achorus of shouts arose from the pygmies as they discovered the little knot of whites clustered on the precipice brink. brandishing their weapons, they climbed on down, shooting as they ran. the curator stopped them with a shell that shook the mountain side like an earthquake and sent a shower of stones rolling down upon their own position. a yell came up from below. nicky had arrived on the slope and was stamping a shelf in the lava stones, sending showers of them rolling on down below him. dwight grabbed the rope and went down after him, leaving his automatic with the curator. the hill men were now sneaking down toward them, exposing themselves only occasionally to the sumpitan and pistol.
“good-by, orang-kaya!” said baderoon, fumbling next at the rope. “me prenty ’fraid—but me go!” he swung himself over and dropped down swiftly.
[178]“you next, sadok. can you manage it?” said the curator, anxiously. the dyak smiled grimly; wounds, weakness, physical disability, were nothing when the spirit commanded. his fearless face showed that his mind could overrule the frailties of his body.
“me do!” he grunted, and down over the cliff he went, his wounded right arm forced to do its part. the curator turned and faced the pygmies.
“fine little men!” he grinned. “some day you will be swept away like chaff—but here’s one explorer who can appreciate you! good-by!”
he swung over and dropped down the rope, hand over hand. the men of that old, old race, centuries before the first papuan came to these shores, were still in his mind as he descended. he regretted that he could not have lived with them peacefully and studied their natures more thoroughly. the ancient civilization of the hunting tribes was theirs, and with it a mental quality that had kept them inviolate among their hills in spite of a ring of hostile papuan savages below them, far superior in stature and numbers to all their tribes put together. like most of the[179] real aborigines of the world, they would well repay study.
when he arrived at the foot of the rope the rest of the party had tramped quite a trail along the foot of the cliff. stones that now showered over from above told them that it was essential to get to the jungle as quickly as possible, and the shortest way was obviously along the cliff base and over the turn of the volcanic cone poured down here by former eruptions.
but nicky looked back at the rope, longingly. he hated to leave all that good equipment behind. the rope part they could dispense with, but without the curator’s hammock and their own tent flies the jungle would be a misery during the afternoon thunderstorms.
“hike along, boys. i’m going to make a try at that rope before they find it and haul it up!”
unmindful of the curator’s expostulations, amid the rain of falling stones, he crouched close to the cliff face and drew out his revolver. most of the stones were dropping far out; it would be a mere chance if he were hit. three times he fired at the knot above the curator’s hammock, a mark perhaps forty[180] feet off. then an arrow struck the rock at his feet with a sharp tang, and, looking up, he saw one of the pygmies leaning far out over the cliff, aiming at him again. the rope had shaken a little at one of the shots and on this faint hope he sprang for the tent fly and tugged fiercely at it. he thought he felt a strand or two of it break and so jumped up on the tent fly, coming down with all his weight. another arrow spun past him. he realized that it was only the peculiarity of having a vertical target that saved him, for the archer above was overshooting him because of it. with a last violent tug the rope strand parted, and nicky sprawled headlong down the lava slope. like a cat he spread-eagled, flattening himself out on the rubble of small stones, and finally he fetched up a considerable distance down the slope.
he was now a mark for a dozen arrows from above and they buzzed at him like hornets. rising, he leaped on down, stabbing with his feet and sending an avalanche of rocks on before him. his strides kept getting longer and longer. a breathless feeling of getting out of control, falling down the slope faster and faster, made him think quick. he must stop himself at any hazard, risk a[181] fall, if need be! he resolved on the latter, and, throwing himself sidewise, came down with a bump that jarred every bone in his body. he saw stars for an instant, but held his consciousness. looking back, he could see that he was far out of range now. rubbing himself painfully, he got up and started to step gingerly from rock to rock across the slope.
but the hill men weren’t done with him yet. a great stone fell over the cliff and came bounding down straight toward him. nicky dodged it, as derisive yells came from up above. two more rocks came whizzing down the slope, bounding like cannon balls. they seemed very terrific, but the boy stood his ground and watched them pass, shooting in a great arc high overhead and landing with a shock against the trees down in the jungle below. he realized that he was not so easy to hit; that all it required was watchfulness and care to win out.
the slope was so steep that he could toss a pebble clear down to the jungle below him, it seemed. rocks, cactus, and century plants covered the hill, the former so unstable that they had to be tested before putting weight on them. as quickly as he could the[182] boy picked his way along the slope, dodging rocks of all sizes flung down from above. shouts of encouragement came from his own party under the cliff, who now were moving along fast, calling for him to hurry. then a yell of warning echoed down from the curator, and nicky looked up, bewildered. the hill men had brought a pole from the jungle and were prying off a whole ledge of stones hanging loosely poised above the cliff edge.
he leaped along like a mountain goat, stumbling and sliding, starting rocks by the dozen. the pygmies had chosen a place where the avalanche would fall right across his path, and he could hear the distant grumble of it as he jumped. desperately his eyes looked below for a refuge, and then he dove for a huge bowlder and fell flat behind it as the roar, it seemed, of the whole slope coming down upon him sounded in his ears. determined to die game, he rose behind his rock as the noise swept down toward him, for he was more afraid that his own rock would start and crush him than anything else, and had determined to leap out at the first sign of its going.
then came the roar of hurtling stones[183] passing over him in a flying cloud of dust. the thunder of it was appalling. his own rock moved with the jar, slightly, and then settled back on its foundations again as nicky recalled the impulse to jump clear. then came a wave of fine pebbles and dust, curling around the ends of his rock and forming a sort of pit around him. showers of small stones cascaded over the top and fell down on him like a rain. it gave him an idea. as the landslide subsided he crouched, hidden behind the rock. anxious calls came from under the cliff, but nicky lay hid. why not pretend that the avalanche had buried him? he only hoped that the curator or dwight would not attempt to come out and rescue him.
the silence up on the cliff was broken by exulting yells, and he could hear them stringing along now above the precipice, searching for the whereabouts of the curator’s party below. if they would only keep on without him!
another “coo-eee!” came from under the cliff. “nicky! are you alive, old scout?” came the yell of dwight’s voice.
he dared not call back. the hill men were too keen, and not easily fooled. he lay quiet, listening. presently the crackle of[184] falling stones and more yells and cries along the cliff told that their party had been located. they were probably retreating along under the cliff as fast as possible. nicky turned and crept down the slope on his stomach, looking back to see that the rock still hid him from sight of the cliff top above. then he worked over behind a small bush and peered up through it. whether there were hill men watching the slope, concealed among the rocks above, he could not tell, but there probably were. the whole north side of the volcano was smoking with the jungle fire and it crept down until the thickets on the verge of the precipice were red with burning trees. he noted with relief that it barred the passage of their pursuers that way, or at least it necessitated a detour, and he hoped that their party had gotten away.
whether to risk exposing himself now was the question. he was alone in the heart of wildest new guinea, and it was necessary to rejoin their party and make a speed back toward the boat, for undoubtedly the hill men knew of a defile down the precipice somewhere which would let them out into no-man’s land. also thunderheads were sweeping up from the south, and it would[185] not be an hour before the afternoon storm would be due.
well, one thing was certain, he ought to let his people know that he was still alive before they got out of hearing. nicky drew his revolver and fired two shots quick with it. a whoop came from up on the mountain. they were watching the slope still! then two shots from dwight’s automatic barked, muffled, from over the shoulder of the cone. it sounded as if from the jungle. they would either wait for him there or circle, the boy reasoned. probably the latter, and he could rejoin them down below at the foot of the slope. and now was the time to run, for he could hear the hill men above calling for their companions and presently the whole tribe would be back.
nicky rose and jumped down the slope. he got a glimpse over his shoulder of two tiny black fellows dancing and hurling rocks impotently, and then gave all his attention to getting down, for the slide was steeper than a log chute. swiftly the jungle seemed to rise up to meet him, and with a final bound he reached the friendly shelter of the trees and darted out of sight.
then, for the first time, his aching, bruised[186] leg forced itself into consciousness and he began to limp. directing shots between him and dwight gave them his location, and then calls and shouts brought them together.
dwight came running through the jungle, grinning with joy.
“gee! old man, we’d given you up for lost!” he yelled, capering about and punching nicky with delight. “got all the plunder with you, too, haven’t you!”
“sure!” gurgled nicky, happily. “that’s what this war’s all about! where’s mr. baldwin?”
“back there a bit, waiting for us,” said dwight. “we got to make time. forced march all night.”
“going to be a wet one, too!” retorted nicky, limping along as a mutter of thunder came rolling up from the south. “we’d better keep the tent flies out.”
they rejoined the curator, who noticed the game leg as soon as nicky came up. “tough luck, kid!” he said, after congratulations had been exchanged. “i’ll have to ask you to grin and bear it as best you can, for we’ve got our work cut out for us to-night!” he drew his compass, took a bearing—and started south, through the jungle!
[187]a general grunt of amazement ran through the party. “why, mr. baldwin, i thought we were to hurry north, so as to get back to the canoe ahead of them!” cried dwight, voicing the feeling of them all.
“well, i’ll tell you,” replied the curator, heading on steadily through the thickets just below the base of the volcanic talus. “it’s a bit of psychology that i’ve been working out. in the first place the pygmies, i’m sure, think as you all thought. they judged by our actions that we were beaten and would think of nothing but hurrying back to the sea again. they will make forced marches, to-night, to head us off, i’ll bet! and then we must reckon on the human nature of our own folks, too. ‘seeing is believing’ is one of the truest old sayings there are. in other words, we’ve simply got to bring back some real specimens of that cinnabar and be able to swear where we got it. no financier that i know will back a company to open up mines on the mere say-so of a red mountain seen eight miles off. i know red mercury ore strata as far as i can see it—but i might be mistaken. suppose it should turn out to be just red clay, or red iron ore!”
“gosh, sir! you’re right!” put in nicky.[188] “i sort of felt that way myself, but i suppose i did not feel it hard enough to really do a stunt like this!”
“sure!” smiled the curator. “it’s the difference between a youth and a man, nick. the youth gets the vague feeling, but he’s as like as not to do nothing about it; the man reasons until he is convinced by the force of logic—then he acts. now i was studying the wall of the great precipice when we were on the brink doing the rope fire-escape trick, with just this idea in mind. there are gaps in this precipice all along it, where the rivers tumble down from the hill country to the low jungle on their way to the sea. i marked one, some distance beyond that first signal fire to the south. it can’t be more than five miles from there in to cinnabar mountain, and the gap’s about five miles from here. can we do ten miles to-night? that’s the question.”
“how about getting past that village?” asked dwight.
“that’s the nice thing about my scheme,” laughed the curator. “i figure that all their fighting men have gone north, long ago, to aid the men of our village in repelling invaders. those signal fires are evidently used to call[189] the clans when war parties of the outanatas attack them. the women and children, and perhaps a few old men, will be all that we are likely to encounter, and we ought to slip by them successfully in the night.”
“won’t they come down our rope and track us, sir?” said nicky. “i’ve been worrying about that, although no one tried it while i was on that slope.”
“you answered that with your revolver, nick!” chuckled the curator. “no man can drop forty feet to that talus and live. of course they may bring up more ropes, in time, but my idea is that all that’s left of them, with perhaps a party of fighting men from this village ahead, are now hot-footing it for some pass that they know of to the north. we’ll be on red mountain and giving them the laugh while they are looking for us up near the lagoon—and let’s hope they fall in with a war party of the outanatas while they are about it! here comes the rain, men,” he broke off. “we’ll make camp and cook something and get a bit of sleep until the moon comes up.”
they chose a spot well hidden in the jungle and the tent flies were spread on poles. a monumental feed was cooked, between nicky’s[190] alcohol burner and a small fire well hidden in the rocks under the tents, while the rain came down in its usual torrential downpour. then they all turned in for some much-needed sleep. by nine o’clock the rain had stopped and a faint light over the jungle promised moonlight through the thinning clouds. the party was roused out and they broke camp, nicky and sadok, who were stiff and sore, being rubbed down with arnica by the curator before setting out. with the tent flies wrapped around them, the three whites set out through the wet jungle, with sadok and baderoon, whose naked skins seemed to revel in the raindrops, leading on ahead.
in an hour they had reached the banks of a small, swift stream, the headwaters of some river that emptied into the sea fifty miles away. alligators, water snakes, and giant frogs plopped into its eddying depths as they came up. the splash and gurgle of waterfalls came from up the slope. pushing along carefully, on the lookout for pythons and snakes of lesser degree, they climbed up along its banks. steeper and more rocky became the gorge through which it defiled. then rocky ledges of black basalt hemmed[191] them in on both sides, and out of the gap cascaded a foaming waterfall.
in the weird moonlight, with the black shadows almost solid to the touch, it seemed to nicky and dwight that that was the most perilous climb they had ever ventured upon. baderoon was quaking with fear and hanging back reluctantly, for he was no hill man, but the curator and the intrepid sadok led on upward, pioneering out the way and hauling them up the steeper ledges by a tent fly let down for a rope. higher and higher they climbed, the jungle falling away below almost vertically, while towering above them rose the walls of the gorge for thousands of feet. it seemed good to be at last buried deep in the cleft, with visions of the awful fate that would befall them below, if any slipped, hid mercifully from sight.
the stream came down in a series of cascades, varied by steep stretches where it sluiced along through deep channels in the rock. at one place they came to a veritable waterwheel where the whole torrent raced down a slope into a shallow basin scooped out of the solid basalt, and it shot up in a roaring pinwheel of water through which not even sadok’s sumpitan could be driven.
[192]above it the walls of the gorge closed in to a narrow cleft, with high, vertical sides. there was no getting past, on either side!
“case of swim!” ejaculated the curator, as they all stopped and looked in at the deep pool filling the cleft from wall to wall like a black ribbon. “get out your flashers, boys. there’s one grain of comfort in it, anyway—no one would ever dream that we’d come up this way!”
they undressed and did up the bundles in the tent flies.
“glory be to mike, there are no anacondas in new guinea!” shivered nicky, looking at the black pool and thinking of former guiana jungle days.
still, it took courage to negotiate that pool! they scanned every inch of the wall for snakes and then plunged in, close together for mutual protection, the flashlights tied atop the boys’ heads with their bandannas, and the packs strapped on their shoulders. it seemed that that pool would never end! its narrow ribbon of still water wound on and on through the cleft, with here and there a ledge or a rock shelf over which the water tumbled in a silent spillway, and where they could get out and rest. from ahead came,[193] louder and louder, the roar of a waterfall. the curator listened uneasily. such a cascade would be a catastrophe, for, if there was no way around it, by no possibility could they get up farther.
they hurried on eagerly, now, anxious to learn their fate, fear of some unknown thing seizing them from under water forgotten. a final pool showed up in the glare of the flashlights. the curator heaved a huge sigh of relief, for the head of the pool was a foaming suds of eddying water into which the stream of the cascade tumbled from above, and—blessed sight!—sticking up out of it was a huge tree, jammed in there by some freshet, its upper end jutting out into the stars which shone through the opening of the cleft!
“praise be!” ejaculated the curator, plunging in. “come here, tree—i love you!”
they all swam over, and one by one crept up the log. a low hail from the curator, and the hissed caution, “lights out!” told them that he had arrived safely in the ravine above. they found him already dressing. they were in a steep, rocky ravine, filled with jungle growth, and out of the bare rocks at last. hastily the boys dressed and made[194] up their packs again. sadok and baderoon had merely to shake themselves and they were ready for further adventures.
“all aboard—and no talking!” whispered the curator, as they pushed on up the ravine. for a mile it climbed steeply, and then sadok halted and pointed silently into the jungle. a well-defined path came down to the brook here; and there were empty gourds and crude pottery jars on the bank.
“we are opposite the second village,” whispered the curator. “step lightly, fellows, and be careful not to break a stick. we’ll bear off to the left, to high ground.”
they went on noiselessly, following the general windings of the creek in the bright moonlight. after another mile of it the curator halted.
“i’ve a hunch that red mountain is somewhere near us by now,” he muttered, cautiously. “nicky, you’re the best climber. swarm up that pandanus, as high as you can get, and take a look-see.”
nicky went over to the tree and was soon up in its branches. below him fell away the lesser growth of the jungle. other tall trees still surrounded him, but as he shinnied up a high branch, at last a vista to the east[195] opened up. for a long time he gazed, with all the exultation of the civilized white man, on an object of immense value to his race, even though surrounded and protected by a ring of savagery. before him, shimmering in the clear moonlight, lay the irregular truncated cone of red mountain, the enormous vein of cinnabar parting its upper half like pink layer cake! black seams of coal measures streaking the mountain face told of the geological period when the mountain was born. behind it piled up the stratified peaks and table-lands of similar mountain formations. the whole story lay clear in the educated, scientific mind of the boy, and he thrilled with its significance. here lay the true geological formation of the interior of dutch new guinea, with red mountain as a last outpost. behind him lay the tremendous fault of the great precipice, with its chain of volcanoes resulting from that mighty crack in the earth’s surface. but before him lay all the mineral wealth of new guinea—coal measures, iron ore, what not—that would make this vast island, the largest in the world—almost a continent—a land of the utmost value to the white race!
coming back to earth from these explorer’s[196] dreams, nicky got out his compass and took the mountain bearing. it was not over two miles from where they were to the slopes of red mountain. between them lay a low, jungle-clad ridge; beyond it a swale or hollow of some kind, and then the slopes themselves. he swarmed down the tree to report, and then they all set out eagerly, in a straight line through the dry, arid thickets.
in half an hour they reached the top of the little ridge, and the curator found a leaning dead tree and climbed out on it for a long, soul-satisfying look for himself. returning, they pitched down into the swale, crossed it, and began to climb. their watches said four o’clock in the morning, so it was necessary to hasten, as they would be in plain sight on that bald spot.
up and up the steep hillside they struggled, bidding the jungle good-by, negotiating shelves and rocky escarpments that turned out to be ledges ten feet high when they came to them. far overhead towered the flat side of the mountain, almost a precipice, and the depths dropping below warned them that it would be mountaineering of the most dangerous kind.
a few more ledges; soul-harrowing crawls[197] up rocky faces to which they clung with feet digging into tiny crevices and fingers clawing desperately at crumbly holds, and they had reached the bottom edge of the vein!
dwight’s pick dug into the rich, red ore, and a lump of translucent scarlet crystals, hard as adamant and surrounded with a matrix of crumbling red ore, fell out into his hand. he passed it to the curator.
“we’ve sure gone through hell for it, sir!” he exclaimed. “i guess we’ve done our bit for new guinea, eh?”
“we sure have!” exclaimed the curator, feelingly. “you and nicky each get a specimen like this and stow it in your packs. and now, fellows, an air line for our camp on the lagoon. we can make it in two days!”
