CHAPTER XX.
THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS.
FOR a moment the familiar sound, heard in the trackless wilds of the underworld, set each man’s heart throbbing with a mad yearning for home.
Home! Would they ever again look upon the glorious blue of the vault of heaven? Ever more behold the glowing splendour of the sun? Would they again set eyes upon the white cliffs of the Homeland, whose shores they had left so full of hope and enthusiasm?
Like the death-knell of their hopes rang the thrilling cry of their enemies as they moved once more to the attack.
But their two previous receptions had taught the wolf-men a lesson. No mad charge did they make this time. Evidently they had conceived a wholesome dread of firearms. Stealthily the creatures crept forward, seeming to wonder why the fire-weapons of these mighty white strangers were silent.
When they discovered that the rifles were not only silent, but useless, the end would not be long in coming.
The glare from the fire gulf lit up the hideous features of the savages with startling effect, giving them an even more diabolical expression, if that were possible. Nearer they came, gaining courage with every yard they advanced, their bloodshot eyes rolling horribly. Then suddenly, in a veritable living avalanche, they hurled themselves upon the gallant quartette.
The rifle butts rose and fell with sickening monotony, and at each stroke a wolf-man crashed to earth. The knives flashed like lightning through the crimson glare as Wilson and the scientist flung themselves pell-mell into the combat.
The engineer, plunging his weapon into the breast of a savage, tore the spear from his grasp, and fell to with this new tool with tremendous energy. Back and forth the struggling group swayed, one moment perilously close to the brink of the fire gulf, the next many yards away.
But the fight was too hot to last.
Slowly the four were beaten backward; then Wilson went down with a jagged wound in his thigh, and Mervyn, stumbling over his prostrate body, was struck senseless by a blow from the flat of a spear.
Another instant and Seymour and the Yankee would have fallen before the weapons of their foes, but, in the nick of time, a shout came pealing across the gulf.
“Aswani!” (“Courage!”)
At the word the wolf-men wavered in their attack, and a cry arose from their midst, “Yos toreal Ayuti!” (“The last of the Ayutis!”)
While they hesitated the drawbridge fell with a clang across the abyss, and over it an elk came galloping, his antlers gleaming like gold in the ruddy glow from the gulf. But it was not upon this magnificent creature that the gaze of the savages was fixed.
No: for astride the elk rode a man taller than any of the sons of earth, and his form was as that of a god. A battle-axe flashed in his right hand, and at his back swung a great embossed shield. This latter he unslung as he came on.
Checking his giant steed at the end of the bridge by the pressure of his knee, he sprang to earth and hurled himself upon the wolf-men. Like a thing of life his great axe whirred and hissed, and before it the savages fell as grain before the sickle.
For a while the two comrades stood astounded by this unexpected reinforcement. Their case had appeared so hopeless, so utterly desperate, that they had resigned themselves to destruction. They had not expected to accomplish aught, even by their most strenuous exertions. To sell their lives as dearly as possible had been their only object. But now, by the timely arrival of this gigantic stranger, whom the wolf-men called “The last of the Ayutis,” the tables had been completely turned upon their enemies.
Against the Ayuti’s great flashing blade the savages hurled themselves in vain. Vainly they cut and hewed, vainly they hacked and slashed. Cut and thrust alike fell harmless; their spears shivered themselves to fragments against the Ayuti’s shield. At every sweeping stroke of the great axe a savage crashed to earth.
Amid the hideous, misshapen forms of the wolf-men the Ayuti towered as a god among demons, and ever and anon a thrilling war-cry pealed from his lips, ringing clear as a bell above the din. Not all their ferocious courage could serve Nordhu’s savages now, nor could their cunning aid them. Their gigantic enemy seemed to be wholly without fear.
The pile of dead grew, and soon, of all the wolfish horde which had first attacked the fugitives, but a dozen were left. These, seeing that all was lost, that further fighting was in vain, turned to flee.
“Not one must escape!” roared the Ayuti, leaping forward in pursuit, and Seymour, translating the words to the American, followed him. Within five minutes not a savage remained on his feet. What the axe of the Ayuti had missed the rifle butts had accounted for.
For a few moments hereafter the three men stood leaning on their weapons, and now the two fugitives had a closer view of their splendid rescuer. Over seven feet he was in stature; his splendid limbs were left partly bare by the skin cloak which he wore suspended from one shoulder. His curling hair fell in rich masses to his shoulders, and his skin was little darker than the baronet’s own. The beauty of his features, his exquisitely-proportioned form, and the grace of his every movement made up a picture of god-like majesty, before which the two friends felt inclined to bow the knee.
Instead of doing this, however, Seymour held out his hand.
“Friend,” he said in Ayuti, and there was a strange break in his voice, “we cannot thank you for the service you have rendered us.”
“’Tis naught,” replied the Ayuti, grasping the proffered hand warmly; “I would that I might aid ye again. But, see, thy brothers still sleep. They must be awakened.”
An application of the spirit flask carried by Haverly quickly aroused the two senseless men. Then, while the American dressed the engineer’s wounded leg, Seymour told the Ayuti of the means of their coming to this weird land, and of all that had befallen them since.
A long recital it was, but deeply interesting, and the eyes of the giant glowed with admiration as the baronet proceeded.
“Ye are men indeed,” he cried, when the story was finished, and once more gripped Seymour’s hand. “Fairhair, thou and I must be brethren, for thou art a man after my own heart. What say ye?”
“Gladly,” answered the baronet, smiling at the Ayuti’s quaint reference to his golden hair and beard. “By what name are ye called?”
“I am Chenobi, which should have been king of the city of Ayuti,” was the reply; “but I am the last of my race, a king without subjects. See, Fairhair, let us cast this carrion into the gulf of fire, that Nordhu discover not the manner of your escape.”
With that the Ayuti commenced to pitch the bodies of the slain wolf-men over the brink of the abyss. Overcoming his repugnance with an effort, Seymour aided him in his horrible task, the Yankee also lending a hand when he had made Wilson comfortable.
Then suddenly, at a moment when all seemed to be well, when all danger appeared to be past, a catastrophe happened that appalled them. Silas had stooped to grasp a corpse which lay almost on the verge of the gulf, when, without a scrap of warning, the savage—who had evidently been playing ’possum in hope of effecting his escape—grabbed for his ankles. Taken entirely by surprise, the Yankee tripped, lost his balance, and fell headlong over the brink.
The Ayuti was the first to recover from the shock of this terrible thing. With a roar of fury, he strode forward, gripped the shivering savage by his girdle, and swung him, screaming madly, far out into the abyss.
Fascinated, the adventurers watched his fall. Twice he turned over in mid-air, then his body seemed to shrivel up in that terrible heat, and it was naught but a cinder that struck the glowing sea below.
“The dog!” Chenobi cried, a fearful passion blazing in his eyes, “the cursed dog, may——”
A startled cry from Seymour checked his further utterance.
“Great heaven! Look!”
Shading their eyes from the glare, his friends looked over the brink, the Ayuti, though not understanding the words, following their example. On a ledge in the wall of the abyss, twenty feet below, lay the senseless form of Haverly. His limbs dangled perilously over the edge of the narrow shelf, and it was apparent to all that the slightest movement would precipitate him into the molten billows which rolled far beneath. At any moment he might come to and attempt to sit up; then—his comrades shivered at the thought.
Yet how was his deliverance to be accomplished? Even had they a rope, who would dare to descend into that fiery gulf, to dangle over that flaming sea?
Chenobi answered the question in a fashion that sent a thrill through the three spectators of his daring action.
Launching himself over the brink of the precipice, the Ayuti began to make his way down to the ledge. Breathlessly his new friends watched his perilous progress. From crag to crag he swung, at times having the greatest difficulty in finding foothold. Once he slipped, and the watchers gasped and averted their eyes, seeing him in imagination hurtling into the raging sea below. But he recovered himself, and, with splendid perseverance, continued the descent.
To the watchers it seemed an age ere he reached his goal and stood beside the unconscious American. Then a new difficulty arose, another predicament had to be faced.
How was he to get Haverly up the face of the cliff?
That he would need both hands free for his return journey was absolutely certain. For a few moments Chenobi stood, thinking out the best method by which to effect his purpose; then to his mind came a daring idea. Unloosing the girdle which confined his skin cloak at the waist, he bent down, passed it beneath Haverly’s belt, and rebuckled it. First testing both straps to satisfy himself that they were perfectly secure, he commenced to lift the American from the ledge.
To any but one of his gigantic strength the attempt would have ended in failure, and probably a swift and terrible death. The ledge was very little over a foot in width, and it seemed utterly impossible for the Ayuti to raise the dead weight of the unconscious man. But now his magnificent strength revealed itself.
His mighty muscles stood up like knotted ropes beneath the skin; his shoulders cracked again with the strain of his effort. Yet he accomplished his purpose; slowly he raised his senseless burden until he could stand once more upright on the ledge, with his back to the cliff, and with Haverly dangling before him at the end of the girdle.
“What a man!” Seymour cried admiringly, as he watched eagerly for the Ayuti’s next move. “He’s a veritable Hercules!”
“Never have I seen so fine a man!” Mervyn exclaimed. “What a noble race these people must have been! But, see, he is moving again.”
Although their eyes ached with the glare, the watchers could not tear their gaze from the scene below. There was a fearful attraction about Chenobi’s heroic efforts. All natural law seemed to proclaim that what he was about to attempt was an impossibility.
“He’ll never do it,” Wilson groaned, forgetting the pain of his wounded limb in his anxiety. “Haverly’s weight will drag him over as soon as he begins to climb.”
“We shall see presently,” the baronet answered; “if anyone can do it he can.”
Gripping the American by the waist with his left arm, Chenobi slipped the looped girdle about his own neck. Another pause of a few seconds, and then, relaxing his grip of the limp body, he took all the weight upon his neck. The strain must have been tremendous, yet he kept his balance; more, he commenced to turn round upon the ledge—thrusting Haverly behind him as he did so—until he stood facing the cliff, ready for his climb.
The first part of his task had been accomplished in safety; but what of the next? Would not the weight of his swinging burden drag him backward, as Wilson had said? It would soon be seen, for now Chenobi was commencing his perilous journey. Hand over hand he clawed his way up, moving deliberately, and as one who was sure of his ground.
How he finished that fearful climb the spectators never knew, for, appalled by the peril of his position, they retired from the edge of the cliff, not daring to look lest they should see the daring climber fall headlong into the fiery sea below. Each moment they expected to hear a cry of alarm from the abyss—evidence that Chenobi had lost his balance—but it never came. Soon the Ayuti’s head appeared above the cliff top, and Seymour leapt forward to relieve him of his burden. Haverly was saved!
Staggering a few paces from the edge, Chenobi flung himself down upon the rocky ground, exhausted but triumphant. And here he lay for a time, while Mervyn and the baronet used their utmost endeavours to restore their senseless friend. Half an hour passed ere the American came round, and for long afterwards he was weak and ill as a result of his terrible experience. His gratitude, when he knew of Chenobi’s heroism, was touching to behold; yet he said little. Only his eyes showed how deeply grateful he felt.
Seeing him moving, the Ayuti rose and came towards him, whereupon Silas tottered to his feet and held out his hand.
“Shake!” he said, and Seymour translated his words. “You’re a white man all through!”
Chenobi showed all his magnificent teeth in a smile of pleasure, as he gripped the Yankee’s hand; then turned to where the great elk still stood, motionless as though carved in stone.
“Muswani!” he cried, “kneel!”
At the words the giant brute dropped to its knees. Lifting the engineer, whose wounded limb made walking a matter of great difficulty, Chenobi placed him across the elk’s back, himself mounting behind. A further word of command, and the Ayuti’s strange steed rose and stepped out upon the bridge.
“Come!” Chenobi cried, and the three friends followed across the fire gulf.