CHAPTER XV
THE DEATH STONE
As the thrilled and frightened Indian lay prostrate at her feet, hemight well have believed her to be some creature from another world.
Her face was very pale and round it fell in tumultuous glory thecascades of her golden hair. Her dress was torn to shreds by thejagged rocks and there was blood upon the delicate hands that she heldout in pleading to the only living thing she saw-the red man.
He did not move. She stepped nearer and, stooping, gently touched hisshoulder. At the touch he trembled like a leaf, but raised his headand looked at her with terror and awe and adoration in his eyes.
"Won't you help me? I have ben a prisoner in the cave. I must findMr. Haines--Haines, do you hear? Or go to Rockvale--Rockvale," sherepeated, hoping that the names at least he might understand.
He motioned questioningly toward his horse, and, at her nod, he sprangup and brought the animal to her side. Helping her to mount, he tookthe bridle and began to lead the way into the thickly wooded hills.
The journey was slow and arduous, but it was not long. Darkness hadnot yet fallen when the hill trail dipped into a valley, and Pauline'sweary, hopeful eyes looked down upon a village on the plain.
The hope vanished quickly as she realized that the houses of thevillage were teepees and that the people that moved among them werebraves and squaws.
An Indian boy of perhaps twelve years sprang suddenly from a thicketbeside the trail, gave one glance at her, and, with a shriek, set offat full speed toward the teepees.
Cries sounded and resounded from the hills. Tom-toms were beating.She became aware that the Indians were swarming about her andacclaiming her a guest of unusual honor. They stopped her horse at theentrance to Red Snake's teepee. The great chief stepped forth himself,with Big Smoke, the medicine man, close behind him.
The prophet, who had foretold the coming of the Great White Queen, worea mien of pride and triumph, even as he bowed low before Pauline. Butof all the red folk in Shi-wah-ki village, Big Smoke was undoubtedlythe most amazed at the fulfillment of his prophecy.
The braves who were assigned to lift Pauline from her horse and bearher into the Chief's teepee were surprised that one immortal should beso weak as almost to fall into their arms, so weary as to be scarcelyable to walk. But Pauline, seated upon a high pile of furs within theteepee, where the weird light of a fire fell upon her pallid featuresand her flowing hair, presented a picture strange and marvelous.
They gathered around her, Red Snake and the medicine man in the centerof the adobe, the lesser chiefs behind them, and in another circle theranks of the braves.
Even in her utter exhaustion, the savage solemnity of the gatheringfascinated Pauline. Had she been left alone she would have fallenasleep upon the piled furs; but this low muttering, grim-visagedassemblage of the red men forced her to respectful attention. Thatthey honored her, she understood; but she saw, too, that the Indianswere all armed and some of them were painted. As Red Snake arose toaddress the tribe a menacing murmur filled the teepee and the youngchiefs whetted their knives upon the ground.
Red Snake's harangue, unintelligible to Pauline, had an electricaleffect upon the Indians. Frequently as he spoke he turned toward herand always when he did so he bent his head upon his breast and raisedhis mighty arms in token of submission to a power mightier than hisown.
As he finished, Pauline arose, swaying a little from her greatweakness. She shook her head in token that she did not understand.Her outstretched, pleading hands bewildered, but subdued the warlikeassembly.
Red Snake called a ringing summons, and from the rear circle of theaudience shuffled forward the strangest man Pauline had ever seen. Hisundersized, stooping form was garbed in a miner's cast-off red shirt, aranchman's ex-trousers, a pair of tattered moccasins and a much-dentedderby hat, with a lone feather in the band of it. It was White Man'sHat, a half-breed interpreter.
As he approached, cringing and bowing, Pauline noted that apenetrating, not unkindly eye gleamed from under his bushy brow,scrutinizing her in flashes between his obeisances. Unlike the otherIndians, he was not afraid to look the Great White Queen in the face,as he solemnly repeated the last words of Red Snake:
"According to the prophecy, you have come from the heart of the worldto lead us against those who steal our land."
Pauline stood for a moment in complete bewilderment. Then, as themeaning of the words, with the meaning of the strange gathering,flashed upon her mind, she took a step forward, speaking in earnestprotest.
But she spoke only to the Chief, for the Indians had broken allrestraint and were crushing their way out of the teepee, with cries andbrandishing of weapons. They swept the little interpreter with them.And Red Snake saw in Pauline's look and tone of appeal only thepleading of a wronged goddess for vengeance upon her enemies. Hecalled the women of his household, who shyly led the Queen away.
Darkness had fallen as the women glided ahead of her to a spot outsidethe main village, where a spacious teepee had been erected apart. Onlya peaceful moon and a firmament glittering with stars lighted theirpath. But from the town behind came terrifying yells, the rattle oftom-toms and occasionally a rifle shot as the braves prepared theirspirits for the test of battle. Pauline found her new home filled withall the luxuries and sacred relics of the tribe. There were rugsricher than those in the Chief's house; the walls were festooned withstrung beads, and on the large, low couch of bear skins lay the mostsplendid of Indian raiment.
The women, with better understanding than men of the earthly needs ofimmortals, made her lie down, while they bathed her aching temples andwounded hands, replaced her torn garments with a gorgeous blanket robeand smoothed her flying tresses into long comfortable braids. Otherwomen came bringing food. And there was a pipe and a pouch of agencytobacco with which the goddess might soothe the hours before repose.
Pauline ate eagerly while the women looked oil in silent approval.When she had finished, she arose smiling and signed to them that shewould rest. They left softly, and neither the exciting recollectionsof the day's adventures nor the tumult of the braves outside could holdher for a moment longer from the blessedness of sleep.
She slept far into the next morning. But so did the village, for theIndians had reveled to exhaustion. It was nearly noon before sheattired herself in a fringed and beaded dress of buckskin, withleggings and exquisite little moccasins and laughingly permitted one ofthe women attendants to place a painted war feather in her hair. Thusclad and with her wide braids falling, she sat regally to receive themorning call of Red Snake. She was beginning to take a tremulouspleasure in the game of being an immortal. Pauline's questing spiritwas too happy in adventure not to find a thrill in being thustranslated from hungering captive to reigning queen, from queen toangel.
Red Snake's call was formal and politely brief. He brought with himthe amusing interpreter to inquire if the Spirit had found comfort inthe hospitality of his people, and more particularly if the war danceof the preceding night had given her satisfaction.
Pauline replied, with gracious solemnity, that her Spirit had foundgood repose and had been comforted by the pleasant music.
"And when will the White Queen lead us against our enemies--the menof her own color, but not of her kind?" inquired the Chief withchild-like eagerness.
Pauline hesitated an instant after the interpreter repeated thequestion. Then, recovering herself, she answered gravely:
"Today, Red Snake, the Queen rests from her long journey out of theHappy Hunting Ground. Tomorrow also. Upon the next day, perhaps, shewill lead the warriors."
The little interpreter's keen eyes flashed understandingly as he leftout the word "perhaps" in repeating her answer.
Red Snake was elated. He made profound salutations, promised that thewar party would do her honor, and hastened away to announce the news.
The interpreter lingered, pretending to smooth the door rug. He lookedup suddenly and his eyes met Paul
ine's with an expression of friendlyinterest. Instinctively she accepted the tacitly offered friendship.
"You are a white man--you speak English," she said.
"Part white--part red. You speak all white," he addedsignificantly.
"Of course," she whispered, stepping to his side. "I am not a Queen--not a Spirit. I do not know why they believe I am. But I must getaway--to Rockvale, to Mr. Haines's ranch, to the white peopleanywhere. You will help me?"
He looked at her pityingly now. He had believed that she was anaccomplice of the medicine man in a shrewd fraud, and he had merelywanted to share the joke, risky as it was. To find her an accidentaland unwilling monarch struck him dumb.
"That is very hard," he said slowly. "Look!"
He parted the folds of the teepee door curtain so that she looked outtoward the village. Three women sat next the door and beyond weregroups of braves, still in their war paint, some conversing, somestalwart and still. They seemed to be doing nothing in particular.
"Well?" questioned Pauline.
He led her across the teepee to a narrow slit in the rear curtain.Through this she peered as she had peered through the door and sawexactly what she had seen though the door--women crouching at theirtasks in the near foreground, an armed circle of warriors beyond.Now she understood.
"I am a prisoner then?"
"They will guard you night and day."
"Why?"
"It was prophesied that a Great White Queen would come to lead them tobattle. You have come, as the prophet said, and you have promised tolead them to battle. Above all, be proud, and not afraid."
The ioterpreter hesitated a moment.
"There was another White Queen whose coming was prophesied manyhundreds of years ago," he said. "She came. She led the Indiansvictory over other Indians and then she vanished in the strangest way.I would tell you of it--but I am afraid. They say her spirit isalways near. Some day you may know how she vanished."
Before she could speak again, he had glided out of the teepee.
While Pauline was away Harry had planned to accomplish mighty labors.With masculine fatuity he let himself believe--before she went away--that a man can get more work done with his goddess afar than whenCupid has a desk in his office.
It did not take more than thirty-six hours to turn separation intobereavement; not more than forty-eight to turn his "freedom for work"into slavery to the fidgets. The office, instead of a refuge, becamea prison to him. However, he made a pretense of sticking to the grind,and it was not until the Thursday on which his chartings showed Paulinewould arrive at Rockvale that he actually quit and went home.
He slipped into the library to be alone. It was more restful here. Ashe sat in the great leather chair and unfolded a newspaper, theportrait of Pauline smiled brightly down at him in seemingcamaraderie. At his side stood the Mummy so intimately associated withher and his dead father's strange vision from the tomb.
Harry began to read, but he was still nervous to the point ofexcitement, and his thoughts wandered from the words. He was suddenlyconscious of another presence in the room. He let the paper fall andgazed intently at the portrait.
But a moment later, Harry Marvin sprang excitedly from the chair andfairly leaped towards the picture. From somewhere out of the dim airof the library a hand had reached and touched his. It had touched hisshoulder and then, with a commanding finger, had pointed upward at thepicture on the wall.
"The Mummy! It has warned again," gasped Harry. "Polly, Polly!" hecried to the portrait, "I'm coming. Just hold on."
He strode bark to the table and pressed a bell.
"Tell Reynolds to pack me up, Bemis," he charged the astonishedbutler. "Tell him it's for Montana in a rush. Have a machine readyfor me in fifteen minutes."
Even Bemis's constitutional aversion to haste was overridden. He spedinto the hall, calling to the valet, as Harry picked up a telephone.
"Hello, this is H. B. Marvin. I want our private car attached to theChicago flyer," he said. "No matter if it holds up the flyer, I'llhave President Grigsby's authorization in your hands in five minutes.Thank you. Goodbye."
As he reached the door of the machine, a messenger boy turned up thesteps. Harry called to him, took the telegram and read Mrs. Haines'message: "Pauline kidnapped; come at once."
With a muffled ejaculation, he dropped the slip of paper and spranginto the car, which in ten minutes pulled up to the station just as thedisgruntled, but curious trainmen were coupling the luxurious Marviniato the eighteen-hour express.
Owen coming quietly down the steps of the Marvin house, picked up thetelegram which Harry had let fall. Reading it, he smiled, and he wasstill smiling when another messenger boy followed him to the door.Owen took the second message and the smile broadened into an ugly grinas he read:
"Raymond Owen Fifth avenue, New York. All's well. Hicks."
Five days after the disappearance of Pauline, the express stopped againat Rockvale station. As Harry swung from the rear step to the dingyplatform, there were many curious eyes to observe his arrival, but thewatchers were mostly women and children. The men of Rockvale werestill out on the long hunt for Pauline.
Harry hurried first to the station telephone. Sikes had got Mrs.Haines on the wire as soon as the smoke of the express had been sightedten miles away. But all she could tell Harry was that there wasnothing to tell. His lips were set in a hard line as he hung up thereceiver. He asked a few hasty questions of Sikes, hurried across tothe little hotel, paid for a room and hired a horse. Blankets andprovisions strapped behind, he was out and away up the road to themountains within an hour.
And while he urged his sturdy little mount to better speed on hisuncharted journey, Pauline, not twenty miles away, was preparing forthe last journey she might ever make.
The blow had fallen. Her royal place, her immortal power hadvanished.
The Indians had permitted one postponement of the day of battle. Shehad said that the Spirits had spoken to her and warned againstbloodshed upon that day. It should be the second day thereafter theSpirits had said. The Indians were disappointed, but they bowed to theedict.
The morrow passed quietly, but on the next day--the fifth of herroyal captivity--she was summoned from her house by the assembledchiefs in battle paint and feathers. She tried to whisper through thedoorway that the Spirits had forbidden again, but Red Snake answered:
"You are greater than all other Spirits; you will lead us today!"
"Tell them," said Pauline to the interpreter, "that the White Queendoes not lead today!"
Red Snake, his face black with anger, after haranguing the chiefs,turned to Pauline:
"Daughter of the Earth--twice our warriors have been ready for battleand you would not lead them. Today you must go before the Oracle andprove your immortality. The Oracle will tell."
The warriors departed; only the little interpreter remained.
"What does it mean?" cried Pauline.
"It is the race with the Great Death Stone," he answered, and his ownvoice trembled. "But," he whispered, "I will ride. I will try to findhelp. Wait."
He slipped under the back of the teepee. Unseen by the excitedIndians, he made his way to the line of ponies, with lariats and riflesswung from their saddles. He picked one and, mounting, rode slowly outof the village, speaking here and there to the braves he met.
Pauline, left alone, fell upon her knees and prayed.
Harry met Haines and two of his posse on the road to the mountains.
They were on their way back to a general rendezvous ordered by theSheriff, but Harry continued on his way up the mountain.
Mile after mile the little mustang put behind him while the sun wasstill high. On the slope of a hill they came to a crossroads, andHarry, riding almost blindly, reined to the right.
The pony swerved wildly to the left.
Instinctively Harry gave the frightened horse its head.
A half mile farther o
n the animal stopped and sniffed the wind. At thesame instant Harry heard a feeble shout from the road. A weirdlygarbed little half breed lay on the ground holding the bridle of thehorse that had thrown him.
"Ankle gone," he explained. "Riding for help, I help was. You ridenow. White girl--they're killing her up there now."
"White girl? Where? Talk fast, man."
"Two miles over the mountain and down to the valley straight ahead.You go to the bottom of the valley, not to the top--not where theIndians are. Climb tree; take my rope; it's the only chance now."
Harry caught the coiled lariat from the other's saddle and rode as hehad never ridden before. All was vague in his mind, except thatPauline was near, was in peril, and he must reach her.
How, by road and trail, he ever reached the Valley of the Death StoneHarry never knew. Perhaps chance, perhaps some invisible courierguided him to the lonely spot. After long, hard riding he wasattracted by the low rumble of many voices lifted in a sort of chant.Following the voices, he came to the foot of a steep cliff side where along trench, partly of natural formation, partly hewn from the stone,made a chute or runway from mountain top to valley.
At the upper end of the runway a motley band of Indians were engaged insome weird worship. Harry started his horse up the steep in theshelter of the woods. When he came to a spot where a huge tree limbcrossed the runway, he remembered the little half breed's words, "Climbthe tree; it is the only chance."
Almost at the same instant from the midst of the Indian group emergedtwo giant braves carrying a white woman between them. They placed herin the runway. Her golden hair, unbound, floated on the wind.
Harry choked back a cry, threw aside his rifle, caught the lariat, and,swinging up the tree, crawled swiftly out on the overhanging limb.Concealed by the foliage he waited.
A rifle cracked, and, for the first time, he saw that at the top of therunway, behind Pauline, the stood a mighty boulder, almost perfectlyround, the diameter of which--about five feet--fitted the trench sowell that it could roll in it like a ball in a bowling gutter.
None even among the Indians knew how many times the Stone of Death hadrolled and been dragged back again to the top of the cliff. The stainsupon it were unnumbered. Up on its surface was written in blood thedoom of the false prophets and pretending immortals. None had ever wonin the race with the Death Stone.
The crack of the rifle was the signal for a group of red men to pressbehind the stone to free it on its fearful course. It was also thesignal for Pauline to run. Her hair streamed wildly in the wind as shesped, like a frightened deer, down the deadly path.
The rifle sounded again and the Indians heaved the stone into thetrench.
It rumbled as it came on. It gained upon the fleeing girl. They hadplanned to prolong the torture by giving her a hopeless lead.
Dancing, gesticulating, shouting, the Indians watched the race. Onlyone watcher was silent and motionless. Hidden by the leaves he bracedhimself upon the tree limb. For the first moments after the rock wasreleased he had turned sick and dizzy. Now, as they came near--thething relentless but inanimate pursuing the thing helpless, beautifuland most precious to him of all things in the world, not the quiver ofa muscle hindered the desperate task that he had set himself.
A moment later he was sobbing like a child as he half dragged, halfcarried Pauline to his waiting horse. By the magic of luck, by themystery of a protecting Fate, the lariat noose had fallen about hershoulders. To the amazed and terrified Indians up the cliff she hadsoared suddenly, spirit-like, out of the trench and vanished in thefoliage of the tree, while the boulder thundered on, cheated of itsprey.
But swiftly out of the woods upon the open plain below appeared a riderwith a woman clasped before him on the saddle.
The baffled Indians scurried for their horses. They reached thevalley. They gained upon the burdened horseman and his tired horse.They fired as they rode, the bullets spitting venomously in the dustaround Harry and Pauline.
The pony stumbled. Harry jerked it up and it struggled bravely on, butthe cries behind sounded louder.
The bullets hit nearer.
Suddenly the firing increased. There were more cries. And Harry,reining the pony saw, galloping over the ridge to the westward, thefull posse of Hal Haines. They fired as they came. They cut betweenhim and the Indians. He stopped the pony and lifted Pauline to theground.
"My precious one, God bless you and forgive us all," sobbed Mrs. Hainesas Polly was caught in her mothering embrace. "And you--you had tocome all the way from New York to save her," she added, turning toHarry.
"Don't say anything about it, Mrs. Haines," he said in a stagewhisper. "I came out here to rest and avoid publicity."