Page:Weird Tales Volume 3 Number 2 (1923-02).djvu/61

 ducted us to our sleeping-chamber, a place about twenty feet wide and twenty-five in length. It had one window, over which a mat curtain was hung, gently swaying in the night breeze, as though touched by the hands of hovering spirits.

"A strange business," I observed as the footfall of our host died away on the ear, "strange from beginning to end."

"Keep in the present, Rider," St. Cloud said: "the future is as dark as the visage of that chief—and the end of this business is there."

"One thing," said Henry: "we must keep a sharp lookout this night. Though we seem to have tumbled into clover, there may be treachery afoot."

"Just what I was going to say," Morgan told him. "I have an idea, though, that no harm will come to you if that young lady can prevent it."

Henry frowned; he stood silent.

"I'll keep first watch," I volunteered.

"And I the second," said Henry.

He sat down and stared at a love scene on the wall.

"Make X-rays of your oculi, Rider," admonished St. Cloud as he disposed himself for slumber. "No telling what those gentlemen have planned. I wouldn't put any thing past that confounded chief."

A silence fell, to be broken suddenly by Morgan.

"Wonder if I'll ever get to sleep!" he exclaimed. "Every time I shut my eyes, I see that fellow going down, the poor devil, and the one with his arm hanging over the side of the canoe. What did they attack us like that for? Not a nice thing, I tell you, to kill a man! But—I suppose you'll soon know what it is like."

It was some time ere he fell asleep. Suddenly he begun to mutter in fearful tones, tossing himself about as though struggling to escape some terrifying thing in his dreams.

"The killing haunts his sleep," said Henry. But St. Cloud was not dreaming of that.

"Blanche! Blanche!"

The words brake from his lips in tunes tense with horror.

And it is a fact that, for an instant, I thought some hidden presence there in the room flung the name back at the sleeper in savage mockery. But that, of course, was only the echo.

There he was sleeping in this ruined city, and his dreams took him buck across that awful intermundane abyss to some lost or forsaken terrestrial maid—to whom I did I not know. I had never heard of Blanche, and little did I dream—but that will be set down in its proper place.

The name Blanche was not heard again.

For some time Henry sat there in silence, staring at the wall with eyes that I knew did not see.

"If you're going to hold the second watch," I told him at last, "you'd better be pounding your ear."

"Quite so," he returned.

He looked at me with a curious expression in his eyes.

"By the way, Rider," he began, "that girl—"

I waited, but he did not finish—lay down without saying anything more and soon was fast asleep.

And I fell to pondering on the strangeness of love as I sat there, the Winchester across my knees, senses on the alert—wondering what this girl's love would bring to her and to us.

As Haggard's Nyleptha says, "Passion is like the lightning, it is beautiful, and it links the earth to heaven; but, alas, it blinds!"

Also, alas, it links the earth to hell.

INUTE after minute passed, bringing no sign or sound of treachery. The soft whispering of the breeze stole into the room; once or twice the distant, mournful howl of a dog or wolf was borne to the ear; but, otherwise, a profound silence brooded over this place of ruin and darkness, a silence deep as though never broken by the footfall of man or beast.

At the expiration of the appointed time, I awoke Henry.

"A quiet watch, Rider?" he asked.

"It may be nothing but fancy," I told him. "but it seems too quiet."

"How so?"

"I can't say; but the place is as silent as a tomb."

"In a way it is. And, indeed, what isn't a tomb? Life feeds on Death: hideous, isn't it, when you think of it that way?"

"I don't," I told him.

"Sleep, Rider," he said; "sleep. The time is not ours to choose, so make the best of it."

"That lamp," I observed, "will soon burn itself out. Did that old potentate figure on that?"

"It won't matter," he returned lightly. "I've got the flash-light, you know. Sweet dreams, Rider."

As doubtless has been noticed, Henry Quainfan was at times, and sometimes in the most unlikely times, confounded absent-minded; but (lest doubts be entertained as to his watchfulness) it should be remarked that he was a veritable argus when the occasion demanded.

As for my dreams, they were anything but sweet. First came that war canoe driving across the waters, and struggles and horrors that I thought never would end. Then the dark face of that chief appeared, malignant and gibbering, and blood and torture our portion. Horror succeeded horror, until at last I stood in the presence of Draconda herself, when suddenly a cowled thing stalked out of those deep shadows behind her—the sight of it flinging me into shuddering consciousness.

The light of morning was in the place.

"Just going to wake you, Rider," came Henry's voice. "Word was brought a minute ago that breakfast only awaits our presence."

"See a ghost?" St. Cloud smiled at me.

I shivered, in spite of myself.

"I hope it was that," I told him.

It was about three hours before midday when we set out to see the city. In addition to ourselves, there were six persons in our little party. They were: Fagnam, the old priest, who was the head chief also, indeed king; that giant of the evil visage. Molimnos; the girl, whose name was Cynocene; and three others—the last men of no mean importance in the Oham councils but to play no part in what I am to tell.

The city had been surrounded by a strong and lofty wall, now a crumbled ruin, though places were seen which had well withstood the assaults of the ages. Most of the buildings were in ruins, but some, thanks to their Egyptian-like massiveness, were in really excellent condition.

Through this scene of battered grandeur, flowed a small, swift river, the waters of which in past centuries had been confined between embankments of stone. In one place, indeed, it still flowed there; but, smashing its way through this feeble barrier raised by man, it had long ago chosen a course of its own, strewing the place with destruction and ruin.

Undermined by its waters, two-thirds of it fallen, we found what undoubtedly had been the grandest edifice of all—a temple. In this melancholy ruin, were found several fine statues and some wonderful sculptures in basso and alto-rilievo.

We ate our lunch by the stream, under the shade of some noble trees. After a little rest, we resumed our exploration.