Title: Red Shadows

Author: Robert E. Howard

* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *

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Language: English

Date first posted: September 2006

Date most recently updated: September 2006



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Red Shadows

Robert E. Howard







Chapter 1. The Coming of Solomon







The moonlight shimmered hazily, making silvery mists of illusion

among the shadowy trees. A faint breeze whispered down the valley,

bearing a shadow that was not of the moon-mist. A faint scent of smoke

was apparent.



The man whose long, swinging strides, unhurried yet unswerving,

had carried him for many a mile since sunrise, stopped suddenly. A

movement in the trees had caught his attention, and he moved silently

toward the shadows, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his long,

slim rapier.



Warily he advanced, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness that

brooded under the trees. This was a wild and menacing country; death

might be lurking under those trees. Then his hand fell away from the

hilt and he leaned forward. Death indeed was there, but not in such

shape as might cause him fear.



"The fires of Hades!" he murmured. "A girl! What has harmed you,

child? Be not afraid of me."



The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the

dark.



"You--who are--you?" her words came in gasps.



"Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in

need." The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the

man.



The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he

knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against

his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet.



"Tell me." His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.



"Le Loup," she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. "He and

his men--descended upon our village--a mile up the valley. They

robbed--slew--burned--"



"That, then, was the smoke I scented," muttered the man. "Go on,

child."



"I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me--and--caught me--" The words died

away in a shuddering silence.



"I understand, child. Then--?"



"Then--he--he--stabbed me--with his dagger--oh, blessed saints!--

mercy--"



Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth,

and touched her brow lightly.



"Dead!" he muttered.



Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A

dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild,

reckless vow, swore no oath by saints or devils.



"Men shall die for this," he said coldly.







Chapter 2. The Lair of the Wolf







"You are a fool!" The words came in a cold snarl that curdled the

hearer's blood.



He who had just been named a fool lowered his eyes sullenly

without answer.



"You and all the others I lead!" The speaker leaned forward, his

fist pounding emphasis on the rude table between them. He was a tall,

rangy-built man, supple as a leopard and with a lean, cruel, predatory

face. His eyes danced and glittered with a kind of reckless mockery.



The fellow spoken to replied sullenly, "This Solomon Kane is a

demon from Hell, I tell you."



"Faugh! Dolt! He is a man--who will die from a pistol ball or a

sword thrust."



"So thought Jean, Juan and La Costa," answered the other grimly.

"Where are they? Ask the mountain wolves that tore the flesh from

their dead bones. Where does this Kane hide? We have searched the

mountains and the valleys for leagues, and we have found no trace. I

tell you, Le Loup, he comes up from Hell. I knew no good would come

from hanging that friar a moon ago."



The Wolf strummed impatiently upon the table. His keen face,

despite lines of wild living and dissipation, was the face of a

thinker. The superstitions of his followers affected him not at all.



"Faugh! I say again. The fellow has found some cavern or secret

vale of which we do not know where he hides in the day."



"And at night he sallies forth and slays us," gloomily commented

the other. "He hunts us down as a wolf hunts deer--by God, Le Loup,

you name yourself Wolf but I think you have met at last a fiercer and

more crafty wolf than yourself! The first we know of this man is when

we find Jean, the most desperate bandit unhung, nailed to a tree with

his own dagger through his breast, and the letters S.L.K. carved upon

his dead cheeks. Then the Spaniard Juan is struck down, and after we

find him he lives long enough to tell us that the slayer is an

Englishman, Solomon Kane, who has sworn to destroy our entire band!

What then? La Costa, a swordsman second only to yourself, goes forth

swearing to meet this Kane. By the demons of perdition, it seems he

met him! For we found his sword-pierced corpse upon a cliff. What now?

Are we all to fall before this English fiend?"



"True, our best men have been done to death by him," mused the

bandit chief. "Soon the rest return from that little trip to the

hermit's; then we shall see. Kane can not hide forever. Then--ha, what

was that?"



The two turned swiftly as a shadow fell across the table. Into the

entrance of the cave that formed the bandit lair, a man staggered. His

eyes were wide and staring; he reeled on buckling legs, and a dark red

stain dyed his tunic. He came a few tottering steps forward, then

pitched across the table, sliding off onto the floor.



"Hell's devils!" cursed the Wolf, hauling him upright and propping

him in a chair. "Where are the rest, curse you?"



"Dead! All dead!"



"How? Satan's curses on you, speak!" The Wolf shook the man

savagely, the other bandit gazing on in wide-eyed horror.



"We reached the hermit's hut just as the moon rose," the man

muttered. "I stayed outside--to watch--the others went in--to torture

the hermit--to make him reveal--the hiding-place--of his gold."



"Yes, yes! Then what?" The Wolf was raging with impatience.



"Then the world turned red--the hut went up in a roar and a red

rain flooded the valley--through it I saw--the hermit and a tall man

clad all in black--coming from the trees--"



"Solomon Kane!" gasped the bandit. "I knew it! I--"



"Silence, fool!" snarled the chief. "Go on!"



"I fled--Kane pursued--wounded me--but I outran--him--got--here--

first--"



The man slumped forward on the table.



"Saints and devils!" raged the Wolf. "What does he look like, this

Kane?"



"Like--Satan--"



The voice trailed off in silence. The dead man slid from the table

to lie in a red heap upon the floor.



"Like Satan!" babbled the other bandit. "I told you! 'Tis the

Horned One himself! I tell you--"



He ceased as a frightened face peered in at the cave entrance.



"Kane?"



"Aye." The Wolf was too much at sea to lie. "Keep close watch, La

Mon; in a moment the Rat and I will join you."



The face withdrew and Le Loup turned to the other.



"This ends the band," said he. "You, I, and that thief La Mon are

all that are left. What would you suggest?"



The Rat's pallid lips barely formed the word: "Flight!"



"You are right. Let us take the gems and gold from the chests and

flee, using the secret passageway."



"And La Mon?"



"He can watch until we are ready to flee. Then--why divide the

treasure three ways?"



A faint smile touched the Rat's malevolent features. Then a sudden

thought smote him.



"He," indicating the corpse on the floor, "said, 'I got here

first.' Does that mean Kane was pursuing him here?" And as the Wolf

nodded impatiently the other turned to the chests with chattering

haste.



The flickering candle on the rough table lighted up a strange and

wild scene. The light, uncertain and dancing, gleamed redly in the

slowly widening lake of blood in which the dead man lay; it danced

upon the heaps of gems and coins emptied hastily upon the floor from

the brass-bound chests that ranged the walls; and it glittered in the

eyes of the Wolf with the same gleam which sparkled from his sheathed

dagger.



The chests were empty, their treasure lying in a shimmering mass

upon the bloodstained floor. The Wolf stopped and listened. Outside

was silence. There was no moon, and Le Loup's keen imagination

pictured the dark slayer, Solomon Kane, gliding through the blackness,

a shadow among shadows. He grinned crookedly; this time the Englishman

would be foiled.



"There is a chest yet unopened," said he, pointing.



The Rat, with a muttered exclamation of surprize, bent over the

chest indicated. With a single, catlike motion, the Wolf sprang upon

him, sheathing his dagger to the hilt in the Rat's back, between the

shoulders. The Rat sagged to the floor without a sound.



"Why divide the treasure two ways?" murmured Le Loup, wiping his

blade upon the dead man's doublet. "Now for La Mon."



He stepped toward the door; then stopped and shrank back.



At first he thought that it was the shadow of a man who stood in

the entrance; then he saw that it was a man himself, though so dark

and still he stood that a fantastic semblance of shadow was lent him

by the guttering candle.



A tall man, as tall as Le Loup he was, clad in black from head to

foot, in plain, close-fitting garments that somehow suited the somber

face. Long arms and broad shoulders betokened the swordsman, as

plainly as the long rapier in his hand. The features of the man were

saturnine and gloomy. A kind of dark pallor lent him a ghostly

appearance in the uncertain light, an effect heightened by the satanic

darkness of his lowering brows. Eyes, large, deep-set and unblinking,

fixed their gaze upon the bandit, and looking into them, Le Loup was

unable to decide what color they were. Strangely, the mephistophelean

trend of the lower features was offset by a high, broad forehead,

though this was partly hidden by a featherless hat.



That forehead marked the dreamer, the idealist, the introvert,

just as the eyes and the thin, straight nose betrayed the fanatic. An

observer would have been struck by the eyes of the two men who stood

there, facing each other. Eyes of both betokened untold deeps of

power, but there the resemblance ceased.



The eyes of the bandit were hard, almost opaque, with a curious

scintillant shallowness that reflected a thousand changing lights and

gleams, like some strange gem; there was mockery in those eyes,

cruelty and recklessness.



The eyes of the man in black, on the other hand, deep-set and

staring from under prominent brows, were cold but deep; gazing into

them, one had the impression of looking into countless fathoms of ice.



Now the eyes clashed, and the Wolf, who was used to being feared,

felt a strange coolness on his spine. The sensation was new to him--a

new thrill to one who lived for thrills, and he laughed suddenly.



"You are Solomon Kane, I suppose?" he asked, managing to make his

question sound politely incurious.



"I am Solomon Kane." The voice was resonant and powerful. "Are you

prepared to meet your God?"



"Why, _Monsieur_," Le Loup answered, bowing, "I assure you I am as

ready as I ever will be. I might ask _Monsieur_ the same question."



"No doubt I stated my inquiry wrongly," Kane said grimly. "I will

change it: Are you prepared to meet your master, the Devil?"



"As to that, _Monsieur_"--Le Loup examined his finger nails with

elaborate unconcern--"I must say that I can at present render a most

satisfactory account to his Horned Excellency, though really I have no

intention of so doing--for a while at least."



Le Loup did not wonder as to the fate of La Mon; Kane's presence

in the cave was sufficient answer that did not need the trace of blood

on his rapier to verify it.



"What I wish to know, _Monsieur_," said the bandit, "is why in the

Devil's name have you harassed my band as you have, and how did you

destroy that last set of fools?"



"Your last question is easily answered, sir," Kane replied. "I

myself had the tale spread that the hermit possessed a store of gold,

knowing that would draw your scum as carrion draws vultures. For days

and nights I have watched the hut, and tonight, when I saw your

villains coming, I warned the hermit, and together we went among the

trees back of the hut. Then, when the rogues were inside, I struck

flint and steel to the train I had laid, and flame ran through the

trees like a red snake until it reached the powder I had placed

beneath the hut floor. Then the hut and thirteen sinners went to Hell

in a great roar of flame and smoke. True, one escaped, but him I had

slain in the forest had not I stumbled and fallen upon a broken root,

which gave him time to elude me."



"_Monsieur_," said Le Loup with another low bow, "I grant you the

admiration I must needs bestow on a brave and shrewd foeman. Yet tell

me this: Why have you followed me as a wolf follows deer?"



"Some moons ago," said Kane, his frown becoming more menacing,

"you and your fiends raided a small village down the valley. You know

the details better than I. There was a girl there, a mere child, who,

hoping to escape your lust, fled up the valley; but you, you jackal of

Hell, you caught her and left her, violated and dying. I found her

there, and above her dead form I made up my mind to hunt you down and

kill you."



"H'm," mused the Wolf. "Yes, I remember the wench. _Mon Dieu_, so

the softer sentiments enter into the affair! _Monsieur_, I had not

thought you an amorous man; be not jealous, good fellow, there are

many more wenches."



"Le Loup, take care!" Kane exclaimed, a terrible menace in his

voice, "I have never yet done a man to death by torture, but by God,

sir, you tempt me!"



The tone, and more especially the unexpected oath, coming as it

did from Kane, slightly sobered Le Loup; his eyes narrowed and his

hand moved toward his rapier. The air was tense for an instant; then

the Wolf relaxed elaborately.



"Who was the girl?" he asked idly. "Your wife?"



"I never saw her before," answered Kane.



_"Nom d'un nom!"_ swore the bandit. "What sort of a man are you,

_Monsieur_, who takes up a feud of this sort merely to avenge a wench

unknown to you?"



"That, sir, is my own affair; it is sufficient that I do so."



Kane could not have explained, even to himself, nor did he ever

seek an explanation within himself. A true fanatic, his promptings

were reasons enough for his actions.



"You are right, _Monsieur_." Le Loup was sparring now for time;

casually he edged backward inch by inch, with such consummate acting

skill that he aroused no suspicion even in the hawk who watched him.

"_Monsieur_," said he, "possibly you will say that you are merely a

noble cavalier, wandering about like a true Galahad, protecting the

weaker; but you and I know different. There on the floor is the

equivalent to an emperor's ransom. Let us divide it peaceably; then if

you like not my company, why--_nom d'un nom!_--we can go our separate

ways."



Kane leaned forward, a terrible brooding threat growing in his

cold eyes. He seemed like a great condor about to launch himself upon

his victim.



"Sir, do you assume me to be as great a villain as yourself?"



Suddenly Le Loup threw back his head, his eyes dancing and leaping

with a wild mockery and a kind of insane recklessness. His shout of

laughter sent the echoes flying.



"Gods of Hell! No, you fool, I do not class you with myself! _Mon

Dieu, Monsieur_ Kane, you have a task indeed if you intend to avenge

all the wenches who have known my favors!"



"Shades of death! Shall I waste time in parleying with this base

scoundrel!" Kane snarled in a voice suddenly blood-thirsting, and his

lean frame flashed forward like a bent bow suddenly released.



At the same instant Le Loup with a wild laugh bounded backward

with a movement as swift as Kane's. His timing was perfect; his back-

flung hands struck the table and hurled it aside, plunging the cave

into darkness as the candle toppled and went out.



Kane's rapier sang like an arrow in the dark as he thrust blindly

and ferociously.



"_Adieu, Monsieur_ Galahad!" The taunt came from somewhere in

front of him, but Kane, plunging toward the sound with the savage fury

of baffled wrath, caromed against a blank wall that did not yield to

his blow. From somewhere seemed to come an echo of a mocking laugh.



Kane whirled, eyes fixed on the dimly outlined entrance, thinking

his foe would try to slip past him and out of the cave; but no form

bulked there, and when his groping hands found the candle and lighted

it, the cave was empty, save for himself and the dead men on the

floor.







Chapter 3. The Chant of the Drums







Across the dusky waters the whisper came: boom, boom, boom!--a

sullen reiteration. Far away and more faintly sounded a whisper of

different timbre: thrum, throom, thrum! Back and forth went the

vibrations as the throbbing drums spoke to each other. What tales did

they carry? What monstrous secrets whispered across the sullen,

shadowy reaches of the unmapped jungle?



"This, you are sure, is the bay where the Spanish ship put in?"



"Yes, _Senhor_; the Negro swears this is the bay where the white

man left the ship alone and went into the jungle."



Kane nodded grimly.



"Then put me ashore here, alone. Wait seven days; then if I have

not returned and if you have no word of me, set sail wherever you

will."



"Yes, _Senhor_."



The waves slapped lazily against the sides of the boat that

carried Kane ashore. The village that he sought was on the river bank

but set back from the bay shore, the jungle hiding it from sight of

the ship.



Kane had adopted what seemed the most hazardous course, that of

going ashore by night, for the reason that he knew, if the man he

sought were in the village, he would never reach it by day. As it was,

he was taking a most desperate chance in daring the nighttime jungle,

but all his life he had been used to taking desperate chances. Now he

gambled his life upon the slim chance of gaining the Negro village

under cover of darkness and unknown to the villagers.



At the beach he left the boat with a few muttered commands, and as

the rowers put back to the ship which lay anchored some distance out

in the bay, he turned and engulfed himself in the blackness of the

jungle. Sword in one hand, dagger in the other, he stole forward,

seeking to keep pointed in the direction from which the drums still

muttered and grumbled.



He went with the stealth and easy movement of a leopard, feeling

his way cautiously, every nerve alert and straining, but the way was

not easy. Vines tripped him and slapped him in the face, impeding his

progress; he was forced to grope his way between the huge boles of

towering trees, and all through the underbrush about him sounded vague

and menacing rustlings and shadows of movement. Thrice his foot

touched something that moved beneath it and writhed away, and once he

glimpsed the baleful glimmer of feline eyes among the trees. They

vanished, however, as he advanced.



Thrum, thrum, thrum, came the ceaseless monotone of the drums: war

and death (they said); blood and lust; human sacrifice and human

feast! The soul of Africa (said the drums); the spirit of the jungle;

the chant of the gods of outer darkness, the gods that roar and

gibber, the gods men knew when dawns were young, beast-eyed, gaping-

mouthed, huge-bellied, bloody-handed, the Black Gods (sang the drums).



All this and more the drums roared and bellowed to Kane as he

worked his way through the forest. Somewhere in his soul a responsive

chord was smitten and answered. You too are of the night (sang the

drums); there is the strength of darkness, the strength of the

primitive in you; come back down the ages; let us teach you, let us

teach you (chanted the drums).



Kane stepped out of the thick jungle and came upon a plainly

defined trail. Beyond through the trees came the gleam of the village

fires, flames glowing through the palisades. Kane walked down the

trail swiftly.



He went silently and warily, sword extended in front of him, eyes

straining to catch any hint of movement in the darkness ahead, for the

trees loomed like sullen giants on each hand; sometimes their great

branches intertwined above the trail and he could see only a slight

way ahead of him.



Like a dark ghost he moved along the shadowed trail; alertly he

stared and harkened; yet no warning came first to him, as a great,

vague bulk rose up out of the shadows and struck him down, silently.







Chapter 4. The Black God







Thrum, thrum, thrum! Somewhere, with deadening monotony, a cadence

was repeated, over and over, bearing out the same theme: "Fool--fool--

fool!" Now it was far away, now he could stretch out his hand and

almost reach it. Now it merged with the throbbing in his head until

the two vibrations were as one: "Fool--fool--fool--fool--"



The fogs faded and vanished. Kane sought to raise his hand to his

head, but found that he was bound hand and foot. He lay on the floor

of a hut--alone? He twisted about to view the place. No, two eyes

glimmered at him from the darkness. Now a form took shape, and Kane,

still mazed, believed that he looked on the man who had struck him

unconscious. Yet no; this man could never strike such a blow. He was

lean, withered and wrinkled. The only thing that seemed alive about

him were his eyes, and they seemed like the eyes of a snake.



The man squatted on the floor of the hut, near the doorway, naked

save for a loin-cloth and the usual paraphernalia of bracelets,

anklets and armlets. Weird fetishes of ivory, bone and hide, animal

and human, adorned his arms and legs. Suddenly and unexpectedly he

spoke in English.



"Ha, you wake, white man? Why you come here, eh?"



Kane asked the inevitable question, following the habit of the

Caucasian.



"You speak my language--how is that?"



The black man grinned.



"I slave--long time, me boy. Me, N'Longa, ju-ju man, me, great

fetish. No black man like me! You white man, you hunt brother?"



Kane snarled. "I! Brother! I seek a man, yes."



The Negro nodded. "Maybe so you find um, eh?"



"He dies!"



Again the Negro grinned. "Me pow'rful ju-ju man," he announced

apropos of nothing. He bent closer. "White man you hunt, eyes like a

leopard, eh? Yes? Ha! ha! ha! ha! Listen, white man: man-with-eyes-of-

a-leopard, he and Chief Songa make pow'rful palaver; they blood

brothers now. Say nothing, I help you; you help me, eh?"



"Why should you help me?" asked Kane suspiciously.



The ju-ju man bent closer and whispered, "White man Songa's right-

hand man; Songa more pow'rful than N'Longa. White man mighty ju-ju!

N'Longa's white brother kill man--with-eyes-of-a-leopard, be blood

brother to N'Longa, N'Longa be more pow'rful than Songa; palaver set."



And like a dusky ghost he floated out of the hut so swiftly that

Kane was not sure but that the whole affair was a dream.



Without, Kane could see the flare of fires. The drums were still

booming, but close at hand the tones merged and mingled, and the

impulse-producing vibrations were lost. All seemed a barbaric clamor

without rhyme or reason, yet there was an undertone of mockery there,

savage and gloating. "Lies," thought Kane, his mind still swimming,

"jungle lies like jungle women that lure a man to his doom."



Two warriors entered the hut--black giants, hideous with paint and

armed with crude spears. They lifted the white man and carried him out

of the hut. They bore him across an open space, leaned him upright

against a post and bound him there. About him, behind him and to the

side, a great semicircle of black faces leered and faded in the

firelight as the flames leaped and sank. There in front of him loomed

a shape hideous and obscene--a black, formless thing, a grotesque

parody of the human. Still, brooding, bloodstained, like the formless

soul of Africa, the horror, the Black God.



And in front and to each side, upon roughly carven thrones of

teakwood, sat two men. He who sat upon the right was a black man,

huge, ungainly, a gigantic and unlovely mass of dusky flesh and

muscles. Small, hoglike eyes blinked out over sin-marked cheeks; huge,

flabby red lips pursed in fleshly haughtiness.



The other--



"Ah, _Monsieur_, we meet again." The speaker was far from being

the debonair villain who had taunted Kane in the cavern among the

mountains. His clothes were rags; there were more lines in his face;

he had sunk lower in the years that had passed. Yet his eyes still

gleamed and danced with their old recklessness and his voice held the

same mocking timbre.



"The last time I heard that accursed voice," said Kane calmly,

"was in a cave, in darkness, whence you fled like a hunted rat."



"Aye, under different conditions," answered Le Loup imperturbably.

"What did you do after blundering about like an elephant in the dark?"



Kane hesitated, then: "I left the mountain--"



"By the front entrance? Yes? I might have known you were too

stupid to find the secret door. Hoofs of the Devil, had you thrust

against the chest with the golden lock, which stood against the wall,

the door had opened to you and revealed the secret passageway through

which I went."



"I traced you to the nearest port and there took ship and followed

you to Italy, where I found you had gone."



"Aye, by the saints, you nearly cornered me in Florence. Ho! ho!

ho! I was climbing through a back window while _Monsieur_ Galahad was

battering down the front door of the tavern. And had your horse not

gone lame, you would have caught up with me on the road to Rome.

Again, the ship on which I left Spain had barely put out to sea when

_Monsieur_ Galahad rides up to the wharfs. Why have you followed me

like this? I do not understand."



"Because you are a rogue whom it is my destiny to kill," answered

Kane coldly. He did not understand. All his life he had roamed about

the world aiding the weak and fighting oppression, he neither knew nor

questioned why. That was his obsession, his driving force of life.

Cruelty and tyranny to the weak sent a red blaze of fury, fierce and

lasting, through his soul. When the full flame of his hatred was

wakened and loosed, there was no rest for him until his vengeance had

been fulfilled to the uttermost. If he thought of it at all, he

considered himself a fulfiller of God's judgment, a vessel of wrath to

be emptied upon the souls of the unrighteous. Yet in the full sense of

the word Solomon Kane was not wholly a Puritan, though he thought of

himself as such.



Le Loup shrugged his shoulders. "I could understand had I wronged

you personally. _Mon Dieu!_ I, too, would follow an enemy across the

world, but, though I would have joyfully slain and robbed you, I never

heard of you until you declared war on me."



Kane was silent, his still fury overcoming him. Though he did not

realize it, the Wolf was more than merely an enemy to him; the bandit

symbolized, to Kane, all the things against which the Puritan had

fought all his life: cruelty, outrage, oppression and tyranny.



Le Loup broke in on his vengeful meditations. "What did you do

with the treasure, which--gods of Hades!--took me years to accumulate?

Devil take it, I had time only to snatch a handful of coins and

trinkets as I ran."



"I took such as I needed to hunt you down. The rest I gave to the

villages which you had looted."



"Saints and the devil!" swore Le Loup. "_Monsieur_, you are the

greatest fool I have yet met. To throw that vast treasure--by Satan, I

rage to think of it in the hands of base peasants, vile villagers!

Yet, ho! ho! ho! ho! they will steal, and kill each other for it! That

is human nature."



"Yes, damn you!" flamed Kane suddenly, showing that his conscience

had not been at rest. "Doubtless they will, being fools. Yet what

could I do? Had I left it there, people might have starved and gone

naked for lack of it. More, it would have been found, and theft and

slaughter would have followed anyway. You are to blame, for had this

treasure been left with its rightful owners, no such trouble would

have ensued."



The Wolf grinned without reply. Kane not being a profane man, his

rare curses had double effect and always startled his hearers, no

matter how vicious or hardened they might be.



It was Kane who spoke next. "Why have you fled from me across the

world? You do not really fear me."



"No, you are right. Really I do not know; perhaps flight is a

habit which is difficult to break. I made my mistake when I did not

kill you that night in the mountains. I am sure I could kill you in a

fair fight, yet I have never even, ere now, sought to ambush you.

Somehow I have not had a liking to meet you, _Monsieur_--a whim of

mine, a mere whim. Then--_mon Dieu!_--mayhap I have enjoyed a new

sensation--and I had thought that I had exhausted the thrills of life.

And then, a man must either be the hunter or the hunted. Until now,

_Monsieur_, I was the hunted, but I grew weary of the role--I thought

I had thrown you off the trail."



"A Negro slave, brought from this vicinity, told a Portugal ship

captain of a white man who landed from a Spanish ship and went into

the jungle. I heard of it and hired the ship, paying the captain to

bring me here."



"_Monsieur_, I admire you for your attempt, but you must admire

me, too! Alone I came into this village, and alone among savages and

cannibals I--with some slight knowledge of the language learned from a

slave aboard ship--I gained the confidence of King Songa and

supplanted that mummer, N'Longa. I am a braver man than you,

_Monsieur_, for I had no ship to retreat to, and a ship is waiting for

you."



"I admire your courage," said Kane, "but you are content to rule

amongst cannibals--you the blackest soul of them all. I intend to

return to my own people when I have slain you."



"Your confidence would be admirable were it not amusing. Ho,

Gulka!"



A giant Negro stalked into the space between them. He was the

hugest man that Kane had ever seen, though he moved with catlike ease

and suppleness. His arms and legs were like trees, and the great,

sinuous muscles rippled with each motion. His apelike head was set

squarely between gigantic shoulders. His great, dusky hands were like

the talons of an ape, and his brow slanted back from above bestial

eyes. Flat nose and great, thick red lips completed this picture of

primitive, lustful savagery.



"That is Gulka, the gorilla-slayer," said Le Loup. "He it was who

lay in wait beside the trail and smote you down. You are like a wolf,

yourself, _Monsieur_ Kane, but since your ship hove in sight you have

been watched by many eyes, and had you had all the powers of a

leopard, you had not seen Gulka nor heard him. He hunts the most

terrible and crafty of all beasts, in their native forests, far to the

north, the beasts-who-walk-like-men--as that one, whom he slew some

days since."



Kane, following Le Loup's fingers, made out a curious, manlike

thing, dangling from a roof-pole of a hut. A jagged end thrust through

the thing's body held it there. Kane could scarcely distinguish its

characteristics by the firelight, but there was a weird, humanlike

semblance about the hideous, hairy thing.



"A female gorilla that Gulka slew and brought to the village,"

said Le Loup.



The giant black slouched close to Kane and stared into the white

man's eyes. Kane returned his gaze somberly, and presently the Negro's

eyes dropped sullenly and he slouched back a few paces. The look in

the Puritan's grim eyes had pierced the primitive hazes of the

gorilla-slayer's soul, and for the first time in his life he felt

fear. To throw this off, he tossed a challenging look about; then,

with unexpected animalness, he struck his huge chest resoundingly,

grinned cavernously and flexed his mighty arms. No one spoke.

Primordial bestiality had the stage, and the more highly developed

types looked on with various feelings of amusement, tolerance or

contempt.



Gulka glanced furtively at Kane to see if the white man was

watching him, then with a sudden beastly roar, plunged forward and

dragged a man from the semicircle. While the trembling victim

screeched for mercy, the giant hurled him upon the crude altar before

the shadowy idol. A spear rose and flashed, and the screeching ceased.

The Black God looked on, his monstrous features seeming to leer in the

flickering firelight. He had drunk; was the Black God pleased with the

draft--with the sacrifice?



Gulka stalked back, and stopping before Kane, flourished the

bloody spear before the white man's face.



Le Loup laughed. Then suddenly N'Longa appeared. He came from

nowhere in particular; suddenly he was standing there, beside the post

to which Kane was bound. A lifetime of study of the art of illusion

had given the ju-ju man a highly technical knowledge of appearing and

disappearing--which after all, consisted only in timing the audience's

attention.



He waved Gulka aside with a grand gesture, and the gorilla-man

slunk back, apparently to get out of N'Longa's gaze--then with

incredible swiftness he turned and struck the ju-ju man a terrific

blow upon the side of the head with his open hand. N'Longa went down

like a felled ox, and in an instant he had been seized and bound to a

post close to Kane. An uncertain murmuring rose from the Negroes,

which died out as King Songa stared angrily toward them.



Le Loup leaned back upon his throne and laughed uproariously.



"The trail ends here, _Monsieur_ Galahad. That ancient fool

thought I did not know of his plotting! I was hiding outside the hut

and heard the interesting conversation you two had. Ha! ha! ha! ha!

The Black God must drink, _Monsieur_, but I have persuaded Songa to

have you two burnt; that will be much more enjoyable, though we shall

have to forego the usual feast, I fear. For after the fires are lit

about your feet the devil himself could not keep your carcasses from

becoming charred frames of bone."



Songa shouted something imperiously, and blacks came bearing wood,

which they piled about the feet of N'Longa and Kane. The ju-ju man had

recovered consciousness, and he now shouted something in his native

language. Again the murmuring arose among the shadowy throng. Songa

snarled something in reply.



Kane gazed at the scene almost impersonally. Again, somewhere in

his soul, dim primal deeps were stirring, age-old thought memories,

veiled in the fogs of lost eons. He had been here before, thought

Kane; he knew all this of old--the lurid flames beating back the

sullen night, the bestial faces leering expectantly, and the god, the

Black God, there in the shadows! Always the Black God, brooding back

in the shadows. He had known the shouts, the frenzied chant of the

worshipers, back there in the gray dawn of the world, the speech of

the bellowing drums, the singing priests, the repellent, inflaming,

all-pervading scent of freshly spilt blood. All this have I known,

somewhere, sometime, thought Kane; now I am the main actor--



He became aware that someone was speaking to him through the roar

of the drums; he had not realized that the drums had begun to boom

again. The speaker was N'Longa:



"Me pow'rful ju-ju man! Watch now: I work mighty magic. Songa!"

His voice rose in a screech that drowned out the wildly clamoring

drums.



Songa grinned at the words N'Longa screamed at him. The chant of

the drums now had dropped to a low, sinister monotone and Kane plainly

heard Le Loup when he spoke:



"N'Longa says that he will now work that magic which it is death

to speak, even. Never before has it been worked in the sight of living

men; it is the nameless ju-ju magic. Watch closely, _Monsieur_;

possibly we shall be further amused." The Wolf laughed lightly and

sardonically.



A black man stooped, applying a torch to the wood about Kane's

feet. Tiny jets of flame began to leap up and catch. Another bent to

do the same with N'Longa, then hesitated. The ju-ju man sagged in his

bonds; his head drooped upon his chest. He seemed dying.



Le Loup leaned forward, cursing, "Feet of the Devil! Is the

scoundrel about to cheat us of our pleasure of seeing him writhe in

the flames?"



The warrior gingerly touched the wizard and said something in his

own language.



Le Loup laughed: "He died of fright. A great wizard, by the--"



His voice trailed off suddenly. The drums stopped as if the

drummers had fallen dead simultaneously. Silence dropped like a fog

upon the village and in the stillness Kane heard only the sharp

crackle of the flames whose heat he was beginning to feel.



All eyes were turned upon the dead man upon the altar, _for the

corpse had begun to move!_



First a twitching of a hand, then an aimless motion of an arm, a

motion which gradually spread over the body and limbs. Slowly, with

blind, uncertain gestures, the dead man turned upon his side, the

trailing limbs found the earth. Then, horribly like something being

born, like some frightful reptilian thing bursting the shell of non-

existence, the corpse tottered and reared upright, standing on legs

wide apart and stiffly braced, arms still making useless, infantile

motions. Utter silence, save somewhere a man's quick breath sounded

loud in the stillness.



Kane stared, for the first time in his life smitten speechless and

thoughtless. To his Puritan mind this was Satan's hand manifested.



Le Loup sat on his throne, eyes wide and staring, hand still half-

raised in the careless gesture he was making when frozen into silence

by the unbelievable sight. Songa sat beside him, mouth and eyes wide

open, fingers making curious jerky motions upon the carved arms of the

throne.



Now the corpse was upright, swaying on stiltlike legs, body

tilting far back until the sightless eyes seemed to stare straight

into the red moon that was just rising over the black jungle. The

thing tottered uncertainly in a wide, erratic half-circle, arms flung

out grotesquely as if in balance, then swayed about to face the two

thrones--and the Black God. A burning twig at Kane's feet cracked like

the crash of a cannon in the tense silence. The horror thrust forth a

black foot--it took a wavering step--another. Then with stiff, jerky

and automatonlike steps, legs straddled far apart, the dead man came

toward the two who sat in speechless horror to each side of the Black

God.



"Ah-h-h!" from somewhere came the explosive sigh, from that

shadowy semicircle where crouched the terror-fascinated worshipers.

Straight on stalked the grim specter. Now it was within three strides

of the thrones, and Le Loup, faced by fear for the first time in his

bloody life, cringed back in his chair; while Songa, with a superhuman

effort breaking the chains of horror that held him helpless, shattered

the night with a wild scream and, springing to his feet, lifted a

spear, shrieking and gibbering in wild menace. Then as the ghastly

thing halted not its frightful advance, he hurled the spear with all

the power of his great, black muscles, and the spear tore through the

dead man's breast with a rending of flesh and bone. Not an instant

halted the thing--for the dead die not--and Songa the king stood

frozen, arms outstretched as if to fend off the terror.



An instant they stood so, leaping firelight and eery moonlight

etching the scene forever in the minds of the beholders. The

changeless staring eyes of the corpse looked full into the bulging

eyes of Songa, where were reflected all the hells of horror. Then with

a jerky motion the arms of the thing went out and up. The dead hands

fell on Songa's shoulders. At the first touch, the king seemed to

shrink and shrivel, and with a scream that was to haunt the dreams of

every watcher through all the rest of time, Songa crumpled and fell,

and the dead man reeled stiffly and fell with him. Motionless lay the

two at the feet of the Black God, and to Kane's dazed mind it seemed

that the idol's great, inhuman eyes were fixed upon them with

terrible, still laughter.



At the instant of the king's fall, a great shout went up from the

blacks, and Kane, with a clarity lent his subconscious mind by the

depths of his hate, looked for Le Loup and saw him spring from his

throne and vanish in the darkness. Then vision was blurred by a rush

of black figures who swept into the space before the god. Feet knocked

aside the blazing brands whose heat Kane had forgotten, and dusky

hands freed him; others loosed the wizard's body and laid it upon the

earth. Kane dimly understood that the blacks believed this thing to be

the work of N'Longa, and that they connected the vengeance of the

wizard with himself. He bent, laid a hand on the ju-ju man's shoulder.

No doubt of it: he was dead, the flesh was already cold. He glanced at

the other corpses. Songa was dead, too, and the thing that had slain

him lay now without movement.



Kane started to rise, then halted. Was he dreaming, or did he

really feel a sudden warmth in the dead flesh he touched? Mind

reeling, he again bent over the wizard's body, and slowly he felt

warmness steal over the limbs and the blood begin to flow sluggishly

through the veins again.



Then N'Longa opened his eyes and stared up into Kane's, with the

blank expression of a new-born babe. Kane watched, flesh crawling, and

saw the knowing, reptilian glitter come back, saw the wizard's thick

lips part in a wide grin. N'Longa sat up, and a strange chant arose

from the Negroes.



Kane looked about. The blacks were all kneeling, swaying their

bodies to and fro, and in their shouts Kane caught the word,

"N'Longa!" repeated over and over in a kind of fearsomely ecstatic

refrain of terror and worship. As the wizard rose, they all fell

prostrate.



N'Longa nodded, as if in satisfaction.



"Great ju-ju--great fetish, me!" he announced to Kane. "You see?

My ghost go out--kill Songa--come back to me! Great magic! Great

fetish, me!"



Kane glanced at the Black God looming back in the shadows, at

N'Longa, who now flung out his arms toward the idol as if in

invocation.



I am everlasting (Kane thought the Black God said); I drink, no

matter who rules; chiefs, slayers, wizards, they pass like the ghosts

of dead men through the gray jungle; I stand, I rule; I am the soul of

the jungle (said the Black God).



Suddenly Kane came back from the illusory mists in which he had

been wandering. "The white man! Which way did he flee?"



N'Longa shouted something. A score of dusky hands pointed; from

somewhere Kane's rapier was thrust out to him. The fogs faded and

vanished; again he was the avenger, the scourge of the unrighteous;

with the sudden volcanic speed of a tiger he snatched the sword and

was gone.







Chapter 5. The End of the Red Trail







Limbs and vines slapped against Kane's face. The oppressive steam

of the tropic night rose like mist about him. The moon, now floating

high above the jungle, limned the black shadows in its white glow and

patterned the jungle floor in grotesque designs. Kane knew not if the

man he sought was ahead of him, but broken limbs and trampled

underbrush showed that some man had gone that way, some man who fled

in haste, nor halted to pick his way. Kane followed these signs

unswervingly. Believing in the justice of his vengeance, he did not

doubt that the dim beings who rule men's destinies would finally bring

him face to face with Le Loup.



Behind him the drums boomed and muttered. What a tale they had to

tell this night of the triumph of N'Longa, the death of the black

king, the overthrow of the white-man-with-eyes-like-a-leopard, and a

more darksome tale, a tale to be whispered in low, muttering

vibrations: the nameless ju-ju.



Was he dreaming? Kane wondered as he hurried on. Was all this part

of some foul magic? He had seen a dead man rise and slay and die

again; he had seen a man die and come to life again. Did N'Longa in

truth send his ghost, his soul, his life essence forth into the void,

dominating a corpse to do his will? Aye, N'Longa died a real death

there, bound to the torture stake, and he who lay dead on the altar

rose and did as N'Longa would have done had he been free. Then, the

unseen force animating the dead man fading, N'Longa had lived again.



Yes, Kane thought, he must admit it as a fact. Somewhere in the

darksome reaches of jungle and river, N'Longa had stumbled upon the

Secret--the Secret of controlling life and death, of overcoming the

shackles and limitations of the flesh. How had this dark wisdom, born

in the black and blood-stained shadows of this grim land, been given

to the wizard? What sacrifice had been so pleasing to the Black Gods,

what ritual so monstrous, as to make them give up the knowledge of

this magic? And what thoughtless, timeless journeys had N'Longa taken,

when he chose to send his ego, his ghost, through the far, misty

countries, reached only by death?



There is wisdom in the shadows (brooded the drums), wisdom and

magic; go into the darkness for wisdom; ancient magic shuns the light;

we remember the lost ages (whispered the drums), ere man became wise

and foolish; we remember the beast gods--the serpent gods and the ape

gods and the nameless, the Black Gods, they who drank blood and whose

voices roared through the shadowy hills, who feasted and lusted. The

secrets of life and of death are theirs; we remember, we remember

(sang the drums).



Kane heard them as he hastened on. The tale they told to the

feathered black warriors farther up the river, he could not translate;

but they spoke to him in their own way, and that language was deeper,

more basic.



The moon, high in the dark blue skies, lighted his way and gave

him a clear vision as he came out at last into a glade and saw Le Loup

standing there. The Wolf's naked blade was a long gleam of silver in

the moon, and he stood with shoulders thrown back, the old, defiant

smile still on his face.



"A long trail, _Monsieur_," said he. "It began in the mountains of

France; it ends in an African jungle. I have wearied of the game at

last, _Monsieur_--and you die. I had not fled from the village, even,

save that--I admit it freely--that damnable witchcraft of N'Longa's

shook my nerves. More, I saw that the whole tribe would turn against

me."



Kane advanced warily, wondering what dim, forgotten tinge of

chivalry in the bandit's soul had caused him thus to take his chance

in the open. He half-suspected treachery, but his keen eyes could

detect no shadow of movement in the jungle on either side of the

glade.



"_Monsieur_, on guard!" Le Loup's voice was crisp. "Time that we

ended this fool's dance about the world. Here we are alone."



The men were now within reach of each other, and Le Loup, in the

midst of his sentence, suddenly plunged forward with the speed of

light, thrusting viciously. A slower man had died there, but Kane

parried and sent his own blade in a silver streak that slit Le Loup's

tunic as the Wolf bounded backward. Le Loup admitted the failure of

his trick with a wild laugh and came in with the breath-taking speed

and fury of a tiger, his blade making a white fan of steel about him.



Rapier clashed on rapier as the two swordsmen fought. They were

fire and ice opposed. Le Loup fought wildly but craftily, leaving no

openings, taking advantage of every opportunity. He was a living

flame, bounding back, leaping in, feinting, thrusting, warding,

striking--laughing like a wild man, taunting and cursing.



Kane's skill was cold, calculating, scintillant. He made no waste

movement, no motion not absolutely necessary. He seemed to devote more

time and effort toward defense than did Le Loup, yet there was no

hesitancy in his attack, and when he thrust, his blade shot out with

the speed of a striking snake.



There was little to choose between the men as to height, strength

and reach. Le Loup was the swifter by a scant, flashing margin, but

Kane's skill reached a finer point of perfection. The Wolf's fencing

was fiery, dynamic, like the blast from a furnace. Kane was more

steady--less the instinctive, more the thinking fighter, though he,

too, was a born slayer, with the coordination that only a natural

fighter possessed.



Thrust, parry, a feint, a sudden whirl of blades--



"Ha!" the Wolf sent up a shout of ferocious laughter as the blood

started from a cut on Kane's cheek. As if the sight drove him to

further fury, he attacked like the beast men named him. Kane was

forced back before that blood-lusting onslaught, but the Puritan's

expression did not alter.



Minutes flew by; the clang and clash of steel did not diminish.

Now they stood squarely in the center of the glade, Le Loup untouched,

Kane's garments red with the blood that oozed from wounds on cheek,

breast, arm and thigh. The Wolf grinned savagely and mockingly in the

moonlight, but he had begun to doubt.



His breath came hissing fast and his arm began to weary; who was

this man of steel and ice who never seemed to weaken? Le Loup knew

that the wounds he had inflicted on Kane were not deep, but even so,

the steady flow of blood should have sapped some of the man's strength

and speed by this time. But if Kane felt the ebb of his powers, it did

not show. His brooding countenance did not change in expression, and

he pressed the fight with as much cold fury as at the beginning.



Le Loup felt his might fading, and with one last desperate effort

he rallied all his fury and strength into a single plunge. A sudden,

unexpected attack too wild and swift for the eye to follow, a dynamic

burst of speed and fury no man could have withstood, and Solomon Kane

reeled for the first time as he felt cold steel tear through his body.

He reeled back, and Le Loup, with a wild shout, plunged after him, his

reddened sword free, a gasping taunt on his lips.



Kane's sword, backed by the force of desperation, met Le Loup's in

midair; met, held and wrenched. The Wolf's yell of triumph died on his

lips as his sword flew singing from his hand.



For a fleeting instant he stopped short, arms flung wide as a

crucifix, and Kane heard his wild, mocking laughter peal forth for the

last time, as the Englishman's rapier made a silver line in the

moonlight.



Far away came the mutter of the drums. Kane mechanically cleansed

his sword on his tattered garments. The trail ended here, and Kane was

conscious of a strange feeling of futility. He always felt that, after

he had killed a foe. Somehow it always seemed that no real good had

been wrought; as if the foe had, after all, escaped his just

vengeance.



With a shrug of his shoulders Kane turned his attention to his

bodily needs. Now that the heat of battle had passed, he began to feel

weak and faint from the loss of blood. That last thrust had been

close; had he not managed to avoid its full point by a twist of his

body, the blade had transfixed him. As it was, the sword had struck

glancingly, plowed along his ribs and sunk deep in the muscles beneath

the shoulder blade, inflicting a long, shallow wound.



Kane looked about him and saw that a small stream trickled through

the glade at the far side. Here he made the only mistake of that kind

that he ever made in his entire life. Mayhap he was dizzy from loss of

blood and still mazed from the weird happenings of the night; be that

as it may, he laid down his rapier and crossed, weaponless, to the

stream. There he laved his wounds and bandaged them as best he could,

with strips torn from his clothing.



Then he rose and was about to retrace his steps when a motion

among the trees on the side of the glade where he first entered,

caught his eye. A huge figure stepped out of the jungle, and Kane saw,

and recognized, his doom. The man was Gulka, the gorilla-slayer. Kane

remembered that he had not seen the black among those doing homage to

N'Longa. How could he know the craft and hatred in that dusky,

slanting skull that had led the Negro, escaping the vengeance of his

tribesmen, to trail down the only man he had ever feared? The Black

God had been kind to his neophyte; had led him upon his victim

helpless and unarmed. Now Gulka could kill his man openly--and slowly,

as a leopard kills, not smiting him down from ambush as he had

planned, silently and suddenly.



A wide grin split the Negro's face, and he moistened his lips.

Kane, watching him, was coldly and deliberately weighing his chances.

Gulka had already spied the rapiers. He was closer to them than was

Kane. The Englishman knew that there was no chance of his winning in a

sudden race for the swords.



A slow, deadly rage surged in him--the fury of helplessness. The

blood churned in his temples and his eyes smoldered with a terrible

light as he eyed the Negro. His fingers spread and closed like claws.

They were strong, those hands; men had died in their clutch. Even

Gulka's huge black column of a neck might break like a rotten branch

between them--a wave of weakness made the futility of these thoughts

apparent to an extent that needed not the verification of the

moonlight glimmering from the spear in Gulka's black hand. Kane could

not even have fled had he wished--and he had never fled from a single

foe.



The gorilla-slayer moved out into the glade. Massive, terrible, he

was the personification of the primitive, the Stone Age. His mouth

yawned in a red cavern of a grin; he bore himself with the haughty

arrogance of savage might.



Kane tensed himself for the struggle that could end but one way.

He strove to rally his waning forces. Useless; he had lost too much

blood. At least he would meet his death on his feet, and somehow he

stiffened his buckling knees and held himself erect, though the glade

shimmered before him in uncertain waves and the moonlight seemed to

have become a red fog through which he dimly glimpsed the approaching

black man.



Kane stooped, though the effort nearly pitched him on his face; he

dipped water in his cupped hands and dashed it into his face. This

revived him, and he straightened, hoping that Gulka would charge and

get it over with before his weakness crumpled him to the earth.



Gulka was now about the center of the glade, moving with the slow,

easy stride of a great cat stalking a victim. He was not at all in a

hurry to consummate his purpose. He wanted to toy with his victim, to

see fear come into those grim eyes which had looked him down, even

when the possessor of those eyes had been bound to the death stake. He

wanted to slay, at last, slowly, glutting his tigerish blood-lust and

torture-lust to the fullest extent.



Then suddenly he halted, turned swiftly, facing another side of

the glade. Kane, wondering, followed his glance.



At first it seemed like a blacker shadow among the jungle shadows.

At first there was no motion, no sound, but Kane instinctively knew

that some terrible menace lurked there in the darkness that masked and

merged the silent trees. A sullen horror brooded there, and Kane felt

as if, from that monstrous shadow, inhuman eyes seared his very soul.

Yet simultaneously there came the fantastic sensation that these eyes

were not directed on him. He looked at the gorilla-slayer.



The black man had apparently forgotten him; he stood, half-

crouching, spear lifted, eyes fixed upon that clump of blackness. Kane

looked again. Now there was motion in the shadows; they merged

fantastically and moved out into the glade, much as Gulka had done.

Kane blinked: was this the illusion that precedes death? The shape he

looked upon was such as he had visioned dimly in wild nightmares, when

the wings of sleep bore him back through lost ages.



He thought at first it was some blasphemous mockery of a man, for

it went erect and was tall as a tall man. But it was inhumanly broad

and thick, and its gigantic arms hung nearly to its misshapen feet.

Then the moonlight smote full upon its bestial face, and Kane's mazed

mind thought that the thing was the Black God coming out of the

shadows, animated and blood-lusting. Then he saw that it was covered

with hair, and he remembered the manlike thing dangling from the roof-

pole in the native village. He looked at Gulka.



The Negro was facing the gorilla, spear at the charge. He was not

afraid, but his sluggish mind was wondering over the miracle that

brought this beast so far from his native jungles.



The mighty ape came out into the moonlight and there was a

terrible majesty about his movements. He was nearer Kane than Gulka

but he did not seem to be aware of the white man. His small, blazing

eyes were fixed on the black man with terrible intensity. He advanced

with a curious swaying stride.



Far away the drums whispered through the night, like an

accompaniment to this grim Stone Age drama. The savage crouched in the

middle of the glade, but the primordial came out of the jungle with

eyes bloodshot and blood-lusting. The Negro was face to face with a

thing more primitive than he. Again ghosts of memories whispered to

Kane: you have seen such sights before (they murmured), back in the

dim days, the dawn days, when beast and beast-man battled for

supremacy.



Gulka moved away from the ape in a half-circle, crouching, spear

ready. With all his craft he was seeking to trick the gorilla, to make

a swift kill, for he had never before met such a monster as this, and

though he did not fear, he had begun to doubt. The ape made no attempt

to stalk or circle; he strode straight forward toward Gulka.



The black man who faced him and the white man who watched could

not know the brutish love, the brutish hate that had driven the

monster down from the low, forest-covered hills of the north to follow

for leagues the trail of him who was the scourge of his kind--the

slayer of his mate, whose body now hung from the roof-pole of the

Negro village.



The end came swiftly, almost like a sudden gesture. They were

close, now, beast and beast-man; and suddenly, with an earth-shaking

roar, the gorilla charged. A great hairy arm smote aside the thrusting

spear, and the ape closed with the Negro. There was a shattering sound

as of many branches breaking simultaneously, and Gulka slumped

silently to the earth, to lie with arms, legs and body flung in

strange, unnatural positions. The ape towered an instant above him,

like a statue of the primordial triumphant.



Far away Kane heard the drums murmur. The soul of the jungle, the

soul of the jungle: this phrase surged through his mind with

monotonous reiteration.



The three who had stood in power before the Black God that night,

where were they? Back in the village where the drums rustled lay

Songa--King Songa, once lord of life and death, now a shriveled corpse

with a face set in a mask of horror. Stretched on his back in the

middle of the glade lay he whom Kane had followed many a league by

land and sea. And Gulka the gorilla-slayer lay at the feet of his

killer, broken at last by the savagery which had made him a true son

of this grim land which had at last overwhelmed him.



Yet the Black God still reigned, thought Kane dizzily, brooding

back in the shadows of this dark country, bestial, blood-lusting,

caring naught who lived or died, so that he drank.



Kane watched the mighty ape, wondering how long it would be before

the huge simian spied and charged him. But the gorilla gave no

evidence of having even seen him. Some dim impulse of vengeance yet

unglutted prompting him, he bent and raised the Negro. Then he

slouched toward the jungle, Gulka's limbs trailing limply and

grotesquely. As he reached the trees, the ape halted, whirling the

giant form high in the air with seemingly no effort, and dashed the

dead man up among the branches. There was a rending sound as a broken

projecting limb tore through the body hurled so powerfully against it,

and the dead gorilla-slayer dangled there hideously.



A moment the clear moon limned the great ape in its glimmer, as he

stood silently gazing up at his victim; then like a dark shadow he

melted noiselessly into the jungle.



Kane walked slowly to the middle of the glade and took up his

rapier. The blood had ceased to flow from his wounds, and some of his

strength was returning, enough, at least, for him to reach the coast

where his ship awaited him. He halted at the edge of the glade for a

backward glance at Le Loup's upturned face and still form, white in

the moonlight, and at the dark shadow among the trees that was Gulka,

left by some bestial whim, hanging as the she-gorilla hung in the

village.



Afar the drums muttered: "The wisdom of our land is ancient; the

wisdom of our land is dark; whom we serve, we destroy. Flee if you

would live, but you will never forget our chant. Never, never," sang

the drums.



Kane turned to the trail which led to the beach and the ship

waiting there.







THE END