CHAPTER X.
THE PETRIFIED FOREST.
Max asserted himself so strongly in favor of Girzilla that Ibrahim refrained from approaching her, not because he had conquered the passion he felt for her, but entirely out of respect for the madcap.
Sherif el Habib treated Max as a guest, and when he told him that he was on a pilgrimage to find the promised mahdi, Max so thoroughly threw himself into the work that the Persian devotee believed more than ever in fate.
Girzilla had never been away so far, and so long as she could see Max she was satisfied.
Nothing would make the chiefs of the caravan treat her other than Max’s sister.
In this way the journey was continued into the desert of Lybia.
All had been tranquil.
No hordes of savages had disturbed the religious pilgrims, and Max began to yearn for adventure.
Nearly a month had passed, and Max was as strong as a young elephant, and as for Girzilla, nothing seemed to tire her.
One day a forest was sighted.
For many days not a leaf, not a tree—no, not so much as a blade of grass, had been seen.
The unmistakable forest was as acceptable to the travelers as is a rain shower to the parched earth.
It was impossible to reach the forest that day, but so impetuous was the spirit of the two youths that they obtained permission to go in advance of the party, and while Sherif el Habib rested—for he was getting to look jaded and tired—they would investigate and return to report.
Max and Ibrahim, now the best of friends, went forward, joyously.
They were both well armed, and carried enough rations to last them four days.
It was noon on the following day before they were near to the forest.
Never before had they seen such gigantic trees.
But there was something weird and strange about the trees.
Not one of them appeared to have any foliage.
They stood erect, with their topmost branches piercing the clouds, as it were, but not a sign or movement was visible.
A slight breeze whistled through the forest, but not a bough swayed, not a tree bent its head before the wind.
“Haughty old fellows,” exclaimed Max, as he looked forward at the unbending trees.
“They look more like stone than wood,” commented Ibrahim.
“You are right. I wonder what timber they are.”
There was another peculiarity noticeable.
Not a bit of brush, nor tuft of grass was to be seen.
So excited were the explorers that they bid defiance to the blazing rays of the sun, and ran forward.
Max was the first to reach a tree.
The monarch who guarded the earth was many feet in diameter, as straight as a flagstaff, and entirely without leaves.
Max touched the bark, and withdrew his hand, suddenly.
“What is it, Madcap? A viper stung you?”
“I don’t know. It seems as if the tree was red-hot,” answered Max.
“That is good. How could a tree be red-hot?”
“Feel for yourself.”
“You are right. By the beard of the prophet the tree must be burning.”
Max struck the trunk with a knife, but the blade broke in two, and no impression was made on the tree.
Another, and still another tree was tried, with the same result.
A couple of hours wandering about, striking trees with the hafts of their knives, or the butt of their guns, convinced them that they had discovered a freak of nature—a veritable petrified forest.
It was true.
Every tree, by some action of nature, had changed its allegiance from the vegetable to the mineral kingdom.
Each of the monarchs of the forest had been turned to stone.
There was something appalling in those great stone statues.
How many ages had they stood there?
What action of nature had changed them from living, sap-flowing trees into blocks of granite, having only the appearance of their former reality?
Ibrahim was scared.
His face lost its color, and he prostrated himself on the ground.
“Come along, old fellow,” said Max. “You are not afraid of these big stones, are you?”
Ibrahim did not answer.
He was awe-stricken.
“Get up, Ib,” exclaimed Max, shortening his companion’s name very materially.
It is a matter of doubt how long Ibrahim would have remained prostrate had not some counter irritant appeared.
A couple of arrows were fired, and fortunately struck the trees, glancing off close to our young explorers.
“Stop that, old fellow, whoever you are, and let us have a look at you,” shouted Max.
He had scarcely uttered the words when the whole forest seemed alive.
It looked as if every tree had hidden a man, and yet not a living creature had the explorers seen before.
Where did all these savages come from?
The savages were something superlative.
They were almost as naked as when they came into the world.
Their bodies were rubbed all over with some filthy-looking clay.
The men wore heavy coils of beads round their necks; two heavy bracelets of ivory, rudely carved, on their arms, just above the elbow; and on each wrist was a bracelet or ring, in which, by some cunning device, sharp pieces of flint, and in some cases lions’ claws, had been inserted. These fellows surrounded Max and Ibrahim, dancing in a fantastic manner and flourishing their arrows in the manner of spears, only that they had four arrows in each hand—held between the fingers so that the heads of the arrows were stretched out fan shape.
The circle of savages closed in upon the explorers.
The faces of the blacks increased in savagery of expression.
They spoke a language which neither Max nor Ibrahim understood.
“We are in for it,” said Max.
“We shall die,” asserted Ibrahim, solemnly. “Oh, why did I ever come?”
“To have some fun. Wait, and we will see what they mean to do.”
The savages got so close that our heroes were compelled at times to dodge the fans of arrows, which threatened to mar the beauty of their faces, they were so near.
“It is time to stop this,” said Max, drawing his old-fashioned revolver—a weapon which must have been one of the first ever made, so primitive was its construction. It had been given to Max by Sherif el Habib, who believed it to be the most wonderful weapon ever invented.
Max happened to catch sight of a monkey jumping from tree to tree, so he put back his revolver and raised his rifle, a more modern and more reliable weapon.
The savages stood still.
Surely this must be some magician or medicine man who had come among them.
That must have been the burden of their thoughts, for they stood watching and waiting.
But each man held his fan of arrows ready for use.
Carefully taking aim, Max fired.
The savages screamed as they heard the report, and the monkey dropped dead.
As if by the stroke of a magician’s wand the arrows were gathered together and held under the left arm.
“You conquered them,” said Ibrahim.
“It seems so; but I don’t know how we are going to escape.”
“No, nor I. What are they up to now?”
The chief had said something to the tribe, and instantly the naked, ugly representatives of the genus man, as known in the petrified forests of Lybia, disappeared, leaving only the chief and perhaps a dozen to guard the white explorers.
A few minutes elapsed, and again the forest was alive; every man had brought a woman with him.
The women were more repulsive looking than the men.
Their backs were gashed and scarred in every direction, while all over their bodies deep furrows had been plowed out of the flesh.
At a signal all began dancing. The men at every movement struck the women with their spiked bracelets, and soon the black bodies of the females were dripping with blood.
But the women made no effort to escape, but laughed heartily when they managed to escape a more than usually vicious blow from their loving husband’s spiked bracelet.
“Can’t we stop it?” asked Max.
“I am afraid not.”
“I would like to kill the savages.”
“So would I; but we can’t, and so must endure it——”
“Or run away.”
“Let us try.”
No sooner suggested than attempted.
The dance was stopped, and the men and women alike rushed after the runaways, capturing them easily, and holding them firmly until the dance was finished.
When the dancing was concluded, the chief gave another command.
An aged woman, toothless and haggard-looking, with only a few hairs on her head, was brought from some mysterious place and placed against one of the stone trees.
Then the chief, by pantomimic action, showed that he wanted Max to shoot her.
To make the madcap understand, he took the dead monkey and held it in front of the old woman, then raised an arrow, as Max had done his gun, and pointed it at the woman, letting the monkey fall as he did so.
Max shook his head.
The gesture was not understood.
The chief stood by the side of Max, and raised the rifle to the madcap’s shoulder, making a peculiar noise with his lips as he did so.
“Don’t shoot,” said Ibrahim.
“I am not going to do so,” answered Max, “unless I shoot his nibs here.”
“Who?” asked the Persian, not understanding the slang expression.
Max was about to explain, when a loud whoop was given.
The old woman had fallen forward—dead.
Fright had killed her.
But the savages believed that the white man’s magic had ended the poor, old creature’s life.
Max and Ibrahim were the heroes of the day.
Songs of triumph—in gibberish which might mean anything—dances of the most grotesque kind were indulged in, and it was plain to be seen that these poor savages were nearly mad with joy.
When the excitement was at its height, Max whispered to Ibrahim:
“Let us run—but as we do so we had better point our guns at the fellows; then they won’t follow.”
Awaiting a favorable moment, the young fellows started.
The dancing stopped, and the savages went in pursuit.
A shower of arrows fell round the explorers.
Max turned and raised his rifle.
What a change took place!
Instead of a hundred warriors pursuing two young men, a hundred backs could be seen, and every savage was trying to break the world’s record in running, not toward the explorers, but away from them.
Max laughed so heartily, that had the savages turned, the American would never have been able to point the gun at them.
“Come along, Max, or they may repent and follow.”
Max needed no second invitation, and had a balloon been above the forest, he would have seen a hundred savages fleeing in one direction, as though pursued by a regiment of well-trained soldiers, and the boys they were afraid of, running just as fast in an opposite one.