Harry, in desperation, hurled his weight upon the two, and at once found his strength of small avail. He was tossed hither and thither, and was more than once in danger of being hurled over the edge.
At last, not without difficulty, he disengaged himself, recognizing that he did no further good than risk his life. He saw also that his revolver was quite useless. He dared not fire, even at the closest range.
It was then that Fernando somehow managed to release the other"s hold, and sprang sharply to his feet. The sheikh was on him again like a wild cat, and had him by the throat. Putting forth the whole of his colossal strength, the Black Dog forced the other backward.
Nearer and nearer to the edge of the precipice the four feet shuffled, until the guide actually tottered on the brink.
Harry stood by--a helpless spectator, petrified with horror. The terror of the situation had taken his breath away. It was as if he had lost all power and all sensation of his limbs. Then, with a loud cry, Fernando, hurled from the Black Dog"s powerful grasp, plunged feet foremost over the cliff.
And as he fell he grasped the air with frantic, clutching hands, in an agony of brief despair. His left fist closed upon nothing, but his right laid hold upon the long, flowing robes of his opponent.
On the instant the Black Dog was jerked off his feet. He tried to save himself by throwing his weight backward--a quick, spasmodic action that proved that he retained his presence of mind to the end. He was too late, however. His shoulder struck the tooth-like edge of the precipice--and, in a flash, he was gone.
Harry Urquhart felt the strength suddenly go from his knees. Unable any longer to stand, he sank down into a sitting position on the narrow, perilous path. His heart was beating like a hammer; for a moment he thought that he would faint.
He dared not look down into the abyss. It was all too horrible to think of. He sat still and listened, while the sun sank beyond the mountains, and darkness crept into the valley. A great silence reigned among the hills that was like the silence of the tomb.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV--The Sunstone Found
More than an hour elapsed before Harry Urquhart had the power to move.
The whole tragedy had been far more terrible than any nightmare, and yet he felt just like a little child that awakens suddenly in the night, to find himself still confronted with those horrid possibilities that can only occur in dreams.
Night crept into the valley from the east. The glow in the heavens died out, and one by one the stars appeared, and a great full moon, luminous and white. The boy crept to the edge of the precipice and looked over.
He could see nothing; it was too dark to see. The whole valley was still.
This silence was fearful in itself. It seemed to Harry that he was the only living thing in the world. There were no voices in the night; in the valley there was no sound of bird or beast or human being.
Harry rose to his feet, and, step by step, aided by the moonlight, cautiously returned to the spur by way of which he had come. He was still quite unnerved. He dared not go near the edge of the precipice; as he advanced he clutched the mountain-side. When he came to the spur he clambered down among the rocks in such haste that the perspiration stood in beads upon his brow. And then a feeling of weakness overcame him again; and, seating himself upon the ground, he endeavoured to think matters out.
He tried to realize the full significance of what had happened. Fernando had fulfilled his oath: he had brought about the death of the Black Dog of the Cameroons. But he himself had perished also, and the Sunstone had been lost. And all had happened in the s.p.a.ce of a few seconds, about which it was terrifying even to think.
Above all else, Harry Urquhart wanted someone to talk to; he wanted to hear the sound of a human voice. He was still like a child awakened from a nightmare. The loneliness of this great, howling wilderness was crushing, overpowering. With his nerves overwrought, his courage shaken, the eternal silence got the better of his feelings, and suddenly, burying his face in his hands, he burst forth into tears.
He knew not why he cried. His tears were not tears of sorrow. He cried because he had pa.s.sed through a great ordeal, because he had been face to face with Death. And, in that sense, every teardrop was the word of a prayer to the G.o.d who controls the destinies of men.
Then, mastering his emotion, he rose to his feet and went on--he knew not whither. After a time he came to a stream, and there he stopped, wondering what to do.
There was food in his haversack, but he felt no inclination to eat. He went down on his knees, and drank deeply. The water was very cold.
When he had quenched his thirst, which was like the thirst that accompanies a fever, he felt refreshed. He even scorned himself for having been so weak. It was then that he looked about him.
He was shut in on all sides by the great inhospitable mountains. Above was a clear sky, bespangled with a mult.i.tude of stars, in the midst of which the full moon shone down into the valley. Then he saw another star, solitary, large as a planet, lower than the others. It was a star that seemed to shine from out of the heart of the mountains.
It was some minutes before he realized what it was. Then the truth came upon him as in a flash. It was not a star at all, but a camp-fire that was burning on the hill-side.
The thought that he was not alone in this desolate and silent region was like the nectar of the G.o.ds to one who is faint and weary. The boy cared not in the least who camped on the mountainside; he decided to find out for himself. If they were savages, they could murder him; it would matter little to him. If they were friendly, they might allow him to warm himself by the side of the glowing embers. At any rate he would hear some kind of human speech.
It took him three hours to reach the fire, where he found two men, seated facing one another. A cry of exultation escaped his lips when he recognized Jim Braid and the younger guide.
At once Cortes sprang to his feet as if alarmed.
"Where is my brother?" he asked.
Harry tried to speak, but was not able to do so. He sank down by the side of the fire.
"Some calamity has happened!"
Harry bowed his head.
"And the Black Dog?" asked Cortes.
"He also is dead," said Harry, speaking for the first time.
"Dead!" cried Cortes, without expression in his voice.
"Yes," said Harry. "And the Sunstone is lost, and von Hardenberg will starve to death in the Caves of Zoroaster."
Cortes seated himself once more upon the ground, extending his hands towards the fire. There were no tears in his eyes; his voice was without a tremor.
"When you feel able to do so," said he, turning his face to Harry, "will you please tell me what happened."
Harry related the story from beginning to end. He told how Fernando and himself had followed the sheikh across the mountains, and of how they had run the man to earth upon a narrow ledge at the top of an enormous cliff. He then described the struggle that had taken place, with its grim and terrible conclusion.
When the boy had finished speaking, Cortes looked up at the moon.
"In four hours," said he, "it will be daylight. We can do nothing till then. When the dawn comes we will search for the bodies."
At that he lay down upon the ground, but it was evident he had no intention of going to sleep.
He had shown little or no emotion on hearing of his brother"s death.
There was black blood in his veins, and, with the more savage races, death is a simple and everyday affair. For all that, there is no reason to suppose that he did not feel the great loss he had sustained.
A long time elapsed before Harry, too, was able to sleep. And, when at last he did so, he was for ever struggling on the brink of an unfathomable abyss, so that he was little rested when at daybreak he was awakened by Cortes.
Without waiting for food, they set out at once upon their way, pa.s.sing slowly down the hill-side. They soon reached the stream, and thence turned to the south. It was Harry who led the way. When he judged that they were parallel to the place where the tragedy had happened, they crossed the stream and walked straight for the cliff.
At the foot of the precipice was a kind of terrace, upon which grew scattered trees, about the roots of one of which were boulders. Lying on his back, across one of these rocks, they found the body of the Black Dog of the Cameroons.
The two boys looked away whilst the guide examined the body, and then, stooping, picked up something from the ground. Presently Cortes touched Harry on the arm.
The boy turned and set eyes upon the Sunstone.