CHAPTER XXXVIII
IN PHILIP'S WIGWAM
For hours now, Carl had lain hidden in the waist-high grass, staring atthe Seminole camp. The sun had set in a wild red glory in the west,staining dank pool and swamp with the color of blood. The twilightcame and with it the eerie hoot of the great owls whirring by in thedarkness. Unseen things crept silently by. Once a great winged wraithof ghostly white flapped by with a croak, a snowy heron, winging like ashape of Wrath Incarnate, above the crouching man in the grass. Thewheel fires of the Seminoles flared among the live oaks, silhouettingdusky figures and palmetto wigwams.
By the swamp the night darkened. Carl had thrown himself upon thegrass now, his white, haggard face buried upon his arm. Back therescarcely a mile to the east lay the camp of the traders. In themorning they would ride into the Indian camp saddled with bright beadsand colored calicoes. In the morning--Carl shuddered and lay veryquiet, fighting again the ghastly torment that had racked and drivenhim into the melancholy solitude of the Everglades. Now the firelitpalmetto roof of the wigwam he knew to be Diane's seemed somehow, tohis distorted fancy, redder than the others--the color of blood.There, too, was the wigwam of Keela, bringing taunting desire.
A crowd of Seminoles rode into camp and, dismounting, led their horsesaway. Carl watched them gather about the steaming sof-ka kettles onthe fires, handing the spoon from mouth to mouth. One, a tall, broadyoung warrior in tunic and trousers and a broad sombrero--disappearedin a wigwam on the fringe of camp.
A great wave of dizziness and burning nausea swept over Carl. Again hewas conscious of the taut, over-strung ligament droning, droning in hishead. The camp ahead became a meaningless blur of sinister scarletfire, of bloodred wigwams and dusky figures that seemed to dance andlure and mock. The wild wind that bent the grasses, the horriblepersistent hoot of the owl in the cypress tree, the night noises of theblack swamp to the west, all mocked and urged and whispered of thingsunspeakable.
The camp fell quiet. A black moonless sky brooded above the dying campfires. Not until this wild world of swamp and Indian seemed asleep didthe man in the grass stir.
Silently then he crept forward upon hands and knees until he had passedthe first of the Indian wigwams. Here he dropped for a silent intervalof caution into shadow and lay there scarcely breathing. On toward thedoor of Diane's shelter he crept and once more lay inert and quiet.
Thunder rumbled disquietingly off to the east, The wind was rising overthe Glades with a violent rustle of grass and leaves. Now that his armwas nerved at last to its terrible task, it behooved him to hurry, erethe rain and thunder stirred the camp.
Noiselessly he crawled forward again. As he did so a ragged dart oflightning glinted evilly in his eyes. With a leap something boundedfrom the shadows behind him and bore him to the ground.
In the thick pall of darkness, he fought with infernal desperation.The rain came fiercely in great gusts of tearing wind. There was thestrength of a madman to-night in Carl's powerful arms. Relentlessly hebore his assailant to the ground and raised his knife. The lightningflared brilliantly again. With a great, choking cry of unutterablehorror, Carl fell back and flung his knife away.
"Oh, God!" he cried, shaking. "Philip!" He flung himself facedownward on the ground in an agony of abasement.
With a roar of wind and rain the hurricane beat gustily upon thewigwams. Neither man seemed aware of it. Philip, his face white, hadrisen. Now he stood, tall, rigid, towering above the man upon theground, who lay motionless save for the shuddering gusts ofself-revulsion which swept his tortured body.
It was Philip at last who spoke. Bending he touched the other'sshoulder.
"Come," he said. "Diane must not know."
"No," said Carl dully. "No--she must not know. I--I am not myself,Philip, as God is my witness--" He choked, unable to voice the horrorin his heart. A man may not raise the knife of death to his one friendand speak of it with comfort.
Rising, Carl stumbled blindly in the wake of the tall figure stridingon ahead. They halted at last at a wigwam on the fringe of the camp.Philip lighted a lantern, his white face fixed and expressionless asstone.
"You were going to kill her!" he said abruptly.
"Yes," said Carl. He shuddered.
In the silence the storm battered fiercely at the wigwam.
Philip wheeled furiously.
"What is it?" he demanded. "In God's name what threatens her, thateven here in these God-forsaken wilds she is not safe?" He toweredgrim above the crouching man on the floor of the wigwam. "For months Ihave guarded her day and night," he went on fiercely, "from somedamnable mystery and treachery that has almost muddled my life beyondrepair. What is it? Why were you creeping to her wigwam to-night witha knife in your hand?"
Carl flinched beneath the blazing anger and contempt in his eyes. Thedroning in his head grew suddenly to a roar. The nausea flamed againover his body. For a dizzy interval he confused the noise of the stormwith the drone in his head. Philip seized the lantern and bending,stared closely into his white face and haunted eyes.
"You're ill!" he said gently.
"Yes," said Carl. "I--I think so." He met Philip's glance of sympathywith one of wild imploring. It was the man's desperate effort to keepthis one friend from sweeping hostilely out of his life on the wings ofthe dark, impious tempest he had roused himself. To his disorderedbrain nothing else mattered. Philip had trusted him always--and hisknife had menaced Philip. In Philip's hand lay then, though he couldnot know it, the future of the man at his feet. In the silence Carlfell pitifully to shaking.
"Steady, Carl!" exclaimed Philip kindly and setting the lantern down,slipped a strong, reassuring arm about the other's shoulders.
In that second Philip proved his caliber. With big inherent generosityhe saw beyond the bloated mask of brutal passion and resolve.Miraculously he understood and said so. This white, haggard face,marked cruelly with dissipation and suffering, was the face of a man atthe end of the way. In his darkest hour he needed--not an inexorablecensor--but a friend. With heroic effort Philip put aside the evilmemory of the past hour, though his sore heart rebelled.
"Carl," he said gently, "you've got to pull up. You've come to thewall at last. You know what lies on the other side?"
Carl shuddered.
"Yes," he whispered. "Madness--or--or suicide. One of the two mustcome in time."
"Madness or suicide!" repeated Philip slowly and there was a great pityin his eyes.
Carl caught the look and his face grew whiter beneath its tan. Chinand jaw muscles went suddenly taut.
"Philip," he choked, unnerved by the other's gentleness, "youdon't--you can't mean--you believe in me--_yet_?"
"Yes," said Philip steadily. "God help me, I do."
Carl flung himself upon the floor, torn by great dry sobs of agony.Shaking, Philip turned away. Presently Carl grew quieter and fell topouring forth an incoherent recital about a candlestick. From themeaningless raving of the white, drawn lips came at last a singlesentence of lucid revelation. Philip leaped and shook him roughly bythe shoulder.
"Carl, think! think!" he cried fiercely. "For God's sake, think!You--don't know what you are saying!"
But Carl repeated the statement again and again, and Philip's eyes grewsombre. With quick, keen questions he reduced the chaotic yarn toorder.
The wild tale at an end, Carl fell back, limp and very tired.
"In God's name," thundered practical Philip, "why didn't you look inthe other candlestick?"
Carl stared. Then suddenly without a word of warning, he pitchedforward senseless upon the floor.
Philip loosened his clothing, rubbed his icy hands and limbs and bathedhis forehead, but the interval was long and trying before the starkfigure on the floor shuddered slightly and struggled weakly to asitting posture.
"I'm all right now," said Carl dully. "And I've got to go on. I--Ican't meet Diane." He drew something from his pocket and jabbed it in
his arm.
Philip looked on with disapproval.
"No," said Carl, meeting his glance. "No, not so very often, Philip.Just lately, since Sherrill and I camped in the Glades. There'ssomething--something very tight here in my head whenever I growexcited. When it snaps I'm done for a while, but this helps."
Philip's fine, frank mouth was very grim.
"Carl," he said quietly, "off there to the south is the eccentric swamphome of a singular man, a philosopher and a doctor. He's Keela'sfoster father. I've met and smoked with him. I want you to go to himand rest. The Indians do that. He's what you need. And tell himyou're down and out. You'll go--for me?"
"Anywhere," said Carl.
"Tell him about the dope and every other hell-conceived abuse withwhich you've tormented your body. Tell him about the infernaltightness in your head."
"Yes," said Carl.
"But this thing of the candlestick," added Philip bitterly, "tell to noman. You're strong enough to start now?"
"Yes."
Philip left the wigwam. When at length he returned, there was a dark,slight figure at his heels, turbaned and tunicked, a guide whom hetrusted utterly.
A burning wave swept suddenly over Carl's body and left him very cold.Philip could not know, of course.
"Keela will guide you," said Philip. "She could follow the trail withher eyes closed. The horses are saddled at the edge of camp. You'llbe there by daylight."
He smiled and held out his hand and his eyes were encouraging. Thehands of the two men tightened. Carl stumbled blindly away at theheels of the Indian girl. Philip watched them go--watched Keela leadthe way with the lithe, soft tread of a wild animal, and mount--watchedCarl swing heavily into the saddle and follow. Silhouetted darklyagainst the watery moon, the silent riders filed off into theswamp-world to the south. For an instant Philip experienced a suddenflash of misgiving but Philip was just and honorable in all things andhaving disciplined himself to faith in his friend, maintained it.
Then his eyes wandered slowly to the wigwam of Diane. Thinking of thestory of the candle-stick, with his mouth twisted into a queer, wrysmile, Philip fumbled for his pipe.
"_Requiescat in pace_," said Philip, "the hopes of Philip Poynter!"