, looked out over the ocean.
Suddenly he let out a yell. Around a jutting promontory of the island appeared the white bow of a huge boat, cutting through the water at cautious half speed.