CHAPTER XVII
THE PIT OF ADDERS
Hammer could not understand himself. He was practically free, he realized fully that this was the time to act, when Krausz was unarmed, and yet his brain was dulled and refused to impart movement to his limbs. He stared at Krausz, fascinated by the least movement of the man, utterly unable to do a thing.
Whether it was auto-hypnotism, or whether the terrible deadening influence that had come upon him was caused by the noxious jungle bringing back his fever, the American never knew.
Jenson had ceased to moan, and crouched at one side by his guard, cowed. The Masai cast uneasy glances about and at each other, but still Krausz stared at Sara Helmuth, who seemed to droop under his gaze.
"You knew, yess?" he muttered finally.
She nodded listlessly.
"Yes. I stayed near here last night. I was here."
The colour flowed back into the face of the scientist little by little. Turning his back on the party, he stooped and picked up revolver and whip, then stood looking down at that which lay in the blackness of the hole.
Hammer wanted to scream, but he could not, for some unseen power had paralysed his muscles. He wondered, idly, what lay in that hole, but he was more interested in watching the big Saxon. He had never seen Krausz so completely overcome before, he thought, and it made him want to laugh.
"By Godfrey!" He shook himself, conquering that terrible apathy. "You've got to quit this, old man, or God knows what'll happen. That chap is breeding trouble and first thing you know he'll spring something bad."
Why the thought came to him he could not tell, but come it did. Krausz turned, with a nervous glance around at the silent trees, but there was no danger in his face, save that the tell-tale ribbon of muscle was pounding madly.
Then once more the scientist went to the brink of the hole and looked down. It was as if he were reflecting on something, weighing something over in his mind before coming to a decision.
A half-sound caught Hammer's attention and he looked at Sara Helmuth. She had turned partly aside, her head was down in her two hands, and her shoulders were shaking softly as she stood. Overcome by the horror of the place, she had given way at last, and the sight was too much for Hammer.
As if by magic he felt himself once more, with all his old quickness of thought and vigour of action returned to him. Solomon had failed them and they were alone, and the thought brought responsibility back to him.
Quietly slipping his hands free of the loosened cords, he strode over to the girl's side, none hindering him, and in the face of the jungle horror about them he put an arm about her shoulders, drawing her head to his breast.
"Quiet, Sara," and he patted her back in a clumsy effort to soothe her. "It's all right, girl—don't cry. We'll get out of this place and forget about it——"
For several weeks now Sara Helmuth had forced herself into the position of a man among men, playing a lone hand in the dark, and while friendship had come to her in the guise of Solomon and Hammer, her woman's soul had craved sympathy as a child craves its mother's arms.
Furthermore, the place in which they stood mirrored dread into her soul, for only the evening before she had stood at the edge of that hole and gazed down while the Arabs held torches aloft and looked grimly at each other. So, but chiefly because of Hammer's actions and words, she smiled once and fainted.
The American felt frightened for a moment, then relief came to him. The burden had been put on his shoulders, and, allowing the girl to slip to the ground, he turned to find Krausz looking at them and frowning, blackness brooding in his eyes and an evil twist to his heavy jaw.
"She hass fainted? That iss good."
"Yes, she's fainted: but you'll notice that she kept her word first." Hammer's anger turned cold within him, for as he wondered what frightful thing lay in that hole he remembered the story of the pit of snakes—and he dreaded snakes as he dreaded no other thing on earth.
"She's kept her word, Krausz, so I guess it's up to you to keep yours. You lend me a couple of these askaris to carry Miss Helmuth and we'll be going."
"Wait."
The scientist seemed oddly apprehensive, seemed as if he were trying to say something which could not find utterance. He looked at Hammer, then at the askaris, then at the jungle above and around, and finally beckoned.
"Come—look at thiss thing."
Hammer did not want to look, yet it seemed as though some force drew him to follow the other to the edge of that black hole. Now he knew why the horror had come upon him, the snake-fear which lies at the bottom of many men's souls and which is not to be explained or reasoned away.
"Mein Gott—look at them!"
The American obeyed with cold chills gripping his spine. Yet he could see little. The pit was deep, very deep. As his eyes searched the darkness of it he guessed that the bottom was twenty feet away.
Then a soft, slithering sound broke the dead stillness, and a low "his-s-s" which there was no mistaking.
"Adders," stated the doctor decidedly. "Puff-adders, my friend, and a bite it iss death, yess!"
Hammer did not know a puff-adder from a black snake, but he did know why the other had gazed so long into that pit of darkness, for there was a deadly fascination about it that compelled his eyes despite his loathing.
"If the treasure iss there, it can wait, yess!" exclaimed the scientist.
The American mentally added that it could wait until what Sherman said war was froze over, for all of him; but he still looked down until gradually the thing took shape before him.
The sides of the pit were straight and well paved, slimy, mossy, with never a break in the stones. Far down something scintillated for an instant, then again, and the slithering noise went rustling faintly without cessation. Hammer was aware that Krausz had come to his side and was pointing down.
"There—look at that. It iss a platform, no?"
With the words the scientist scraped a match and flung it down. The American got a glimpse of a small jutting-out stone, some two feet square, half-way down the pit, and below that a twining, shuddering mass of something that drove him reeling back with sickness strong upon him.
"That's enough," he gasped, wiping the cold sweat from his face. "I'll get out of here and stay gone, don't worry——"
"Stop!"
There was a new note in the voice of Krausz, and it brought Hammer around instantly. The other had followed him back from the hole, and was glaring at him with such mad eyes that instinctively the American took a step backward.
"You are not going away," said the big Saxon slowly, his eyes burning into those of Hammer. The band of muscle was deep crimson, and it was pulsating like a wild thing against the man's white brow. Hammer's foot struck against the limp form of Sara Helmuth, and the touch restored him from his panic.
"Eh? What's that?" he exclaimed, unbelieving.
"I say you are not going away—you and Adolf and Professor Helmuth, yess!"
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Hammer, thoroughly angry. "You promised that when——"
"Yess, and my promise I shall keep—but thiss way." Krausz gestured with his whip toward the hole. "I promised to set you free, nein?"
Between anger at the man and fear of what lay behind him, Hammer stared at him astounded. It had not occurred to him that Krausz would not perform his part of the agreement—but what did he mean by "thiss way"?
The big Saxon went on, his jaw pushed forward aggressively, his eyes fastened banefully on Hammer:
"Fools! Did you think that I would let you go, yess, to make of me a joke before all Europe? Ach, no! Am I, Sigurd Krausz, to be tricked and made a fool?"
He turned swiftly to the nearest askari—the same who had freed Hammer.
"Go back to the camp and bring a rope—quick, you black swine!"
The man saluted, flung Hammer a helpless look, and disappeared. The other three watched, leaning on their rifles.
"What do you mean?" began the American, aghast before the terrible thought that had leaped into his brain. Krausz flung about on him, raging.
"Mean? What do I mean? American pig! Iss my work to be spoiled by thiss fräulein? No! Ach, but Adolf iss a devil! He betrays everyone, but he shall not betray Sigurd Krausz. No, nor you, American. I meant to kill you all, but now I have a better way, yess, and I shall my promise keep. Later I will come back, yess, and get the treasure and give it to the world—my treasure, my papers, my relics!
"Never hass so great a chance come—and it iss not to be perilled by you. So I tell you plainly, American, you shall not play with Sigurd Krausz."
Then, too late, Hammer realized that the look in the other's eyes was little short of madness. He cast a look around, but the jungle hedged them in, silent and merciless, with no sign of Solomon or aid.
But—what did the madman mean to do? He was crazed on the subject of his work, that was plain, and whether the jungle mania had unbalanced him or not, there was a fury in his eyes.
"What do you mean?" asked Hammer again. "Don't think you can get away with any dirty work, Krausz, or Solomon——"
"Bah! Do not joke with me. Listen—you saw that platform, American? Then I tell you that you and Adolf Jenson and Professor Helmuth, you shall stand there until you get tired. You shall be free, yess—but you cannot get up, and when you go down you will not play with Sigurd Krausz any——"
Hammer saw red and struck. The whole insane scheme darted clear to his mind, and he drove his fist home into that mocking face with a furious curse. Krausz flung up his revolver-hand, but Hammer dashed it aside and the weapon fell; he saw Krausz reel back and knew he had crushed the man's nose with his first blow, but he followed with relentless fury in his heart.
Krausz tried to fight him off, and he saw the three askaris closing in on him; then he felt the whip curl about him, sending a terrible red wale over his cheek and biting into his body; but time and again those fists which had won him his name stabbed into the face of the big Saxon—until the askaris ground him to the earth by main weight and tied him.
The American glared up, still raging in his helplessness. Krausz had dropped his whip and was clinging to a long vine that trailed down across the body of Jenson, who had not moved.
The fight had hardly lasted a minute, but Hammer had learned his trade in a hard school. The heavy features of Krausz were crushed into a red mass, for the first blow of Hammer's had splintered his nose; yet, for all the pain he must have been suffering, Krausz said no word.
Groping for his handkerchief, he slowly wiped the blood from his eyes, then stooped and picked up his pith helmet and put it on, carefully letting down the mosquito-gauze about his features.
There was something in the action, something of iron tenacity, that made Hammer hold his breath, waiting for he knew not what. With that crimsoned visage masked from sight, Sigurd Krausz appeared even more formidable. Hammer knew that his outburst had effected nothing.
Yet it had been half panic. The scientist's fiendish plan had sent a shudder of abhorrence through him; the very odour of that pit nauseated him, and he had lashed out in a frenzy of mingled fear and rage. Then the memory of that narrow shelf of rock——
"By Godfrey!" thought the American desperately, "if Solomon doesn't show up in a hurry it's all off! That ledge won't hold more than one person, that's sure."
Panic-stricken, he watched the Saxon. Krausz took a step, and stumbled across Jenson, all but falling. At the same moment the askari who had been sent to camp returned, panting, carrying a length of rope.
Krausz seized it from him and bent the end around under Jenson's arms. From where he stood Hammer could see how the secretary trembled, and a moment later he shrank away from Krausz, scrambling desperately to regain his feet, screaming.
"Don't!" The wail shrilled up. "Don't! Oh—God——"
Krausz had signalled to the askaris, who shut off Jenson's screams with grins of delight. It was not the sort of work they usually did for white people, but to Masai hearts it was glorious. Hammer realized that the one friendly man could do nothing for him, and his cheeks blanched.
He watched Jenson carried to the edge of the pit and carefully lowered. A jerk or two freed the rope, and since no sound came forth, Hammer supposed that the man had reached the ledge in safety. Krausz turned to where Sara Helmuth lay, still senseless.
Then the American knew that there was no hope, that this fiend would actually carry out his threat, and he felt his flesh creep at the thought.
He pictured to himself that narrow ledge, with Jenson already there—ready to fight off whomever came next.
If the girl was sent down alone, unconscious as she was, what little chance she had would be gone, while he, Hammer, was whimpering up here!
He slowly got to his feet, the askari who stood over him pulling him up, and, as Krausz leaned over the girl with the rope ready, Hammer knew that he had become himself once more. He might die, but he would die like a man.
"Put that rope around me, Krausz," he said calmly. "I'll take her in my arms, if you'll untie my wrists."
The other straightened up, turning toward him, and Hammer saw the little dribble of blood that trickled down the front of his khaki coat from beneath the helmet-gauze. He noted, too, that Krausz feared to trust him, and added desperately:
"I'll give you my word, doctor, to make no trouble. Let's have it over with decency."
"Good!" came the rumbling response, with a gesture to one of the Masai. The latter cut Hammer's bonds, and the American strode to the side of Sara, lifting her in his arms. Then, with firm step but ghastly face, for the feeling of revulsion was almost too strong to be endured, he walked to the brink of the pit, and waited.
"Hurry, for God's sake!" he gasped.
The rope was put around him, under his shoulders; he did not feel how it cut into him as his weight came upon it. He knew only that terrible darkness was rising up at him, that the nightmare had begun, that slimy mossy stones were all about him.
He strove for a footing with his hanging feet, but to no avail. The walls were smooth, fissureless; he could not look down because of the body of the girl who lay in his arms. And it was as well that he could not, for an instant later his foot struck something soft.
He almost screamed at the touch, having forgotten Jenson for a moment; then he remembered. What next happened he could not tell; he felt himself swinging on the rope, and a great fear surged into him that the Masai had dropped him.
Then he knew that Jenson was beating against his legs, trying to drive him off with his beast-like, wordless whimpers.
He felt that he was kicking out in desperation, and his foot landed once; then from below came a single strangled cry, followed by a soft thud, and an instant later he was afoot on the rock ledge.
How long he stood there holding Sara Helmuth he never knew, for he was battling with all his will-power to get control of the awful horror that was over him. The snake-fear had gripped him, and the very rock at his back seemed to be a living thing that was pressing him forward, trying to fling him to the things below. This must have been the rope loosening from him, however, for presently he had conquered himself and the rope was gone from about him.
For a little space he did not realize that he was in any great danger. He was a good ten feet above the things that crawled down there and as much below the surface; he thought of Jenson, but spared no pity on the man; and the remembrance of his own words regarding the snake-pit and Jenson even brought the faintest flicker of a smile to his tense lips. Yet in his bitterest moments he could not have wished the man such agony as was now his own.
He listened for some sound from above, but none came. Had Krausz departed to cure his own hurts or was he waiting for some word from his victims? Hammer compressed his lips tighter; at least, the Saxon would not have the satisfaction of hearing him whimper, he thought. He was thankful that the girl showed no signs of wakening from her swoon.
But how was Solomon to know where they were? He could not have been watching, or he would have prevented the terrible deed at all costs; of that Hammer was assured.
If he did not shout for aid—but what good would shouting do him? The sound would be lost in the pit or in the leafy roof above; he could not have pierced that mass of vegetation if he had had the lungs of Stentor.
It occurred to him that if he set the girl down on the ledge at his feet he might be able to get out in some way. There was only a ten-foot wall above him, and even the mosses would give him foothold.
Besides, her weight was beginning to tell on his arms, and he could not hold her for ever. He felt gingerly forward with one foot—and cold fear struck him to the heart.
Now he knew why Jenson had slipped away, and how. In the darkness of the pit, looking down from above, the ledge had seemed fairly wide; as a matter of fact, it jutted straight out from the wall for a scant foot; then the upper part of the stone broke and shelved down on all sides to the under part.
On that foot square of rock it was possible for one person to stand; it was possible for him to stand so long as he could hold the girl's weight in his arms, but there was not foothold for two persons—and he could not hold Sara Helmuth much longer. As it was, his arms were tiring rapidly.
Hammer's face clenched into a grimace of pure agony as the tremendous temptation swept over him—all the more powerful because of his inborn dread of what lay below. The girl was unconscious; she would never know! Was it not more merciful, after all, to give her to death now than to leave her precariously hanging on that foot-square ledge until she wakened, moved, and—dropped?
"Oh, God!" he muttered, Jenson's cry on his lips, and repeated it over and over. How could he save his own worthless life at the expense of hers? A terrible convulsion seized him; he tottered, and only recovered his balance by a miracle. The danger sickened him, but it also woke latent words in his brain.
"—I think it will be one of power, not of failure. I would like to be there——"
He groaned, and it was as if the groan had been wrenched out of his soul, for he knew that his great moment had arrived. And he knew that, despite himself, it would be one of power—nay it was one of power!
Though half of his soul fought against the other half, trying to loose his arms, it was in vain; sophistry was swept aside, and he felt that he must do his utmost, even though it might be useless. He would go to join Jenson, and he must go soon, lest his strength fail.
Feeling about with his feet, he found the last inch of rock that would hold him up, and slowly bent downward. Twice he had to shift his position laboriously because of the wall behind him; once again he tottered, his foot slipped, and only a desperate effort recovered him.
After he had laid the girl across that ledge he could never get upright again without standing on her body—and, harmless though that might have been to her, it never came into his head.
He lowered her to his knees, twisting about, and inch by inch bent downward until she lay across his feet and ankles in safety. Only his grip on her body held him on the ledge now, and the physical torture of his position sent the sweat running down his face in streams.
His will-power all but failed him in that last instant. With infinite pains he drew one foot free, then the other, and went to his knees. But they slipped on the slant of broken rock-face—and, bending swiftly, he touched his lips to hers as he went down.
He seemed to fall for miles and miles through space. From somewhere above came a dull report, and a second; then a shock, and he landed feet first on something soft, and felt great shapes twining around him. He screamed—and fell asleep.