Page:Weird Tales Volume 2 Number 2 (1923-09).djvu/56

She seemed rousing, at last. Color had returned to the tender lips. The steadfast, reverent boy who held her, smoothed back a curling tendril of the red-gold hair. Waring, shamefacedly gentle, dropped to his knees and at- tempted to take one of the fragile wrists. His innocent intent was to feel the pulse. But Sigsbee struck at his hand in a flare of resentment which showed that a certain recent incident was neither forgotten nor forgiven. The rebuke was accepted with meek- ness. Waring retreated. He felt less a man at that moment than ever in his life before. The great eyes opened slowly, closed, opened again. The lantern in Tellifer's hand showed a look of frightened doubt -of dawning wonder. She struggled to raise herself. Not one of her freed captives spoke. Perhaps they were all a little curious to see how she would bear herself in the face of this changed situation. They were not left long in doubt. She had risen to a half-crouching position, slender limbs drawn up under her. For a long minute she stared from figure to figure of those about her. They had never seen her show any signs of fear. But now something like abject terror was creeping into the dawn-blue eyes. With a quick jerk of the head, she glanced behind her. The solicitous face of the youngest "cave-man" at her back seemed to reassure her not at all. She looked down, fingered the gold bangles on the edge of her jaguar-hide tunic, raised the Pan's pipes, still firmly clasped in one hand, inspected the fate- ful instrument-and- It happened so quickly that five wise, intelligent men had plunged into a fresh indiscretion before they had time to think about it. With a low cry, the girl flung the Pan's pipes from her. The slender, gathered limbs shot her erect. She sprang sideways, ducked under War- ing's arm, upflung to check her, and was off across the court! They had seen her dance. This was their first opportunity to see her run. The quondam captives charged after, but the shadow of a flying cloud would have been as easy to catch. The door in the southeastern wall stood open. It closed with a clang be- fore the pursuers had crossed half the intervening space. Reaching it, they learned that the illusive one's panic had been genuine. She had not paused to bar the door behind her. It had even swung open again an inch or so. SUNFIRE Hurled wide, it revealed a long flight of descending stairs. Tellifer held the lantern high. Part way down the flight, a flash of starlike jewels-the flirt of a flying jaguar-hide tunic. Discretion? The masculine fever of the hunt had them now. Four unshaven, wild-eyed cave-men and one civilized and freshly enthused esthete plunged reck- lessly down in pursuit of the flying tunic. CHAPTER FIFTEEN DOWN THE STAIR THE descent proved not so deep as it had seemed from above. Thirty seconds brought the pursuers to a blank wall and a landing. The flirting tunic had flashed around the corner ahead of them. They turned after it. The landing proved to mark a right-angular turn in the stair. Not very far ahead now the starry jewels glittered and bobbed to the flying leaps of their wearer. Suddenly there was a sharper plunge-a shrill cry. Tellifer's long legs had carried him into the lead, but now the youngest "cave-man" cleared four steps at a bound and took the lead away from him. "She's fallen!" guish of solicitude. By the time the Sigsbee's voice wailed back in an an- lantern caught up with him again he had reached a second landing-had gathered in his arms a slender, softly-moaning form that lay there. Tellifer arrived, panting. He raised the lantern. Sigsbee stared down at the form his arms guarded. He made a queer little choking sound in his throat. Then, not roughly, but with considerable haste, he laid the form down on the stone land- ing. As he did so, its lower limbs trailed limply, but a clawlike hand at the end of a scrawny arm darted scratchingly up- ward. A quick jerk of the head just saved Sigsbee's cheek from mutilation. The toothless mouth of the creature he had laid down mowed and chattered wordlessly. Gray, ragged locks strayed from beneath a circlet of glittering stars. The spotted jaguar-hide was clasped over scrawny, yellowish shoulders. The con- torted face glared up with terrible eyes eyes that had feasted long on cruelty and raged now, aware that their years of evil power were spent, but dying with a frank, though wordless, curse for the victims that had escaped. The claw-hand made another dash for Sigsbee's face-flung back-beat upon the floor convulsively. A shuddering heave of the upper body-a strangled, gurgling sound- 55 "Dead!" said Waring a minute later. "Broken spine. It's the old hag I saw. But how, in God's name where'd the girl get to?" The question was more interesting than any of them cared to admit. De- scending those two flights of stairs, they had passed no doorway nor openings of any kind through which she might have turned aside and eluded them. course, there was the possibility of some disguised, secret passage. Yet, if so, why had the old woman not retreated by the same road? Of It was a question which poor Sigsbee made not even an effort to answer. He was very white, looked strangely older. He was shivering in the dank, breath- less chill that enveloped them. There were no sounds down here, nor any light, save that of Tellifer's lantern. This lower landing was really the foot of the stair. Off from it opened a triangular arch. Standing in the arch, they found themselves peering into what seemed a great, eight-sided vault or chamber. The lantern did not suffice to illuminate the far walls, but those near- by were chiseled in colossal forms of women, dancing as the girl had danced, charming loathsome monsters with their Pan's pipes. The place, damp as an underground tomb, contained no furnishings. The only signs of human occupation were several vague heaps of what appeared to be clothing. On investigation, the explorers found stacked there an accumulation of divers garments in as many stages of freshness and mouldering rot as marked the derc- lict fleet on the lake. Most were trade- cloth shirts and more or less ragged trousers, such as the rubber-workers wear. There were also better outfits that bespoke the white man. The cassock of a Jesuit priest was among them, falling apart with great age. Also, the heavy costume and hood which told them that the gray hydro-airplane on the lake might wait in vain for the return of its pilot. The five found their own clothing, and also their weapons stacked on a great pile that included the rust-caked, muz- zle-loading guns of dead seringueiros, some modern weapons ruined by the damp, a reed blow-pipe, and a great, badly warped bow of raripari wood with a quiver of long arrows. Nothing of theirs was missing. John B. even found and restored to the na- turalist his precious shell-rims. But the vault reeked and dripped with malodor- ous dampness. The rotting garments ex- haled a breath as from the tomb of their former owners.