← catalogue

The Monster Men

by Edgar Rice Burroughs · English · Gutenberg #96 · 339,428 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monster Men
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Monster Men

Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs


        
Release date: January 1, 1994 [eBook #96]
                Most recently updated: June 25, 2022

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/96

Credits: Judith Boss and John Hamm


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONSTER MEN ***




The Monster Men

by Edgar Rice Burroughs


Contents

 1 THE RIFT
 2 THE HEAVY CHEST
 3 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
 4 A NEW FACE
 5 TREASON
 6 TO KILL!
 7 THE BULL WHIP
 8 THE SOUL OF NUMBER 13
 9 INTO SAVAGE BORNEO
 10 DESPERATE CHANCE
 11 “I AM COMING!”
 12 PERFIDY
 13 BURIED TREASURE
 14 MAN OR MONSTER?
 15 TOO LATE
 16 SING SPEAKS
 17 999 PRISCILLA




1
THE RIFT


As he dropped the last grisly fragment of the dismembered and mutilated
body into the small vat of nitric acid that was to devour every trace
of the horrid evidence which might easily send him to the gallows, the
man sank weakly into a chair and throwing his body forward upon his
great, teak desk buried his face in his arms, breaking into dry,
moaning sobs.

Beads of perspiration followed the seams of his high, wrinkled
forehead, replacing the tears which might have lessened the pressure
upon his overwrought nerves. His slender frame shook, as with ague, and
at times was racked by a convulsive shudder. A sudden step upon the
stairway leading to his workshop brought him trembling and wide eyed to
his feet, staring fearfully at the locked and bolted door.

Although he knew perfectly well whose the advancing footfalls were, he
was all but overcome by the madness of apprehension as they came softly
nearer and nearer to the barred door. At last they halted before it, to
be followed by a gentle knock.

“Daddy!” came the sweet tones of a girl’s voice.

The man made an effort to take a firm grasp upon himself that no
tell-tale evidence of his emotion might be betrayed in his speech.

“Daddy!” called the girl again, a trace of anxiety in her voice this
time. “What _is_ the matter with you, and what _are_ you doing? You’ve
been shut up in that hateful old room for three days now without a
morsel to eat, and in all likelihood without a wink of sleep. You’ll
kill yourself with your stuffy old experiments.”

The man’s face softened.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he replied in a well controlled
voice. “I’ll soon be through now—soon be through—and then we’ll go away
for a long vacation—for a long vacation.”

“I’ll give you until noon, Daddy,” said the girl in a voice which
carried a more strongly defined tone of authority than her father’s
soft drawl, “and then I shall come into that room, if I have to use an
axe, and bring you out—do you understand?”

Professor Maxon smiled wanly. He knew that his daughter was equal to
her threat.

“All right, sweetheart, I’ll be through by noon for sure—by noon for
sure. Run along and play now, like a good little girl.”

Virginia Maxon shrugged her shapely shoulders and shook her head
hopelessly at the forbidding panels of the door.

“My dolls are all dressed for the day,” she cried, “and I’m tired of
making mud pies—I want you to come out and play with me.” But Professor
Maxon did not reply—he had returned to view his grim operations, and
the hideousness of them had closed his ears to the sweet tones of the
girl’s voice.

As she turned to retrace her steps to the floor below Miss Maxon still
shook her head.

“Poor old Daddy,” she mused, “were I a thousand years old, wrinkled and
toothless, he would still look upon me as his baby girl.”

If you chance to be an alumnus of Cornell you may recall Professor
Arthur Maxon, a quiet, slender, white-haired gentleman, who for several
years was an assistant professor in one of the departments of natural
science. Wealthy by inheritance, he had chosen the field of education
for his life work solely from a desire to be of some material benefit
to mankind since the meager salary which accompanied his professorship
was not of sufficient import to influence him in the slightest degree.

Always keenly interested in biology, his almost unlimited means had
permitted him to undertake, in secret, a series of daring experiments
which had carried him so far in advance of the biologists of his day
that he had, while others were still groping blindly for the secret of
life, actually reproduced by chemical means the great phenomenon.

Fully alive to the gravity and responsibilities of his marvellous
discovery he had kept the results of his experimentation, and even the
experiments themselves, a profound secret not only from his colleagues,
but from his only daughter, who heretofore had shared his every hope
and aspiration.

It was the very success of his last and most pretentious effort that
had placed him in the horrifying predicament in which he now found
himself—with the corpse of what was apparently a human being in his
workshop and no available explanation that could possibly be acceptable
to a matter-of-fact and unscientific police.

Had he told them the truth they would have laughed at him. Had he said:
“This is not a human being that you see, but the remains of a
chemically produced counterfeit created in my own laboratory,” they
would have smiled, and either hanged him or put him away with the other
criminally insane.

This phase of the many possibilities which he had realized might be
contingent upon even the partial success of his work alone had escaped
his consideration, so that the first wave of triumphant exultation with
which he had viewed the finished result of this last experiment had
been succeeded by overwhelming consternation as he saw the thing which
he had created gasp once or twice with the feeble spark of life with
which he had endowed it, and expire—leaving upon his hands the corpse
of what was, to all intent and purpose, a human being, albeit a most
grotesque and misshapen thing.

Until nearly noon Professor Maxon was occupied in removing the
remaining stains and evidences of his gruesome work, but when he at
last turned the key in the door of his workshop it was to leave behind
no single trace of the successful result of his years of labor.

The following afternoon found him and Virginia crossing the station
platform to board the express for New York. So quietly had their plans
been made that not a friend was at the train to bid them farewell—the
scientist felt that he could not bear the strain of attempting
explanations at this time.

But there were those there who recognized them, and one especially who
noted the lithe, trim figure and beautiful face of Virginia Maxon
though he did not know even the name of their possessor. It was a tall
well built young man who nudged one of his younger companions as the
girl crossed the platform to enter her Pullman.

“I say, Dexter,” he exclaimed, “who is that beauty?”

The one addressed turned in the direction indicated by his friend.

“By jove!” he exclaimed. “Why it’s Virginia Maxon and the professor,
her father. Now where do you suppose they’re going?”

“I don’t know—now,” replied the first speaker, Townsend J. Harper, Jr.,
in a half whisper, “but I’ll bet you a new car that I find out.”

A week later, with failing health and shattered nerves, Professor Maxon
sailed with his daughter for a long ocean voyage, which he hoped would
aid him in rapid recuperation, and permit him to forget the nightmare
memory of those three horrible days and nights in his workshop.

He believed that he had reached an unalterable decision never again to
meddle with the mighty, awe inspiring secrets of creation; but with
returning health and balance he found himself viewing his recent
triumph with feelings of renewed hope and anticipation.

The morbid fears superinduced by the shock following the sudden demise
of the first creature of his experiments had given place to a growing
desire to further prosecute his labors until enduring success had
crowned his efforts with an achievement which he might exhibit with
pride to the scientific world.

His recent disastrous success had convinced him that neither Ithaca nor
any other abode of civilization was a safe place to continue his
experiments, but it was not until their cruising had brought them among
the multitudinous islands of the East Indies that the plan occurred to
him that he finally adopted—a plan the outcome of which could he then
have foreseen would have sent him scurrying to the safety of his own
country with the daughter who was to bear the full brunt of the horrors
it entailed.

They were steaming up the China Sea when the idea first suggested
itself, and as he sat idly during the long, hot days the thought grew
upon him, expanding into a thousand wonderful possibilities, until it
became crystalized into what was a little short of an obsession.

The result was that at Manila, much to Virginia’s surprise, he
announced the abandonment of the balance of their purposed voyage,
taking immediate return passage to Singapore. His daughter did not
question him as to the cause of this change in plans, for since those
three days that her father had kept himself locked in his workroom at
home the girl had noticed a subtle change in her parent—a marked
disinclination to share with her his every confidence as had been his
custom since the death of her mother.

While it grieved her immeasurably she was both too proud and too hurt
to sue for a reestablishment of the old relations. On all other topics
than his scientific work their interests were as mutual as formerly,
but by what seemed a manner of tacit agreement this subject was taboo.
And so it was that they came to Singapore without the girl having the
slightest conception of her father’s plans.

Here they spent nearly a month, during which time Professor Maxon was
daily engaged in interviewing officials, English residents and a motley
horde of Malays and Chinamen.

Virginia met socially several of the men with whom her father was
engaged but it was only at the last moment that one of them let drop a
hint of the purpose of the month’s activity. When Virginia was present
the conversation seemed always deftly guided from the subject of her
father’s immediate future, and she was not long in discerning that it
was in no sense through accident that this was true. Thereafter her
wounded pride made easy the task of those who seemed combined to keep
her in ignorance.

It was a Dr. von Horn, who had been oftenest with her father, who gave
her the first intimation of what was forthcoming. Afterward, in
recollecting the conversation, it seemed to Virginia that the young man
had been directed to break the news to her, that her father might be
spared the ordeal. It was evident then that he expected opposition, but
the girl was too loyal to let von Horn know if she felt other than in
harmony with the proposal, and too proud to evince by surprise the fact
that she was not wholly conversant with its every detail.

“You are glad to be leaving Singapore so soon?” he had asked, although
he knew that she had not been advised that an early departure was
planned.

“I am rather looking forward to it,” replied Virginia.

“And to a protracted residence on one of the Pamarung Islands?”
continued von Horn.

“Why not?” was her rather non-committal reply, though she had not the
remotest idea of their location.

Von Horn admired her nerve though he rather wished that she would ask
some questions—it was difficult making progress in this way. How could
he explain the plans when she evinced not the slightest sign that she
was not already entirely conversant with them?

“We doubt if the work will be completed under two or three years,”
answered the doctor. “That will be a long time in which to be isolated
upon a savage little speck of land off the larger but no less savage
Borneo. Do you think that your bravery is equal to the demands that
will be made upon it?”

Virginia laughed, nor was there the slightest tremor in its note.

“I am equal to whatever fate my father is equal to,” she said, “nor do
I think that a life upon one of these beautiful little islands would be
much of a hardship—certainly not if it will help to promote the success
of his scientific experiments.”

She used the last words on a chance that she might have hit upon the
true reason for the contemplated isolation from civilization. They had
served their purpose too in deceiving von Horn who was now half
convinced that Professor Maxon must have divulged more of their plans
to his daughter than he had led the medical man to believe. Perceiving
her advantage from the expression on the young man’s face, Virginia
followed it up in an endeavor to elicit the details.

The result of her effort was the knowledge that on the second day they
were to sail for the Pamarung Islands upon a small schooner which her
father had purchased, with a crew of Malays and lascars, and von Horn,
who had served in the American navy, in command. The precise point of
destination was still undecided—the plan being to search out a suitable
location upon one of the many little islets which dot the western shore
of the Macassar Strait.

Of the many men Virginia had met during the month at Singapore von Horn
had been by far the most interesting and companionable. Such time as he
could find from the many duties which had devolved upon him in the
matter of obtaining and outfitting the schooner, and signing her two
mates and crew of fifteen, had been spent with his employer’s daughter.

The girl was rather glad that he was to be a member of their little
company, for she had found him a much travelled man and an interesting
talker with none of the, to her, disgusting artificialities of the
professional ladies’ man. He talked to her as he might have talked to a
man, of the things that interest intelligent people regardless of sex.

There was never any suggestion of familiarity in his manner; nor in his
choice of topics did he ever ignore the fact that she was a young girl.
She had felt entirely at ease in his society from the first evening
that she had met him, and their acquaintance had grown to a very
sensible friendship by the time of the departure of the Ithaca—the
rechristened schooner which was to carry them away to an unguessed
fate.

The voyage from Singapore to the Islands was without incident. Virginia
took a keen delight in watching the Malays and lascars at their work,
telling von Horn that she had to draw upon her imagination but little
to picture herself a captive upon a pirate ship—the half naked men, the
gaudy headdress, the earrings, and the fierce countenances of many of
the crew furnishing only too realistically the necessary savage
setting.

A week spent among the Pamarung Islands disclosed no suitable site for
the professor’s camp, nor was it until they had cruised up the coast
several miles north of the equator and Cape Santang that they found a
tiny island a few miles off the coast opposite the mouth of a small
river—an island which fulfilled in every detail their requirements.

It was uninhabited, fertile and possessed a clear, sweet brook which
had its source in a cold spring in the higher land at the island’s
center. Here it was that the Ithaca came to anchor in a little harbor,
while her crew under von Horn, and the Malay first mate, Bududreen,
accompanied Professor Maxon in search of a suitable location for a
permanent camp.

The cook, a harmless old Chinaman, and Virginia were left in sole
possession of the Ithaca.

Two hours after the departure of the men into the jungle Virginia heard
the fall of axes on timber and knew that the site of her future home
had been chosen and the work of clearing begun. She sat musing on the
strange freak which had prompted her father to bury them in this savage
corner of the globe; and as she pondered there came a wistful
expression to her eyes, and an unwonted sadness drooped the corners of
her mouth.

Of a sudden she realized how wide had become the gulf between them now.
So imperceptibly had it grown since those three horrid days in Ithaca
just prior to their departure for what was to have been but a few
months’ cruise that she had not until now comprehended that the old
relations of open, good-fellowship had gone, possibly forever.

Had she needed proof of the truth of her sad discovery it had been
enough to point to the single fact that her father had brought her here
to this little island without making the slightest attempt to explain
the nature of his expedition. She had gleaned enough from von Horn to
understand that some important scientific experiments were to be
undertaken; but what their nature she could not imagine, for she had
not the slightest conception of the success that had crowned her
father’s last experiment at Ithaca, although she had for years known of
his keen interest in the subject.

The girl became aware also of other subtle changes in her father. He
had long since ceased to be the jovial, carefree companion who had
shared with her her every girlish joy and sorrow and in whom she had
confided both the trivial and momentous secrets of her childhood. He
had become not exactly morose, but rather moody and absorbed, so that
she had of late never found an opportunity for the cozy chats that had
formerly meant so much to them both. There had been too, recently, a
strange lack of consideration for herself that had wounded her more
than she had imagined. Today there had been a glaring example of it in
his having left her alone upon the boat without a single European
companion—something that he would never have thought of doing a few
months before.

As she sat speculating on the strange change which had come over her
father her eyes had wandered aimlessly along the harbor’s entrance; the
low reef that protected it from the sea, and the point of land to the
south, that projected far out into the strait like a gigantic index
finger pointing toward the mainland, the foliage covered heights of
which were just visible above the western horizon.

Presently her attention was arrested by a tossing speck far out upon
the rolling bosom of the strait. For some time the girl watched the
object until at length it resolved itself into a boat moving head on
toward the island. Later she saw that it was long and low, propelled by
a single sail and many oars, and that it carried quite a company.

Thinking it but a native trading boat, so many of which ply the
southern seas, Virginia viewed its approach with but idle curiosity.
When it had come to within half a mile of the anchorage of the Ithaca,
and was about to enter the mouth of the harbor Sing Lee’s eyes chanced
to fall upon it. On the instant the old Chinaman was electrified into
sudden and astounding action.

“Klick! Klick!” he cried, running toward Virginia. “Go b’low, klick.”

“Why should I go below, Sing?” queried the girl, amazed by the demeanor
of the cook.

“Klick! Klick!” he urged grasping her by the arm—half leading, half
dragging her toward the companion-way. “Plilates! Mlalay plilates—Dyak
plilates.”

“Pirates!” gasped Virginia. “Oh Sing, what can we do?”

“You go b’low. Mebbyso Sing flighten ’em. Shoot cannon. Bling help.
Maxon come klick. Bling men. Chase’m ’way,” explained the Chinaman.
“But plilates see ’em pletty white girl,” he shrugged his shoulders and
shook his head dubiously, “then old Sing no can flighten ’em ’way.”

The girl shuddered, and crouching close behind Sing hurried below. A
moment later she heard the boom of the old brass six pounder which for
many years had graced the Ithaca’s stern. In the bow Professor Maxon
had mounted a modern machine gun, but this was quite beyond Sing’s
simple gunnery. The Chinaman had not taken the time to sight the
ancient weapon carefully, but a gleeful smile lit his wrinkled, yellow
face as he saw the splash of the ball where it struck the water almost
at the side of the prahu.

Sing realized that the boat might contain friendly natives, but he had
cruised these waters too many years to take chances. Better kill a
hundred friends, he thought, than be captured by a single pirate.

At the shot the prahu slowed up, and a volley of musketry from her crew
satisfied Sing that he had made no mistake in classifying her. Her fire
fell short as did the ball from the small cannon mounted in her bow.

Virginia was watching the prahu from one of the cabin ports. She saw
the momentary hesitation and confusion which followed Sing’s first
shot, and then to her dismay she saw the rowers bend to their oars
again and the prahu move swiftly in the direction of the Ithaca.

It was apparent that the pirates had perceived the almost defenseless
condition of the schooner. In a few minutes they would be swarming the
deck, for poor old Sing would be entirely helpless to repel them. If
Dr. von Horn were only there, thought the distracted girl. With the
machine gun alone he might keep them off.

At the thought of the machine gun a sudden resolve gripped her. Why not
man it herself? Von Horn had explained its mechanism to her in detail,
and on one occasion had allowed her to operate it on the voyage from
Singapore. With the thought came action. Running to the magazine she
snatched up a feed-belt, and in another moment was on deck beside the
astonished Sing.

The pirates were skimming rapidly across the smooth waters of the
harbor, answering Sing’s harmless shots with yells of derision and
wild, savage war cries. There were, perhaps, fifty Dyaks and
Malays—fierce, barbaric men; mostly naked to the waist, or with
war-coats of brilliant colors. The savage headdress of the Dyaks, the
long, narrow, decorated shields, the flashing blades of parang and kris
sent a shudder through the girl, so close they seemed beneath the
schooner’s side.

“What do? What do?” cried Sing in consternation. “Go b’low. Klick!” But
before he had finished his exhortation Virginia was racing toward the
bow where the machine gun was mounted. Tearing the cover from it she
swung the muzzle toward the pirate prahu, which by now was nearly
within range above the vessel’s side—a moment more and she would be too
close to use the weapon upon the pirates.

Virginia was quick to perceive the necessity for haste, while the
pirates at the same instant realized the menace of the new danger which
confronted them. A score of muskets belched forth their missiles at the
fearless girl behind the scant shield of the machine gun. Leaden
pellets rained heavily upon her protection, or whizzed threateningly
about her head—and then she got the gun into action.

At the rate of fifty a minute, a stream of projectiles tore into the
bow of the prahu when suddenly a richly garbed Malay in the stern rose
to his feet waving a white cloth upon the point of his kris. It was the
Rajah Muda Saffir—he had seen the girl’s face and at the sight of it
the blood lust in his breast had been supplanted by another.

At sight of the emblem of peace Virginia ceased firing. She saw the
tall Malay issue a few commands, the oarsmen bent to their work, the
prahu came about, making off toward the harbor’s entrance. At the same
moment there was a shot from the shore followed by loud yelling, and
the girl turned to see her father and von Horn pulling rapidly toward
the Ithaca.




2
THE HEAVY CHEST


Virginia and Sing were compelled to narrate the adventure of the
afternoon a dozen times. The Chinaman was at a loss to understand what
had deterred the pirates at the very threshold of victory. Von Horn
thought that they had seen the reinforcements embarking from the shore,
but Sing explained that that was impossible since the Ithaca had been
directly between them and the point at which the returning crew had
entered the boats.

Virginia was positive that her fusillade had frightened them into a
hasty retreat, but again Sing discouraged any such idea when he pointed
to the fact that another instant would have carried the prahu close to
the Ithaca’s side and out of the machine gun’s radius of action.

The old Chinaman was positive that the pirates had some ulterior motive
for simulating defeat, and his long years of experience upon pirate
infested waters gave weight to his opinion. The weak spot in his
argument was his inability to suggest a reasonable motive. And so it
was that for a long time they were left to futile conjecture as to the
action that had saved them from a bloody encounter with these
bloodthirsty sea wolves.

For a week the men were busy constructing the new camp, but never again
was Virginia left without a sufficient guard for her protection. Von
Horn was always needed at the work, for to him had fallen the entire
direction of matters of importance that were at all of a practical
nature. Professor Maxon wished to watch the building of the houses and
the stockade, that he might offer such suggestions as he thought
necessary, and again the girl noticed her father’s comparative
indifference to her welfare.

She had been shocked at his apathy at the time of the pirate attack,
and chagrined that it should have been necessary for von Horn to have
insisted upon a proper guard being left with her thereafter.

The nearer the approach of the time when he might enter again upon
those experiments which had now been neglected for the better part of a
year the more self absorbed and moody became the professor. At times he
was scarcely civil to those about him, and never now did he have a
pleasant word or a caress for the daughter who had been his whole life
but a few short months before.

It often seemed to Virginia when she caught her father’s eyes upon her
that there was a gleam of dislike in them, as though he would have been
glad to have been rid of her that she might not in any way embarrass or
interfere with his work.

The camp was at last completed, and on a Saturday afternoon all the
heavier articles from the ship had been transported to it. On the
following Monday the balance of the goods was to be sent on shore and
the party were to transfer their residence to their new quarters.

Late Sunday afternoon a small native boat was seen rounding the point
at the harbor’s southern extremity, and after a few minutes it drew
alongside the Ithaca. There were but three men in it—two Dyaks and a
Malay. The latter was a tall, well built man of middle age, of a sullen
and degraded countenance. His garmenture was that of the ordinary Malay
boatman, but there was that in his mien and his attitude toward his
companions which belied his lowly habiliments.

In answer to von Horn’s hail the man asked if he might come aboard and
trade; but once on the deck it developed that he had brought nothing
wherewith to trade. He seemed not the slightest disconcerted by this
discovery, stating that he would bring such articles as they wished
when he had learned what their requirements were.

The ubiquitous Sing was on hand during the interview, but from his
expressionless face none might guess what was passing through the
tortuous channels of his Oriental mind. The Malay had been aboard
nearly half an hour talking with von Horn when the mate, Bududreen,
came on deck, and it was Sing alone who noted the quickly concealed
flash of recognition which passed between the two Malays.

The Chinaman also saw the gleam that shot into the visitor’s eye as
Virginia emerged from the cabin, but by no word or voluntary outward
sign did the man indicate that he had even noticed her. Shortly
afterward he left, promising to return with provisions the following
day. But it was to be months before they again saw him.

That evening as Sing was serving Virginia’s supper he asked her if she
had recognized their visitor of the afternoon.

“Why no, Sing,” she replied, “I never saw him before.”

“Sh!” admonished the celestial. “No talkee so strong, wallee have ear
all same labbit.”

“What do you mean, Sing?” asked the girl in a low voice. “How perfectly
weird and mysterious you are. Why you make the cold chills run up my
spine,” she ended, laughing. But Sing did not return her smile as was
his custom.

“You no lememba tallee Lajah stand up wavee lite clothee in plilate
boat, ah?” he urged.

“Oh, Sing,” she cried, “I do indeed! But unless you had reminded me I
should never have thought to connect him with our visitor of today—they
do look very much alike, don’t they?”

“Lookeelike! Ugh, they all samee one man. Sing know. You lookee out,
Linee,” which was the closest that Sing had ever been able to come to
pronouncing Virginia.

“Why should I look out? He doesn’t want me,” said the girl, laughingly.

“Don’t you bee too damee sure ’bout lat, Linee,” was Sing’s inelegant
but convincing reply, as he turned toward his galley.

The following morning the party, with the exception of three Malays who
were left to guard the Ithaca, set out for the new camp. The journey
was up the bed of the small stream which emptied into the harbor, so
that although fifteen men had passed back and forth through the jungle
from the beach to the camp every day for two weeks, there was no sign
that human foot had ever crossed the narrow strip of sand that lay
between the dense foliage and the harbor.

The gravel bottom of the rivulet made fairly good walking, and as
Virginia was borne in a litter between two powerful lascars it was not
even necessary that she wet her feet in the ascent of the stream to the
camp. The distance was short, the center of the camp being but a mile
from the harbor, and less than half a mile from the opposite shore of
the island which was but two miles at its greatest breadth, and two and
a quarter at its greatest length.

At the camp Virginia found that a neat clearing had been made upon a
little tableland, a palisade built about it, and divided into three
parts; the most northerly of which contained a small house for herself
and her father, another for von Horn, and a common cooking and eating
house over which Sing was to preside.

The enclosure at the far end of the palisade was for the Malay and
lascar crew and there also were quarters for Bududreen and the Malay
second mate. The center enclosure contained Professor Maxon’s workshop.
This compartment of the enclosure Virginia was not invited to inspect,
but as members of the crew carried in the two great chests which the
professor had left upon the Ithaca until the last moment, Virginia
caught a glimpse of the two buildings that had been erected within this
central space—a small, square house which was quite evidently her
father’s laboratory, and a long, low thatched shed divided into several
compartments, each containing a rude bunk. She wondered for whom they
could be intended. Quarters for all the party had already been arranged
for elsewhere, nor, thought she, would her father wish to house any in
such close proximity to his workshop, where he would desire absolute
quiet and freedom from interruption. The discovery perplexed her not a
little, but so changed were her relations with her father that she
would not question him upon this or any other subject.

As the two chests were being carried into the central campong, Sing,
who was standing near Virginia, called her attention to the fact that
Bududreen was one of those who staggered beneath the weight of the
heavier burden.

“Bludleen, him mate. Why workee alsame lascar boy? Eh?” But Virginia
could give no reason.

“I am afraid you don’t like Bududreen, Sing,” she said. “Has he ever
harmed you in any way?”

“Him? No, him no hurt Sing. Sing poor,” with which more or less
enigmatical rejoinder the Chinaman returned to his work. But he
muttered much to himself the balance of the day, for Sing knew that a
chest that strained four men in the carrying could contain but one
thing, and he knew that Bududreen was as wise in such matters as he.

For a couple of months the life of the little hidden camp went on
peacefully and without exciting incident. The Malay and lascar crew
divided their time between watch duty on board the Ithaca, policing the
camp, and cultivating a little patch of clearing just south of their
own campong.

There was a small bay on the island’s east coast, only a quarter of a
mile from camp, in which oysters were found, and one of the Ithaca’s
boats was brought around to this side of the island for fishing.
Bududreen often accompanied these expeditions, and on several occasions
the lynx-eyed Sing had seen him returning to camp long after the others
had retired for the night.

Professor Maxon scarcely ever left the central enclosure. For days and
nights at a time Virginia never saw him, his meals being passed in to
him by Sing through a small trap door that had been cut in the
partition wall of the “court of mystery” as von Horn had christened the
section of the camp devoted to the professor’s experimentations.

Von Horn himself was often with his employer, as he enjoyed the
latter’s complete confidence, and owing to his early medical training
was well fitted to act as a competent assistant; but he was often
barred from the workshop, and at such times was much with Virginia.

The two took long walks through the untouched jungle, exploring their
little island, and never failing to find some new and wonderful proof
of Nature’s creative power among its flora and fauna.

“What a marvellous thing is creation,” exclaimed Virginia as she and
von Horn paused one day to admire a tropical bird of unusually
brilliant plumage. “How insignificant is man’s greatest achievement
beside the least of Nature’s works.”

“And yet,” replied von Horn, “man shall find Nature’s secret some day.
What a glorious accomplishment for him who first succeeds. Can you
imagine a more glorious consummation of a man’s life work—your
father’s, for example?”

The girl looked at von Horn closely.

“Dr. von Horn,” she said, “pride has restrained me from asking what was
evidently intended that I should not know. For years my father has been
interested in an endeavor to solve the mystery of life—that he would
ever attempt to utilize the secret should he have been so fortunate as
to discover it had never occurred to me. I mean that he should try to
usurp the functions of the Creator I could never have believed, but my
knowledge of him, coupled with what you have said, and the extreme
lengths to which he has gone to maintain absolute secrecy for his
present experiments can only lead to one inference; and that, that his
present work, if successful, would have results that would not be
countenanced by civilized society or government. Am I right?”

Von Horn had attempted to sound the girl that he might, if possible,
discover her attitude toward the work in which her father and he were
engaged. He had succeeded beyond his hopes, for he had not intended
that she should guess so much of the truth as she had. Should her
interest in the work have proved favorable it had been his intention to
acquaint her fully with the marvellous success which already had
attended their experiments, and to explain their hopes and plans for
the future, for he had seen how her father’s attitude had hurt her and
hoped to profit himself by reposing in her the trust and confidence
that her father denied her.

And so it was that her direct question left him floundering in a sea of
embarrassment, for to tell her the truth now would gain him no favor in
her eyes, while it certainly would lay him open to the suspicion and
distrust of her father should he learn of it.

“I cannot answer your question, Miss Maxon,” he said, finally, “for
your father’s strictest injunction has been that I divulge to no one
the slightest happening within the court of mystery. Remember that I am
in your father’s employ, and that no matter what my personal
convictions may be regarding the work he has been doing I may only act
with loyalty to his lightest command while I remain upon his payroll.
That you are here,” he added, “is my excuse for continuing my
connection with certain things of which my conscience does not
approve.”

The girl glanced at him quickly. She did not fully understand the
motive for his final avowal, and a sudden intuition kept her from
questioning him. She had learned to look upon von Horn as a very
pleasant companion and a good friend—she was not quite certain that she
would care for any change in their relations, but his remark had sowed
the seed of a new thought in her mind as he had intended that it
should.

When von Horn returned to the court of mystery, he narrated to
Professor Maxon the gist of his conversation with Virginia, wishing to
forestall anything which the girl might say to her father that would
give him an impression that von Horn had been talking more than he
should. Professor Maxon listened to the narration in silence. When von
Horn had finished, he cautioned him against divulging to Virginia
anything that took place within the inner campong.

“She is only a child,” he said, “and would not understand the
importance of the work we are doing. All that she would be able to see
is the immediate moral effect of these experiments upon the subjects
themselves—she would not look into the future and appreciate the
immense advantage to mankind that must accrue from a successful
termination of our research. The future of the world will be assured
when once we have demonstrated the possibility of the chemical
production of a perfect race.”

“Number One, for example,” suggested von Horn.

Professor Maxon glanced at him sharply.

“Levity, Doctor, is entirely out of place in the contemplation of the
magnificent work I have already accomplished,” said the professor
tartly. “I admit that Number One leaves much to be desired—much to be
desired; but Number Two shows a marked advance along certain lines, and
I am sure that tomorrow will divulge in experiment Number Three such
strides as will forever silence any propensity toward scoffing which
you may now entertain.”

“Forgive me, Professor,” von Horn hastened to urge. “I did not intend
to deride the wonderful discoveries which you have made, but it is only
natural that we should both realize that Number One is not beautiful.
To one another we may say what we would not think of suggesting to
outsiders.”

Professor Maxon was mollified by this apology, and turned to resume his
watch beside a large, coffin-shaped vat. For a while von Horn was
silent. There was that upon his mind which he had wished to discuss
with his employer since months ago, but the moment had never arrived
which seemed at all propitious, nor did it appear likely ever to
arrive. So the doctor decided to broach the subject now, as being
psychologically as favorable a time as any.

“Your daughter is far from happy, Professor,” he said, “nor do I feel
that, surrounded as we are by semi-savage men, she is entirely safe.”

Professor Maxon looked up from his vigil by the vat, eyeing von Horn
closely.

“Well?” he asked.

“It seemed to me that had I a closer relationship I might better assist
in adding to her happiness and safety—in short, Professor, I should
like your permission to ask Virginia to marry me.”

There had been no indication in von Horn’s attitude toward the girl
that he loved her. That she was beautiful and intelligent could not be
denied, and so it was small wonder that she might appeal strongly to
any man, but von Horn was quite evidently not of the marrying type. For
years he had roved the world in search of adventure and excitement.
Just why he had left America and his high place in the navy he never
had divulged; nor why it was that for seven years he had not set his
foot upon ground which lay beneath the authority of Uncle Sam.

Sing Lee who stood just without the trap door through which he was
about to pass Professor Maxon’s evening meal to him could not be blamed
for overhearing the conversation, though it may have been culpable in
him in making no effort to divulge his presence, and possibly equally
unpraiseworthy, as well as lacking in romance, to attribute the
doctor’s avowal to his knowledge of the heavy chest.

As Professor Maxon eyed the man before replying to his abrupt request,
von Horn noted a strange and sudden light in the older man’s eyes—a
something which he never before had seen there and which caused an
uncomfortable sensation to creep over him—a manner of bristling that
was akin either to fear or horror, von Horn could not tell which.

Then the professor arose from his seat and came very close to the
younger man, until his face was only a few inches from von Horn’s.

“Doctor,” he whispered in a strange, tense voice, “you are mad. You do
not know what you ask. Virginia is not for such as you. Tell me that
she does not know of your feelings toward her. Tell me that she does
not reciprocate your love. Tell me the truth, man.” Professor Maxon
seized von Horn roughly by both shoulders, his glittering eyes glaring
terribly into the other’s.

“I have never spoken to her of love, Professor,” replied von Horn
quietly, “nor do I know what her sentiments toward me may be. Nor do I
understand, sir, what objections you may have to me—I am of a very old
and noble family.” His tone was haughty but respectful.

Professor Maxon released his hold upon his assistant, breathing a sigh
of relief.

“I am glad,” he said, “that it has gone no further, for it must not be.
I have other, nobler aspirations for my daughter. She must wed a
perfect man—none such now exists. It remains for me to bring forth the
ideal mate for her—nor is the time far distant. A few more weeks and we
shall see such a being as I have long dreamed.” Again the queer light
flickered for a moment in the once kindly and jovial eyes of the
scientist.

Von Horn was horrified. He was a man of little sentiment. He could in
cold blood have married this girl for the wealth he knew that she would
inherit; but the thought that she was to be united with such a
_thing_—“Lord! It is horrible,” and his mind pictured the fearful
atrocity which was known as Number One.

Without a word he turned and left the campong. A moment later Sing’s
knock aroused Professor Maxon from the reverie into which he had
fallen, and he stepped to the trap door to receive his evening meal.




3
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST


One day, about two weeks later, von Horn and the professor were
occupied closely with their work in the court of mystery. Developments
were coming in riotous confusion. A recent startling discovery bade
fare to simplify and expedite the work far beyond the fondest dreams of
the scientist.

Von Horn’s interest in the marvellous results that had been obtained
was little short of the professor’s—but he foresaw a very different
outcome of it all, and by day never moved without a gun at either hip,
and by night both of them were beside him.

Sing Lee, the noonday meal having been disposed of, set forth with rod,
string and bait to snare gulls upon the beach. He moved quietly through
the jungle, his sharp eyes and ears always alert for anything that
might savor of the unusual, and so it was that he saw the two men upon
the beach, while they did not see him at all.

They were Bududreen and the same tall Malay whom Sing had seen twice
before—once in splendid raiment and commanding the pirate prahu, and
again as a simple boatman come to the Ithaca to trade, but without the
goods to carry out his professed intentions.

The two squatted on the beach at the edge of the jungle a short
distance above the point at which Sing had been about to emerge when he
discovered them, so that it was but the work of a moment or two for the
Chinaman to creep stealthily through the dense underbrush to a point
directly above them and not three yards from where they conversed in
low tones—yet sufficiently loud that Sing missed not a word.

“I tell you, Bududreen, that it will be quite safe,” the tall Malay was
saying. “You yourself tell me that none knows of the whereabouts of
these white men, and if they do not return your word will be accepted
as to their fate. Your reward will be great if you bring the girl to
me, and if you doubt the loyalty of any of your own people a kris will
silence them as effectually as it will silence the white men.”

“It is not fear of the white men, oh, Rajah Muda Saffir, that deters
me,” said Bududreen, “but how shall I know that after I have come to
your country with the girl I shall not myself be set upon and silenced
with a golden kris—there be many that will be jealous of the great
service I have done for the mighty rajah.”

Muda Saffir knew perfectly well that Bududreen had but diplomatically
expressed a fear as to his own royal trustworthiness, but it did not
anger him, since the charge was not a direct one; but what he did not
know was of the heavy chest and Bududreen’s desire to win the price of
the girl and yet be able to save for himself a chance at the far
greater fortune which he knew lay beneath that heavy oaken lid.

Both men had arisen now and were walking across the beach toward a
small, native canoe in which Muda Saffir had come to the meeting place.
They were out of earshot before either spoke again, so that what
further passed between them Sing could not even guess, but he had heard
enough to confirm the suspicions he had entertained for a long while.

He did not fish for gulls that day. Bududreen and Muda Saffir stood
talking upon the beach, and the Chinaman did not dare venture forth for
fear they might suspect that he had overheard them. If old Sing Lee
knew his Malays, he was also wise enough to give them credit for
knowing their Chinamen, so he waited quietly in hiding until Muda
Saffir had left, and Bududreen returned to camp.

Professor Maxon and von Horn were standing over one of the six vats
that were arranged in two rows down the center of the laboratory. The
professor had been more communicative and agreeable today than for some
time past, and their conversation had assumed more of the familiarity
that had marked it during the first month of their acquaintance at
Singapore.

“And what of these first who are so imperfect?” asked von Horn. “You
cannot take them into civilization, nor would it be right to leave them
here upon this island. What will you do with them?”

Professor Maxon pondered the question for a moment.

“I have given the matter but little thought,” he said at length. “They
are but the accidents of my great work. It is unfortunate that they are
as they are, but without them I could have never reached the perfection
that I am sure we are to find here,” and he tapped lovingly upon the
heavy glass cover of the vat before which he stood. “And this is but
the beginning. There can be no more mistakes now, though I doubt if we
can ever improve upon that which is so rapidly developing here.” Again
he passed his long, slender hand caressingly over the coffin-like vat
at the head of which was a placard bearing the words, _Number
Thirteen_.

“But the others, Professor!” insisted von Horn. “We must decide.
Already they have become a problem of no small dimensions. Yesterday
Number Five desired some plantains that I had given to Number Seven. I
tried to reason with him, but, as you know, he is mentally defective,
and for answer he rushed at Number Seven to tear the coveted morsel
from him. The result was a battle royal that might have put to shame
two Bengal tigers. Twelve is tractable and intelligent. With his
assistance and my bull whip I succeeded in separating them before
either was killed. Your greatest error was in striving at first for
such physical perfection. You have overdone it, with the result that
the court of mystery is peopled by a dozen brutes of awful muscularity,
and scarcely enough brain among the dozen to equip three properly.”

“They are as they are,” replied the professor. “I shall do for them
what I can—when I am gone they must look to themselves. I can see no
way out of it.”

“What you have given you may take away,” said von Horn, in a low tone.

Professor Maxon shuddered. Those three horrid days in the workshop at
Ithaca flooded his memory with all the gruesome details he had tried
for so many months to forget. The haunting ghosts of the mental anguish
that had left him an altered man—so altered that there were times when
he had feared for his sanity!

“No, no!” he almost shouted. “It would be murder. They are—”

“They are _things_,” interrupted von Horn. “They are not human—they are
not even beast. They are terrible, soulless creatures. You have no
right to permit them to live longer than to substantiate your theory.
None but us knows of their existence—no other need know of their
passing. It must be done. They are a constant and growing menace to us
all, but most of all to your daughter.”

A cunning look came into the professor’s eyes.

“I understand,” he said. “The precedent once established, all must
perish by its edict—even those which may not be grotesque or
bestial—even this perfect one,” and he touched again the vat, “and thus
you would rid yourself of rival suitors. But no!” he went on in a high,
trembling voice. “I shall not be led to thus compromise myself, and be
thwarted in my cherished plan. Be this one what he may he shall wed my
daughter!”

The man had raised himself upon his toes as he reached his climax—his
clenched hand was high above his head—his voice fairly thundered out
the final sentence, and with the last word he brought his fist down
upon the vat before him. In his eyes blazed the light of unchained
madness.

Von Horn was a brave man, but he shuddered at the maniacal ferocity of
the older man, and shrank back. The futility of argument was apparent,
and he turned and left the workshop.


Sing Lee was late that night. In fact he did not return from his
fruitless quest for gulls until well after dark, nor would he vouchsafe
any explanation of the consequent lateness of supper. Nor could he be
found shortly after the evening meal when Virginia sought him.

Not until the camp was wrapped in the quiet of slumber did Sing Lee
return—stealthy and mysterious—to creep under cover of a moonless night
to the door of the workshop. How he gained entrance only Sing Lee
knows, but a moment later there was a muffled crash of broken glass
within the laboratory, and the Chinaman had slipped out, relocked the
door, and scurried to his nearby shack. But there was no occasion for
his haste—no other ear than his had heard the sound within the
workshop.

It was almost nine the following morning before Professor Maxon and von
Horn entered the laboratory. Scarcely had the older man passed the
doorway than he drew up his hands in horrified consternation. Vat
Number Thirteen lay dashed to the floor—the glass cover was broken to a
million pieces—a sticky, brownish substance covered the matting.
Professor Maxon hid his face in his hands.

“God!” he cried. “It is all ruined. Three more days would have—”

“Look!” cried von Horn. “It is not too soon.”

Professor Maxon mustered courage to raise his eyes from his hands, and
there he beheld, seated in a far corner of the room a handsome giant,
physically perfect. The creature looked about him in a dazed,
uncomprehending manner. A great question was writ large upon his
intelligent countenance. Professor Maxon stepped forward and took him
by the hand.

“Come,” he said, and led him toward a smaller room off the main
workshop. The giant followed docilely, his eyes roving about the
room—the pitiful questioning still upon his handsome features. Von Horn
turned toward the campong.


Virginia, deserted by all, even the faithful Sing, who, cheated of his
sport on the preceding day, had again gone to the beach to snare gulls,
became restless of the enforced idleness and solitude. For a time she
wandered about the little compound which had been reserved for the
whites, but tiring of this she decided to extend her stroll beyond the
palisade, a thing which she had never before done unless accompanied by
von Horn—a thing both he and her father had cautioned her against.

“What danger can there be?” she thought. “We know that the island is
uninhabited by others than ourselves, and that there are no dangerous
beasts. And, anyway, there is no one now who seems to care what becomes
of me, unless—unless—I wonder if he does care. I wonder if I care
whether or not he cares. Oh, dear, I wish I knew,” and as she
soliloquized she wandered past the little clearing and into the jungle
that lay behind the campong.

As von Horn and Professor Maxon talked together in the laboratory
before the upsetting of vat Number Thirteen, a grotesque and horrible
creature had slunk from the low shed at the opposite side of the
campong until it had crouched at the flimsy door of the building in
which the two men conversed. For a while it listened intently, but when
von Horn urged the necessity for dispatching certain “terrible,
soulless creatures” an expression of intermingled fear and hatred
convulsed the hideous features, and like a great grizzly it turned and
lumbered awkwardly across the campong toward the easterly, or back wall
of the enclosure.

Here it leaped futilely a half dozen times for the top of the palisade,
and then trembling and chattering in rage it ran back and forth along
the base of the obstacle, just as a wild beast in captivity paces
angrily before the bars of its cage.

Finally it paused to look once more at the senseless wood that barred
its escape, as though measuring the distance to the top. Then the eyes
roamed about the campong to rest at last upon the slanting roof of the
thatched shed which was its shelter. Presently a slow idea was born in
the poor, malformed brain.

The creature approached the shed. He could just reach the saplings that
formed the frame work of the roof. Like a huge sloth he drew himself to
the roof of the structure. From here he could see beyond the palisade,
and the wild freedom of the jungle called to him. He did not know what
it was but in its leafy wall he perceived many breaks and openings that
offered concealment from the creatures who were plotting to take his
life.

Yet the wall was not fully six feet from him, and the top of it at
least five feet above the top of the shed—those who had designed the
campong had been careful to set this structure sufficiently far from
the palisade to prevent its forming too easy an avenue of escape.

The creature glanced fearfully toward the workshop. He remembered the
cruel bull whip that always followed each new experiment on his part
that did not coincide with the desires of his master, and as he thought
of von Horn a nasty gleam shot his mismated eyes.

He tried to reach across the distance between the roof and the
palisade, and in the attempt lost his balance and nearly precipitated
himself to the ground below. Cautiously he drew back, still looking
about for some means to cross the chasm. One of the saplings of the
roof, protruding beyond the palm leaf thatch, caught his attention.
With a single wrench he tore it from its fastenings. Extending it
toward the palisade he discovered that it just spanned the gap, but he
dared not attempt to cross upon its single slender strand.

Quickly he ripped off a half dozen other poles from the roof, and
laying them side by side, formed a safe and easy path to freedom. A
moment more and he sat astride the top of the wall. Drawing the poles
after him, he dropped them one by one to the ground outside the
campong. Then he lowered himself to liberty.

Gathering the saplings under one huge arm he ran, lumberingly, into the
jungle. He would not leave evidence of the havoc he had wrought; the
fear of the bull whip was still strong upon him. The green foliage
closed about him and the peaceful jungle gave no sign of the horrid
brute that roamed its shadowed mazes.

As von Horn stepped into the campong his quick eye perceived the havoc
that had been wrought with the roof at the east end of the shed.
Quickly he crossed to the low structure. Within its compartments a
number of deformed monsters squatted upon their haunches, or lay prone
upon the native mats that covered the floor.

As the man entered they looked furtively at the bull whip which trailed
from his right hand, and then glanced fearfully at one another as
though questioning which was the malefactor on this occasion.

Von Horn ran his eyes over the hideous assemblage.

“Where is Number One?” he asked, directing his question toward a thing
whose forehead gave greater promise of intelligence than any of his
companions.

The one addressed shook his head.

Von Horn turned and made a circuit of the campong. There was no sign of
the missing one and no indication of any other irregularity than the
demolished portion of the roof. With an expression of mild concern upon
his face he entered the workshop.

“Number One has escaped into the jungle, Professor,” he said.

Professor Maxon looked up in surprise, but before he had an opportunity
to reply a woman’s scream, shrill with horror, smote upon their
startled ears.

Von Horn was the first to reach the campong of the whites. Professor
Maxon was close behind him, and the faces of both were white with
apprehension. The enclosure was deserted. Not even Sing was there.
Without a word the two men sprang through the gateway and raced for the
jungle in the direction from which that single, haunting cry had come.

Virginia Maxon, idling beneath the leafy shade of the tropical foliage,
became presently aware that she had wandered farther from the campong
than she had intended. The day was sultry, and the heat, even in the
dense shade of the jungle, oppressive. Slowly she retraced her steps,
her eyes upon the ground, her mind absorbed in sad consideration of her
father’s increasing moodiness and eccentricity.

Possibly it was this very abstraction which deadened her senses to the
near approach of another. At any rate the girl’s first intimation that
she was not alone came when she raised her eyes to look full into the
horrid countenance of a fearsome monster which blocked her path toward
camp.

The sudden shock brought a single involuntary scream from her lips. And
who can wonder! The thing thrust so unexpectedly before her eyes was
hideous in the extreme. A great mountain of deformed flesh clothed in
dirty, white cotton pajamas! Its face was of the ashen hue of a fresh
corpse, while the white hair and pink eyes denoted the absence of
pigment; a characteristic of albinos.

One eye was fully twice the diameter of the other, and an inch above
the horizontal plane of its tiny mate. The nose was but a gaping
orifice above a deformed and twisted mouth. The thing was chinless, and
its small, foreheadless head surrounded its colossal body like a cannon
ball on a hill top. One arm was at least twelve inches longer than its
mate, which was itself long in proportion to the torso, while the legs,
similarly mismated and terminating in huge, flat feet that protruded
laterally, caused the thing to lurch fearfully from side to side as it
lumbered toward the girl.

A sudden grimace lighted the frightful face as the grotesque eyes fell
upon this new creature. Number One had never before seen a woman, but
the sight of this one awoke in the unplumbed depths of his soulless
breast a great desire to lay his hands upon her. She was very
beautiful. Number One wished to have her for his very own; nor would it
be a difficult matter, so fragile was she, to gather her up in those
great, brute arms and carry her deep into the jungle far out of hearing
of the bull-whip man and the cold, frowning one who was continually
measuring and weighing Number One and his companions, the while he
scrutinized them with those strange, glittering eyes that frightened
one even more than the cruel lash of the bull whip.

Number One lurched forward, his arms outstretched toward the horror
stricken girl. Virginia tried to cry out again—she tried to turn and
run; but the horror of her impending fate and the terror that those
awful features induced left her paralyzed and helpless.

The thing was almost upon her now. The mouth was wide in a hideous
attempt to smile. The great hands would grasp her in another second—and
then there was a sudden crashing of the underbrush behind her, a
yellow, wrinkled face and a flying pig-tail shot past her, and the
brave old Sing Lee grappled with the mighty monster that threatened
her.

The battle was short—short and terrible. The valiant Chinaman sought
the ashen throat of his antagonist, but his wiry, sinewy muscles were
as reeds beneath the force of that inhuman power that opposed them.
Holding the girl at arm’s length in one hand, Number One tore the
battling Chinaman from him with the other, and lifting him bodily above
his head, hurled him stunned and bleeding against the bole of a giant
buttress tree. Then lifting Virginia in his arms once more he dived
into the impenetrable mazes of the jungle that lined the more open
pathway between the beach and camp.




4
A NEW FACE


As Professor Maxon and von Horn rushed from the workshop to their own
campong, they neglected, in their haste, to lock the door between, and
for the first time since the camp was completed it stood unlatched and
ajar.

The professor had been engaged in taking careful measurements of the
head of his latest experiment, the while he coached the young man in
the first rudiments of spoken language, and now the subject of his
labors found himself suddenly deserted and alone. He had not yet been
without the four walls of the workshop, as the professor had wished to
keep him from association with the grotesque results of his earlier
experiments, and now a natural curiosity tempted him to approach the
door through which his creator and the man with the bull whip had so
suddenly disappeared.

He saw before him a great walled enclosure roofed by a lofty azure
dome, and beyond the walls the tops of green trees swaying gently in
the soft breezes. His nostrils tasted the incense of fresh earth and
growing things. For the first time he felt the breath of Nature, free
and unconfined, upon his brow.

He drew his giant frame to its full height and drank in the freedom and
the sweetness of it all, filling his great lungs to their fullest; and
with the first taste he learned to hate the close and stuffy confines
of his prison.

His virgin mind was filled with wonder at the wealth of new impressions
which surged to his brain through every sense. He longed for more, and
the open gateway of the campong was a scarce needed invitation to pass
to the wide world beyond. With the free and easy tread of utter
unconsciousness of self, he passed across the enclosure and stepped out
into the clearing which lay between the palisade and the jungle.

Ah, here was a still more beautiful world! The green leaves nodded to
him, and at their invitation he came and the jungle reached out its
million arms to embrace him. Now before him, behind, on either side
there was naught but glorious green beauty shot with splashes of
gorgeous color that made him gasp in wonderment.

Brilliant birds rose from amidst it all, skimming hither and thither
above his head—he thought that the flowers and the birds were the same,
and when he reached out and plucked a blossom, tenderly, he wondered
that it did not flutter in his hand. On and on he walked, but slowly,
for he must not miss a single sight in the strange and wonderful place;
and then, of a sudden, the quiet beauty of the scene was harshly broken
by the crashing of a monster through the underbrush.

Number Thirteen was standing in a little open place in the jungle when
the discordant note first fell upon his ears, and as he turned his head
in the direction of the sound he was startled at the hideous aspect of
the thing which broke through the foliage before him.

What a horrid creature! But on the same instant his eyes fell upon
another borne in the arms of the terrible one. This one was
different—very different,—soft and beautiful and white. He wondered
what it all meant, for everything was strange and new to him; but when
he saw the eyes of the lovely one upon him, and her arms outstretched
toward him, though he did not understand the words upon her lips, he
knew that she was in distress. Something told him that it was the ugly
thing that carried her that was the author of her suffering.

Virginia Maxon had been half unconscious from fright when she suddenly
saw a white man, clothed in coarse, white, native pajamas, confronting
her and the misshapen beast that was bearing her away to what frightful
fate she could but conjecture.

At the sight of the man her voice returned with returning hope, and she
reached her arms toward him, calling upon him to save her. Although he
did not respond she thought that he understood for he sprang toward
them before her appeal was scarce uttered.

As before, when Sing had threatened to filch his new possession from
him, Number One held the girl with one hand while he met the attack of
this new assailant with the other; but here was very different metal
than had succumbed to him before.

It is true that Number Thirteen knew nothing whatever of personal
combat, but Number One had but little advantage of him in the matter of
experience, while the former was equipped with great natural
intelligence as well as steel muscles no whit less powerful than his
deformed predecessor.

So it was that the awful giant found his single hand helpless to cope
with the strength of his foeman, and in a brief instant felt powerful
fingers clutching at his throat. Still reluctant to surrender his hold
upon his prize, he beat futilely at the face of his enemy, but at last
the agony of choking compelled him to drop the girl and grapple madly
with the man who choked him with one hand and rained mighty and
merciless blows upon his face and head with the other.

His captive sank to the ground, too weak from the effects of nervous
shock to escape, and with horror-filled eyes watched the two who
battled over her. She saw that her would-be rescuer was young and
strong featured—all together a very fine specimen of manhood; and to
her great wonderment it was soon apparent that he was no unequal match
for the great mountain of muscle that he fought.

Both tore and struck and clawed and bit in the frenzy of mad, untutored
strife, rolling about on the soft carpet of the jungle almost
noiselessly except for their heavy breathing and an occasional
beast-like snarl from Number One. For several minutes they fought thus
until the younger man succeeded in getting both hands upon the throat
of his adversary, and then, choking relentlessly, he raised the brute
with him from the ground and rushed him fiercely backward against the
stem of a tree. Again and again he hurled the monstrous thing upon the
unyielding wood, until at last it hung helpless and inert in his
clutches, then he cast it from him, and without another glance at it
turned toward the girl.

Here was a problem indeed. Now that he had won her, what was he to do
with her? He was but an adult child, with the brain and brawn of a man,
and the ignorance and inexperience of the new-born. And so he acted as
a child acts, in imitation of what it has seen others do. The brute had
been carrying the lovely creature, therefore that must be the thing for
him to do, and so he stooped and gathered Virginia Maxon in his great
arms.

She tried to tell him that she could walk after a moment’s rest, but it
was soon evident that he did not understand her, as a puzzled
expression came to his face and he did not put her down as she asked.
Instead he stood irresolute for a time, and then moved slowly through
the jungle. By chance his direction was toward the camp, and this fact
so relieved the girl’s mind that presently she was far from loath to
remain quietly in his arms.

After a moment she gained courage to look up into his face. She thought
that she never had seen so marvellously clean cut features, or a more
high and noble countenance, and she wondered how it was that this white
man was upon the island and she not have known it. Possibly he was a
new arrival—his presence unguessed even by her father. That he was
neither English nor American was evident from the fact that he could
not understand her native tongue. Who could he be! What was he doing
upon their island!

As she watched his face he suddenly turned his eyes down upon her, and
as she looked hurriedly away she was furious with herself as she felt a
crimson flush mantle her cheek. The man only half sensed, in a vague
sort of way, the meaning of the tell tale color and the quickly averted
eyes; but he became suddenly aware of the pressure of her delicate body
against his, as he had not been before. Now he kept his eyes upon her
face as he walked, and a new emotion filled his breast. He did not
understand it, but it was very pleasant, and he knew that it was
because of the radiant thing that he carried in his arms.

The scream that had startled von Horn and Professor Maxon led them
along the trail toward the east coast of the island, and about halfway
of the distance they stumbled upon the dazed and bloody Sing just as he
was on the point of regaining consciousness.

“For God’s sake, Sing, what is the matter?” cried von Horn. “Where is
Miss Maxon?”

“Big blute, he catchem Linee. Tly kill Sing. Head hit tlee. No see any
more. Wakee up—all glone,” moaned the Chinaman as he tried to gain his
feet.

“Which way did he take her?” urged von Horn.

Sing’s quick eyes scanned the surrounding jungle, and in a moment,
staggering to his feet, he cried, “Look see, klick! Foot plint!” and
ran, weak and reeling drunkenly, along the broad trail made by the
giant creature and its prey.

Von Horn and Professor Maxon followed closely in Sing’s wake, the
younger man horrified by the terrible possibilities that obtruded
themselves into his imagination despite his every effort to assure
himself that no harm could come to Virginia Maxon before they reached
her. The girl’s father had not spoken since they discovered that she
was missing from the campong, but his face was white and drawn; his
eyes wide and glassy as those of one whose mind is on the verge of
madness from a great nervous shock.

The trail of the creature was bewilderingly erratic. A dozen paces
straight through the underbrush, then a sharp turn at right angles for
no apparent reason, only to veer again suddenly in a new direction!
Thus, turning and twisting, the tortuous way led them toward the south
end of the island, until Sing, who was in advance, gave a sharp cry of
surprise.

“Klick! Look see!” he cried excitedly. “Blig blute dead—vely muchee
dead.”

Von Horn rushed forward to where the Chinaman was leaning over the body
of Number One. Sure enough, the great brute lay motionless, its horrid
face even more hideous in death than in life, if it were possible. The
face was black, the tongue protruded, the skin was bruised from the
heavy fists of his assailant and the thick skull crushed and splintered
from terrific impact with the tree.

Professor Maxon leaned over von Horn’s shoulder. “Ah, poor Number One,”
he sighed, “that you should have come to such an untimely end—my child,
my child.”

Von Horn looked at him, a tinge of compassion in his rather hard face.
It touched the man that his employer was at last shocked from the
obsession of his work to a realization of the love and duty he owed his
daughter; he thought that the professor’s last words referred to
Virginia.

“Though there are twelve more,” continued Professor Maxon, “you were my
first born son and I loved you most, dear child.”

The younger man was horrified.

“My God, Professor!” he cried. “Are you mad? Can you call this thing
‘child’ and mourn over it when you do not yet know the fate of your own
daughter?”

Professor Maxon looked up sadly. “You do not understand, Dr. von Horn,”
he replied coldly, “and you will oblige me, in the future, by not again
referring to the offspring of my labors as ‘things.’”

With an ugly look upon his face von Horn turned his back upon the older
man—what little feeling of loyalty and affection he had ever felt for
him gone forever. Sing was looking about for evidences of the cause of
Number One’s death and the probable direction in which Virginia Maxon
had disappeared.

“What on earth could have killed this enormous brute, Sing? Have you
any idea?” asked von Horn.

The Chinaman shook his head.

“No savvy,” he replied. “Blig flight. Look see,” and he pointed to the
torn and trampled turf, the broken bushes, and to one or two small
trees that had been snapped off by the impact of the two mighty bodies
that had struggled back and forth about the little clearing.

“This way,” cried Sing presently, and started off once more into the
brush, but this time in a northwesterly direction, toward camp.

In silence the three men followed the new trail, all puzzled beyond
measure to account for the death of Number One at the hands of what
must have been a creature of superhuman strength. What could it have
been! It was impossible that any of the Malays or lascars could have
done the thing, and there were no other creatures, brute or human, upon
the island large enough to have coped even for an instant with the
ferocious brutality of the dead monster, except—von Horn’s brain came
to a sudden halt at the thought. Could it be? There seemed no other
explanation. Virginia Maxon had been rescued from one soulless
monstrosity to fall into the hands of another equally irresponsible and
terrifying.

Others then must have escaped from the campong. Von Horn loosened his
guns in their holsters, and took a fresh grip upon his bull whip as he
urged Sing forward upon the trail. He wondered which one it was, but
not once did it occur to him that the latest result of Professor
Maxon’s experiments could be the rescuer of Virginia Maxon. In his mind
he could see only the repulsive features of one of the others.

Quite unexpectedly they came upon the two, and with a shout von Horn
leaped forward, his bull whip upraised. Number Thirteen turned in
surprise at the cry, and sensing a new danger for her who lay in his
arms, he set her gently upon the ground behind him and advanced to meet
his assailant.

“Out of the way, you—monstrosity,” cried von Horn. “If you have harmed
Miss Maxon I’ll put a bullet in your heart!”

Number Thirteen did not understand the words that the other addressed
to him but he interpreted the man’s actions as menacing, not to
himself, but to the creature he now considered his particular charge;
and so he met the advancing man, more to keep him from the girl than to
offer him bodily injury for he recognized him as one of the two who had
greeted his first dawning consciousness.

Von Horn, possibly intentionally, misinterpreted the other’s motive,
and raising his bull whip struck Number Thirteen a vicious cut across
the face, at the same time levelling his revolver point blank at the
broad breast. But before ever he could pull the trigger an avalanche of
muscle was upon him, and he went down to the rotting vegetation of the
jungle with five sinewy fingers at his throat.

His revolver exploded harmlessly in the air, and then another hand
wrenched it from him and hurled it far into the underbrush. Number
Thirteen knew nothing of the danger of firearms, but the noise had
startled him and his experience with the stinging cut of the bull whip
convinced him that this other was some sort of instrument of torture of
which it would be as well to deprive his antagonist.

Virginia Maxon looked on in horror as she realized that her rescuer was
quickly choking Dr. von Horn to death. With a little cry she sprang to
her feet and ran toward them, just as her father emerged from the
underbrush through which he had been struggling in the trail of the
agile Chinaman and von Horn. Placing her hand upon the great wrist of
the giant she tried to drag his fingers from von Horn’s throat,
pleading meanwhile with both voice and eyes for the life of the man she
thought loved her.

Again Number Thirteen translated the intent without understanding the
words, and releasing von Horn permitted him to rise. With a bound he
was upon his feet and at the same instant brought his other gun from
his side and levelled it upon the man who had released him; but as his
finger tightened upon the trigger Virginia Maxon sprang between them
and grasping von Horn’s wrist deflected the muzzle of the gun just as
the cartridge exploded. Simultaneously Professor Maxon sprang from his
grasp and hurled him back with the superhuman strength of a maniac.

“Fool!” he cried. “What would you do? Kill—,” and then of a sudden he
realized his daughter’s presence and the necessity for keeping the
origin of the young giant from her knowledge.

“I am surprised at you, Dr. von Horn,” he continued in a more level
voice. “You must indeed have forgotten yourself to thus attack a
stranger upon our island until you know whether he be friend or foe.
Come! Escort my daughter to the camp, while I make the proper apologies
to this gentleman.” As he saw that both Virginia and von Horn
hesitated, he repeated his command in a peremptory tone, adding;
“Quick, now; do as I bid you.”

The moment had given von Horn an opportunity to regain his
self-control, and realizing as well as did his employer, but from
another motive, the necessity of keeping the truth from the girl, he
took her arm and led her gently from the scene. At Professor Maxon’s
direction Sing accompanied them.

Now in Number Thirteen’s brief career he had known no other authority
than Professor Maxon’s, and so it was that when his master laid a hand
upon his wrist he remained beside him while another walked away with
the lovely creature he had thought his very own.

Until after dark the professor kept the young man hidden in the jungle,
and then, safe from detection, led him back to the laboratory.




5
TREASON


On their return to camp after her rescue Virginia talked a great deal
to von Horn about the young giant who had rescued her, until the man
feared that she was more interested in him than seemed good for his own
plans.

He had now cast from him the last vestige of his loyalty for his
employer, and thus freed had determined to use every means within his
power to win Professor Maxon’s daughter, and with her the heritage of
wealth which he knew would be hers should her father, through some
unforeseen mishap, meet death before he could return to civilization
and alter his will, a contingency which von Horn knew he might have to
consider should he marry the girl against her father’s wishes, and thus
thwart the crazed man’s mad, but no less dear project.

He realized that first he must let the girl fully understand the grave
peril in which she stood, and turn her hope of protection from her
father to himself. He imagined that the initial step in undermining
Virginia’s confidence in her father would be to narrate every detail of
the weird experiments which Professor Maxon had brought to such
successful issues during their residence upon the island.

The girl’s own questioning gave him the lead he needed.

“Where could that horrid creature have come from that set upon me in
the jungle and nearly killed poor Sing?” she asked.

For a moment von Horn was silent, in well simulated hesitancy to reply
to her query.

“I cannot tell you, Miss Maxon,” he said sadly, “how much I should hate
to be the one to ignore your father’s commands, and enlighten you upon
this and other subjects which lie nearer to your personal welfare than
you can possibly guess; but I feel that after the horrors of this day
duty demands that I must lay all before you—you cannot again be exposed
to the horrors from which you were rescued only by a miracle.”

“I cannot imagine what you hint at, Dr. von Horn,” said Virginia, “but
if to explain to me will necessitate betraying my father’s confidence I
prefer that you remain silent.”

“You do not understand,” broke in the man, “you cannot guess the
horrors that I have seen upon this island, or the worse horrors that
are to come. Could you dream of what lies in store for you, you would
seek death rather than face the future. I have been loyal to your
father, Virginia, but were you not blind, or indifferent, you would
long since have seen that your welfare means more to me than my loyalty
to him—more to me than my life or my honor.

“You asked where the creature came from that attacked you today. I
shall tell you. It is one of a dozen similarly hideous things that your
father has created in his mad desire to solve the problem of life. He
has solved it; but, God, at what a price in misshapen, soulless,
hideous monsters!”

The girl looked up at him, horror stricken.

“Do you mean to say that my father in a mad attempt to usurp the
functions of God created that awful thing?” she asked in a low, faint
voice, “and that there are others like it upon the island?”

“In the campong next to yours there are a dozen others,” replied von
Horn, “nor would it be easy to say which is the most hideous and
repulsive. They are grotesque caricatures of humanity—without soul and
almost without brain.”

“God!” murmured the girl, burying her face in her hands, “he has gone
mad; he has gone mad.”

“I truly believe that he is mad,” said von Horn, “nor could you doubt
it for a moment were I to tell you the worst.”

“The worst!” exclaimed the girl. “What could be worse than that which
you already have divulged? Oh, how could you have permitted it?”

“There is much worse than I have told you, Virginia. So much worse that
I can scarce force my lips to frame the words, but you must be told. I
would be more criminally liable than your father were I to keep it from
you, for my brain, at least, is not crazed. Virginia, you have in your
mind a picture of the hideous thing that carried you off into the
jungle?”

“Yes,” and as the girl replied a convulsive shudder racked her frame.

Von Horn grasped her arm gently as he went on, as though to support and
protect her during the shock that he was about to administer.

“Virginia,” he said in a very low voice, “it is your father’s intention
to wed you to one of his creatures.”

The girl broke from him with an angry cry.

“It is not true!” she exclaimed. “It is not true. Oh, Dr. von Horn how
could you tell me such a cruel and terrible untruth.”

“As God is my judge, Virginia,” and the man reverently uncovered as he
spoke, “it is the truth. Your father told me it in so many words when I
asked his permission to pay court to you myself—you are to marry Number
Thirteen when his education is complete.”

“I shall die first!” she cried.

“Why not accept me instead?” suggested the man.

For a moment Virginia looked straight into his eyes as though to read
his inmost soul.

“Let me have time to consider it, Doctor,” she replied. “I do not know
that I care for you in that way at all.”

“Think of Number Thirteen,” he suggested. “It should not be difficult
to decide.”

“I could not marry you simply to escape a worse fate,” replied the
girl. “I am not that cowardly—but let me think it over. There can be no
immediate danger, I am sure.”

“One can never tell,” replied von Horn, “what strange, new vagaries may
enter a crazed mind to dictate this moment’s action or the next.”

“Where could we wed?” asked Virginia.

“The Ithaca would bear us to Singapore, and when we returned you would
be under my legal protection and safe.”

“I shall think about it from every angle,” she answered sadly, “and now
good night, my dear friend,” and with a wan smile she entered her
quarters.

For the next month Professor Maxon was busy educating Number Thirteen.
He found the young man intelligent far beyond his most sanguine hopes,
so that the progress made was little short of uncanny.

Von Horn during this time continued to urge upon Virginia the necessity
for a prompt and favorable decision in the matter of his proposal; but
when it came time to face the issue squarely the girl found it
impossible to accede to his request—she thought that she loved him, but
somehow she dared not say the word that would make her his for life.

Bududreen, the Malay mate was equally harassed by conflicting desires,
though of a different nature, for he had his eye upon the main chance
that was represented to him by the great chest, and also upon the
lesser reward which awaited him upon delivery of the girl to Rajah Muda
Saffir. The fact that he could find no safe means for accomplishing
both these ends simultaneously was all that had protected either from
his machinations.

The presence of the uncanny creatures of the court of mystery had
become known to the Malay and he used this knowledge as an argument to
foment discord and mutiny in the ignorant and superstitious crew under
his command. By boring a hole in the partition wall separating their
campong from the inner one he had disclosed to the horrified view of
his men the fearsome brutes harbored so close to them. The mate, of
course, had no suspicion of the true origin of these monsters, but his
knowledge of the fact that they had not been upon the island when the
Ithaca arrived and that it would have been impossible for them to have
landed and reached the camp without having been seen by himself or some
member of his company, was sufficient evidence to warrant him in
attributing their presence to some supernatural and malignant power.

This explanation the crew embraced willingly, and with it Bududreen’s
suggestion that Professor Maxon had power to transform them all into
similar atrocities. The ball once started gained size and momentum as
it progressed. The professor’s ofttimes strange expression was
attributed to an evil eye, and every ailment suffered by any member of
the crew was blamed upon their employer’s Satanic influence. There was
but one escape from the horrors of such a curse—the death of its
author; and when Bududreen discovered that they had reached this point,
and were even discussing the method of procedure, he added all that was
needed to the dangerously smouldering embers of bloody mutiny by
explaining that should anything happen to the white men he would become
sole owner of their belongings, including the heavy chest, and that the
reward of each member of the crew would be generous.

Von Horn was really the only stumbling block in Bududreen’s path. With
the natural cowardice of the Malay he feared this masterful American
who never moved without a brace of guns slung about his hips; and it
was at just this psychological moment that the doctor played into the
hands of his subordinate, much to the latter’s inward elation.

Von Horn had finally despaired of winning Virginia by peaceful court,
and had about decided to resort to force when he was precipitately
confirmed in his decision by a conversation with the girl’s father.

He and the professor were talking in the workshop of the remarkable
progress of Number Thirteen toward a complete mastery of English and
the ways and manners of society, in which von Horn had been assisting
his employer to train the young giant. The breach between the latter
and von Horn had been patched over by Professor Maxon’s explanations to
Number Thirteen as soon as the young man was able to comprehend—in the
meantime it had been necessary to keep von Horn out of the workshop
except when the giant was confined in his own room off the larger one.

Von Horn had been particularly anxious, for the furtherance of certain
plans he had in mind, to effect a reconciliation with Number Thirteen,
to reach a basis of friendship with the young man, and had left no
stone unturned to accomplish this result. To this end he had spent
considerable time with Number Thirteen, coaching him in English and in
the ethics of human association.

“He is progressing splendidly, Doctor,” Professor Maxon had said. “It
will be but a matter of a day or so when I can introduce him to
Virginia, but we must be careful that she has no inkling of his origin
until mutual affection has gained a sure foothold between them.”

“And if that should not occur?” questioned von Horn.

“I should prefer that they mated voluntarily,” replied the professor,
the strange gleam leaping to his eyes at the suggestion of possible
antagonism to his cherished plan, “but if not, then they shall be
compelled by the force of my authority—they both belong to me, body and
soul.”

“You will wait for the final consummation of your desires until you
return with them to civilization, I presume,” said von Horn.

“And why?” returned the professor. “I can wed them here myself—it would
be the surer way—yes, that is what I shall do.”

It was this determination on the part of Professor Maxon that decided
von Horn to act at once. Further, it lent a reasonable justification
for his purposed act.

Shortly after their talk the older man left the workshop, and von Horn
took the opportunity to inaugurate the second move of his campaign.
Number Thirteen was sitting near a window which let upon the inner
court, busy with the rudiments of written English. Von Horn approached
him.

“You are getting along nicely, Jack,” he said kindly, looking over the
other’s shoulder and using the name which had been adopted at his
suggestion to lend a more human tone to their relations with the
nameless man.

“Yes,” replied the other, looking up with a smile. “Professor Maxon
says that in another day or two I may come and live in his own house,
and again meet his beautiful daughter. It seems almost too good to be
true that I shall actually live under the same roof with her and see
her every day—sit at the same table with her—and walk with her among
the beautiful trees and flowers that witnessed our first meeting. I
wonder if she will remember me. I wonder if she will be as glad to see
me again as I shall be to see her.”

“Jack,” said von Horn, sadly, “I am afraid there is a terrible and
disappointing awakening for you. It grieves me that it should be so,
but it seems only fair to tell you, what Professor Maxon either does
not know or has forgotten, that his daughter will not look with
pleasure upon you when she learns your origin.

“You are not as other men. You are but the accident of a laboratory
experiment. You have no soul, and the soul is all that raises man above
the beasts. Jack, poor boy, you are not a human being—you are not even
a beast. The world, and Miss Maxon is of the world, will look upon you
as a terrible creature to be shunned—a horrible monstrosity far lower
in the scale of creation than the lowest order of brutes.

“Look,” and the man pointed through the window toward the group of
hideous things that wandered aimlessly about the court of mystery. “You
are of the same breed as those, you differ from them only in the
symmetry of your face and features, and the superior development of
your brain. There is no place in the world for them, nor for you.

“I am sorry that it is so. I am sorry that I should have to be the one
to tell you; but it is better that you know it now from a friend than
that you meet the bitter truth when you least expected it, and possibly
from the lips of one like Miss Maxon for whom you might have formed a
hopeless affection.”

As von Horn spoke the expression on the young man’s face became more
and more hopeless, and when he had ceased he dropped his head into his
open palms, sitting quiet and motionless as a carven statue. No sob
shook his great frame, there was no outward indication of the terrible
grief that racked him inwardly—only in the pose was utter dejection and
hopelessness.

The older man could not repress a cold smile—it had had more effect
than he had hoped.

“Don’t take it too hard, my boy,” he continued. “The world is wide. It
would be easy to find a thousand places where your antecedents would be
neither known nor questioned. You might be very happy elsewhere and
there are a hundred thousand girls as beautiful and sweet as Virginia
Maxon—remember that you have never seen another, so you can scarcely
judge.”

“Why did he ever bring me into the world?” exclaimed the young man
suddenly. “It was wicked—wicked—terribly cruel and wicked.”

“I agree with you,” said von Horn quickly, seeing another possibility
that would make his future plans immeasurably easier. “It was wicked,
and it is still more wicked to continue the work and bring still other
unfortunate creatures into the world to be the butt and plaything of
cruel fate.”

“He intends to do that?” asked the youth.

“Unless he is stopped,” replied von Horn.

“He must be stopped,” cried the other. “Even if it were necessary to
kill him.”

Von Horn was quite satisfied with the turn events had taken. He
shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel toward the outer campong.

“If he had wronged me as he has you, and those others,” with a gesture
toward the court of mystery, “I should not be long in reaching a
decision.” And with that he passed out, leaving the door unlatched.

Von Horn went straight to the south campong and sought out Bududreen.
Motioning the Malay to follow him they walked across the clearing and
entered the jungle out of sight and hearing of the camp. Sing, hanging
clothes in the north end of the clearing saw them depart, and wondered
a little.

“Bududreen,” said von Horn, when the two had reached a safe distance
from the enclosures, “there is no need of mincing matters—something
must be done at once. I do not know how much you know of the work that
Professor Maxon has been engaged in since we reached this island; but
it has been hellish enough and it must go no further. You have seen the
creatures in the campong next to yours?”

“I have seen,” replied Bududreen, with a shudder.

“Professor Maxon intends to wed one of these to his daughter,” von Horn
continued. “She loves me and we wish to escape—can I rely on you and
your men to aid us? There is a chest in the workshop which we must take
along too, and I can assure you that you all will be well rewarded for
your work. We intend merely to leave Professor Maxon here with the
creatures he has created.”

Bududreen could scarce repress a smile—it was indeed too splendid to be
true.

“It will be perilous work, Captain,” he answered. “We should all be
hanged were we caught.”

“There will be no danger of that, Bududreen, for there will be no one
to divulge our secret.”

“There will be the Professor Maxon,” urged the Malay. “Some day he will
escape from the island, and then we shall all hang.”

“He will never escape,” replied von Horn, “his own creatures will see
to that. They are already commencing to realize the horrible crime he
has committed against them, and when once they are fully aroused there
will be no safety for any of us. If you wish to leave the island at all
it will be best for you to accept my proposal and leave while your head
yet remains upon your shoulders. Were we to suggest to the professor
that he leave now he would not only refuse but he would take steps to
make it impossible for any of us to leave, even to sinking the Ithaca.
The man is mad—quite mad—Bududreen, and we cannot longer jeopardize our
own throats merely to humor his crazy and criminal whims.”

The Malay was thinking fast, and could von Horn have guessed what
thoughts raced through the tortuous channels of that semi-barbarous
brain he would have wished himself safely housed in the American prison
where he belonged.

“When do you wish to sail?” asked the Malay.

“Tonight,” replied von Horn, and together they matured their plans. An
hour later the second mate with six men disappeared into the jungle
toward the harbor. They, with the three on watch, were to get the
vessel in readiness for immediate departure.

After the evening meal von Horn sat on the verandah with Virginia Maxon
until the Professor came from the workshop to retire for the night. As
he passed them he stopped for a word with von Horn, taking him aside
out of the girl’s hearing.

“Have you noticed anything peculiar in the actions of Thirteen?” asked
the older man. “He was sullen and morose this evening, and at times
there was a strange, wild light in his eyes as he looked at me. Can it
be possible that, after all, his brain is defective? It would be
terrible. My work would have gone for naught, for I can see no way in
which I can improve upon him.”

“I will go and have a talk with him later,” said von Horn, “so if you
hear us moving about in the workshop, or even out here in the campong
think nothing of it. I may take him for a long walk. It is possible
that the hard study and close confinement to that little building have
been too severe upon his brain and nerves. A long walk each evening may
bring him around all right.”

“Splendid—splendid,” replied the professor. “You may be quite right. Do
it by all means, my dear doctor,” and there was a touch of the old,
friendly, sane tone which had been so long missing, that almost caused
von Horn to feel a trace of compunction for the hideous act of
disloyalty that he was on the verge of perpetrating.

As Professor Maxon entered the house von Horn returned to Virginia and
suggested that they take a short walk outside the campong before
retiring. The girl readily acquiesced to the plan, and a moment later
found them strolling through the clearing toward the southern end of
the camp. In the dark shadows of the gateway leading to the men’s
enclosure a figure crouched. The girl did not see it, but as they came
opposite it von Horn coughed twice, and then the two passed on toward
the edge of the jungle.




6
TO KILL!


The Rajah Muda Saffir, tiring of the excuses and delays which Bududreen
interposed to postpone the fulfillment of his agreement with the
former, whereby he was to deliver into the hands of the rajah a certain
beautiful maiden, decided at last to act upon his own initiative. The
truth of the matter was that he had come to suspect the motives of the
first mate of the Ithaca, and not knowing of the great chest attributed
them to Bududreen’s desire to possess the girl for himself.

So it was that as the second mate of the Ithaca with his six men waded
down the bed of the little stream toward the harbor and the ship, a
fleet of ten war prahus manned by over five hundred fierce Dyaks and
commanded by Muda Saffir himself, pulled cautiously into the little
cove upon the opposite side of the island, and landed but a quarter of
a mile from camp.

At the same moment von Horn was leading Virginia Maxon farther and
farther from the north campong where resistance, if there was to be
any, would be most likely to occur. At his superior’s cough Bududreen
had signalled silently to the men within the enclosure, and a moment
later six savage lascars crept stealthily to his side.

The moment that von Horn and the girl were entirely concealed by the
darkness, the seven moved cautiously along the shadow of the palisade
toward the north campong. There was murder in the cowardly hearts of
several of them, and stupidity and lust in the hearts of all. There was
no single one who would not betray his best friend for a handful of
silver, nor any but was inwardly hoping and scheming to the end that he
might alone possess both the chest and the girl.

It was such a pack of scoundrels that Bududreen led toward the north
campong to bear away the treasure. In the breast of the leader was the
hope that he had planted enough of superstitious terror in their hearts
to make the sight of the supposed author of their imagined wrongs
sufficient provocation for his murder; for Bududreen was too sly to
give the order for the killing of a white man—the arm of the white
man’s law was too long—but he felt that he would rest easier were he to
leave the island with the knowledge that only a dead man remained
behind with the secret of his perfidy.

While these events were transpiring Number Thirteen was pacing
restlessly back and forth the length of the workshop. But a short time
before he had had his author—the author of his misery—within the four
walls of his prison, and yet he had not wreaked the vengeance that was
in his heart. Twice he had been on the point of springing upon the man,
but both times the other’s eyes had met his and something which he was
not able to comprehend had stayed him. Now that the other had gone and
he was alone contemplation of the hideous wrong that had been done
loosed again the flood gates of his pent rage.

The thought that he had been made by this man—made in the semblance of
a human being, yet denied by the manner of his creation a place among
the lowest of Nature’s creatures—filled him with fury, but it was not
this thought that drove him to the verge of madness. It was the
knowledge, suggested by von Horn, that Virginia Maxon would look upon
him in horror, as a grotesque and loathsome monstrosity.

He had no standard and no experience whereby he might classify his
sentiments toward this wonderful creature. All he knew was that his
life would be complete could he be near her always—see her and speak
with her daily. He had thought of her almost constantly since those
short, delicious moments that he had held her in his arms. Again and
again he experienced in retrospection the exquisite thrill that had run
through every fiber of his being at the sight of her averted eyes and
flushed face. And the more he let his mind dwell upon the wonderful
happiness that was denied him because of his origin, the greater became
his wrath against his creator.

It was now quite dark without. The door leading to Professor Maxon’s
campong, left unlatched earlier in the evening by von Horn for sinister
motives of his own, was still unbarred through a fatal coincidence of
forgetfulness on the part of the professor.

Number Thirteen approached this door. He laid his hand upon the knob. A
moment later he was moving noiselessly across the campong toward the
house in which Professor Maxon lay peacefully sleeping; while at the
south gate Bududreen and his six cutthroats crept cautiously within and
slunk in the dense shadows of the palisade toward the workshop where
lay the heavy chest of their desire. At the same instant Muda Saffir
with fifty of his head-hunting Dyaks emerged from the jungle east of
the camp, bent on discovering the whereabouts of the girl the Malay
sought and bearing her away to his savage court far within the jungle
fastness of his Bornean principality.

Number Thirteen reached the verandah of the house and peered through
the window into the living room, where an oil lamp, turned low, dimly
lighted the interior, which he saw was unoccupied. Going to the door he
pushed it open and entered the apartment. All was still within. He
listened intently for some slight sound which might lead him to the
victim he sought, or warn him from the apartment of the girl or that of
von Horn—his business was with Professor Maxon. He did not wish to
disturb the others whom he believed to be sleeping somewhere within the
structure—a low, rambling bungalow of eight rooms.

Cautiously he approached one of the four doors which opened from the
living room. Gently he turned the knob and pushed the door ajar. The
interior of the apartment beyond was in inky darkness, but Number
Thirteen’s greatest fear was that he might have stumbled upon the
sleeping room of Virginia Maxon, and that if she were to discover him
there, not only would she be frightened, but her cries would alarm the
other inmates of the dwelling.

The thought of the horror that his presence would arouse within her,
the knowledge that she would look upon him as a terrifying monstrosity,
added new fuel to the fires of hate that raged in his bosom against the
man who had created him. With clenched fists, and tight set jaws the
great, soulless giant moved across the dark chamber with the stealthy
noiselessness of a tiger. Feeling before him with hands and feet he
made the circuit of the room before he reached the bed.

Scarce breathing he leaned over and groped across the covers with his
fingers in search of his prey—the bed was empty. With the discovery
came a sudden nervous reaction that sent him into a cold sweat. Weakly,
he seated himself upon the edge of the bed. Had his fingers found the
throat of Professor Maxon beneath the coverlet they would never have
released their hold until life had forever left the body of the
scientist, but now that the highest tide of the young man’s hatred had
come and gone he found himself for the first time assailed by doubts.

Suddenly he recalled the fact that the man whose life he sought was the
father of the beautiful creature he adored. Perhaps she loved him and
would be unhappy were he taken away from her. Number Thirteen did not
know, of course, but the idea obtruded itself, and had sufficient
weight to cause him to remain seated upon the edge of the bed
meditating upon the act he contemplated. He had by no means given up
the idea of killing Professor Maxon, but now there were doubts and
obstacles which had not been manifest before.

His standards of right and wrong were but half formed, from the brief
attempts of Professor Maxon and von Horn to inculcate proper moral
perceptions in a mind entirely devoid of hereditary inclinations toward
either good or bad, but he realized one thing most perfectly—that to be
a soulless thing was to be damned in the estimation of Virginia Maxon,
and it now occurred to him that to kill her father would be the act of
a soulless being. It was this thought more than another that caused him
to pause in the pursuit of his revenge, since he knew that the act he
contemplated would brand him the very thing he was, yet wished not to
be.

At length, however, he slowly comprehended that no act of his would
change the hideous fact of his origin; that nothing would make him
acceptable in her eyes, and with a shake of his head he arose and
stepped toward the living room to continue his search for the
professor.

In the workshop Bududreen and his men had easily located the chest.
Dragging it into the north campong the Malay was about to congratulate
himself upon the ease with which the theft had been accomplished when
one of his fellows declared his intention of going to the house for the
purpose of dispatching Professor Maxon, lest the influence of his evil
eye should overtake them with some terrible curse when the loss of the
chest should be discovered.

While this met fully with Bududreen’s plans he urged the man against
any such act that he might have witnesses to prove that he not only had
no hand in the crime, but had exerted his authority to prevent it; but
when two of the men separated themselves from the party and crept
toward the bungalow no force was interposed to stop them.

The moon had risen now, so that from the dark shadows of the palisade
Muda Saffir and his savages watched the party with Bududreen squatting
about the heavy chest, and saw the two who crept toward the house. To
Muda Saffir’s evil mind there was but one explanation. Bududreen had
discovered a rich treasure, and having stolen that had dispatched two
of his men to bring him the girl also.

Rajah Muda Saffir was furious. In subdued whispers he sent a half dozen
of his Dyaks back beneath the shadow of the palisade to the opposite
side of the bungalow where they were to enter the building, killing all
within except the girl, whom they were to carry straight to the beach
and the war prahus.

Then with the balance of his horde he crept alone in the darkness until
opposite Bududreen and the watchers about the chest. Just as the two
who crept toward the bungalow reached it, Muda Saffir gave the word for
the attack upon the Malays and lascars who guarded the treasure. With
savage yells they dashed upon the unsuspecting men. Parangs and spears
glistened in the moonlight. There was a brief and bloody encounter, for
the cowardly Bududreen and his equally cowardly crew had had no
alternative but to fight, so suddenly had the foe fallen upon them.

In a moment the savage Borneo head hunters had added five grisly
trophies to their record. Bududreen and another were racing madly
toward the jungle beyond the campong.

As Number Thirteen arose to continue his search for Professor Maxon his
quick ear caught the shuffling of bare feet upon the verandah. As he
paused to listen there broke suddenly upon the still night the hideous
war cries of the Dyaks, and the screams and shrieks of their frightened
victims in the campong without. Almost simultaneously Professor Maxon
and Sing rushed into the living room to ascertain the cause of the wild
alarm, while at the same instant Bududreen’s assassins sprang through
the door with upraised krisses, to be almost immediately followed by
Muda Saffir’s six Dyaks brandishing their long spears and wicked
parangs.

In an instant the little room was filled with howling, fighting men.
The Dyaks, whose orders as well as inclinations incited them to a
general massacre, fell first upon Bududreen’s lascars who, cornered in
the small room, fought like demons for their lives, so that when the
Dyaks had overcome them two of their own number lay dead beside the
dead bodies of Bududreen’s henchmen.

Sing and Professor Maxon stood in the doorway to the professor’s room
gazing upon the scene of carnage in surprise and consternation. The
scientist was unarmed, but Sing held a long, wicked looking Colt in
readiness for any contingency. It was evident the celestial was no
stranger to the use of his deadly weapon, nor to the moments of extreme
and sudden peril which demanded its use, for he seemed no more
perturbed than had he been but hanging out his weekly wash.

As Number Thirteen watched the two men from the dark shadows of the
room in which he stood, he saw that both were calm—the Chinaman with
the calmness of perfect courage, the other through lack of full
understanding of the grave danger which menaced him. In the eyes of the
latter shone a strange gleam—it was the wild light of insanity that the
sudden nervous shock of the attack had brought to a premature
culmination.

Now the four remaining Dyaks were advancing upon the two men. Sing
levelled his revolver and fired at the foremost, and at the same
instant Professor Maxon, with a shrill, maniacal scream, launched
himself full upon a second. Number Thirteen saw the blood spurt from a
superficial wound in the shoulder of the fellow who received Sing’s
bullet, but except for eliciting a howl of rage the missile had no
immediate effect. Then Sing pulled the trigger again and again, but the
cylinder would not revolve and the hammer fell futilely upon the empty
cartridge. As two of the head hunters closed upon him the brave
Chinaman clubbed his weapon and went down beneath them beating madly at
the brown skulls.

The man with whom Professor Maxon had grappled had no opportunity to
use his weapons for the crazed man held him close with one encircling
arm while he tore and struck at him with his free hand. The fourth Dyak
danced around the two with raised parang watching for an opening that
he might deliver a silencing blow upon the white man’s skull.

The great odds against the two men—their bravery in the face of death,
their grave danger—and last and greatest, the fact that one was the
father of the beautiful creature he worshipped, wrought a sudden change
in Number Thirteen. In an instant he forgot that he had come here to
kill the white-haired man, and with a bound stood in the center of the
room—an unarmed giant towering above the battling four.

The parang of the Dyak who sought Professor Maxon’s life was already
falling as a mighty hand grasped the wrist of the head hunter; but even
then it was too late to more than lessen the weight of the blow, and
the sharp edge of the blade bit deep into the forehead of the white
man. As he sank to his knees his other antagonist freed an arm from the
embrace which had pinioned it to his side, but before he could deal the
professor a blow with the short knife that up to now he had been unable
to use, Number Thirteen had hurled his man across the room and was upon
him who menaced the scientist.

Tearing him loose from his prey, he raised him far above his head and
threw him heavily against the opposite wall, then he turned his
attention toward Sing’s assailants. All that had so far saved the
Chinaman from death was the fact that the two savages were each so
anxious to secure his head for the verandah rafters of his own
particular long-house that they interfered with one another in the
consummation of their common desire.

Although battling for his life, Sing had not failed to note the advent
of the strange young giant, nor the part he had played in succoring the
professor, so that it was with a feeling of relief that he saw the
newcomer turn his attention toward those who were rapidly reducing the
citadel of his own existence.

The two Dyaks who sought the trophy which nature had set upon the
Chinaman’s shoulders were so busily engaged with their victim that they
knew nothing of the presence of Number Thirteen until a mighty hand
seized each by the neck and they were raised bodily from the floor,
shaken viciously for an instant, and then hurled to the opposite end of
the room upon the bodies of the two who had preceded them.

As Sing came to his feet he found Professor Maxon lying in a pool of
his own blood, a great gash in his forehead. He saw the white giant
standing silently looking down upon the old man. Across the room the
four stunned Dyaks were recovering consciousness. Slowly and fearfully
they regained their feet, and seeing that no attention was being paid
them, cast a parting, terrified look at the mighty creature who had
defeated them with his bare hands, and slunk quickly out into the
darkness of the campong.

When they caught up with Rajah Muda Saffir near the beach, they
narrated a fearful tale of fifty terrible white men with whom they had
battled valiantly, killing many, before they had been compelled to
retreat in the face of terrific odds. They swore that even then they
had only returned because the girl was not in the house—otherwise they
should have brought her to their beloved master as he had directed.

Now Muda Saffir believed nothing that they said, but he was well
pleased with the great treasure which had so unexpectedly fallen into
his hands, and he decided to make quite sure of that by transporting it
to his own land—later he could return for the girl. So the ten war
prahus of the Malay pulled quietly out of the little cove upon the east
side of the island, and bending their way toward the south circled its
southern extremity and bore away for Borneo.

In the bungalow within the north campong Sing and Number Thirteen had
lifted Professor Maxon to his bed, and the Chinaman was engaged in
bathing and bandaging the wound that had left the older man
unconscious. The white giant stood beside him watching his every move.
He was trying to understand why sometimes men killed one another and
again defended and nursed. He was curious as to the cause of his own
sudden change in sentiment toward Professor Maxon. At last he gave the
problem up as beyond his powers of solution, and at Sing’s command set
about the task of helping to nurse the man whom he considered the
author of his unhappiness and whom a few short minutes before he had
come to kill.

As the two worked over the stricken man their ears were suddenly
assailed by a wild commotion from the direction of the workshop. There
were sounds of battering upon wood, loud growls and roars, mingled with
weird shrieks and screams and the strange, uncanny gibbering of
brainless things.

Sing looked quickly up at his companion.

“Whallee mallee?” he asked.

The giant did not answer. An expression of pain crossed his features,
and he shuddered—but not from fear.




7
THE BULL WHIP


As von Horn and Virginia Maxon walked slowly beneath the dense shadows
of the jungle he again renewed his suit. It would please him more to
have the girl accompany him voluntarily than to be compelled to take
her by force, but take her he would one way or another, and that, this
very night, for all the plans were made and already under way.

“I cannot do it, Doctor von Horn,” she had said. “No matter how much
danger I may be in here I cannot desert my father on this lonely isle
with only savage lascars and the terrible monsters of his own creation
surrounding him. Why, it would be little short of murder for us to do
such a thing. I cannot see how you, his most trusted lieutenant, can
even give an instant’s consideration to the idea.

“And now that you insist that his mind is sorely affected, it is only
an added reason why I must remain with him to protect him so far as I
am able, from himself and his enemies.”

Von Horn did not relish the insinuation in the accent which the girl
put upon the last word.

“It is because I love you so, Virginia,” he hastened to urge in
extenuation of his suggested disloyalty. “I cannot see you sacrificed
to his horrible mania. You do not realize the imminence of your peril.
Tomorrow Number Thirteen was to have come to live beneath the same roof
with you. You recall Number One whom the stranger killed as the thing
was bearing you away through the jungle? Can you imagine sleeping in
the same house with such a soulless thing? Eating your three meals a
day at the same table with it? And knowing all the time that in a few
short weeks at the most you were destined to be given to the thing as
its mate? Virginia, you must be mad to consider for a moment remaining
within reach of such a terrible peril.

“Come to Singapore with me—it will take but a few days—and then we can
return with some good medical man and a couple of Europeans, and take
your father away from the terrible creatures he has created. You will
be mine then and safe from the awful fate that now lies back there in
the camp awaiting you. We can take your father upon a long trip where
rest and quiet can have an opportunity to restore his enfeebled
mentality. Come, Virginia! Come with me now. We can go directly to the
Ithaca and safety. Say that you will come.”

The girl shook her head.

“I do not love you, I am afraid, Doctor von Horn, or I should certainly
be moved by your appeal. If you wish to bring help for my father I
shall never cease to thank you if you will go to Singapore and fetch
it, but it is not necessary that I go. My place is here, near him.”

In the darkness the girl did not see the change that came over the
man’s face, but his next words revealed his altered attitude with
sufficient exactitude to thoroughly arouse her fears.

“Virginia,” he said, “I love you, and I intend to have you. Nothing on
earth can prevent me. When you know me better you will return my love,
but now I must risk offending you that I may save you for myself from
the monstrous connection which your father contemplates for you. If you
will not come away from the island with me voluntarily I consider it my
duty to take you away by force.”

“You would never do that, Doctor von Horn!” she exclaimed.

Von Horn had gone too far. He cursed himself inwardly for a fool. Why
the devil didn’t that villain, Bududreen, come! He should have been
along to act his part half an hour before.

“No, Virginia,” said the man, softly, after a moment’s silence, “I
could not do that; though my judgment tells me that I should do it. You
shall remain here if you insist and I will be with you to serve and
protect both you and your father.”

The words were fair, but the girl could not forget the ugly tone that
had tinged his preceding statement. She felt that she would be glad
when she found herself safely within the bungalow once more.

“Come,” she said, “it is late. Let us return to camp.”

Von Horn was about to reply when the war cries of Muda Saffir’s Dyaks
as they rushed out upon Bududreen and his companions came to them
distinctly through the tropic night.

“What was that?” cried the girl in an alarmed tone.

“God knows,” replied von Horn. “Can it be that our men have mutinied?”

He thought the six with Bududreen were carrying out their part in a
most realistic manner, and a grim smile tinged his hard face.

Virginia Maxon turned resolutely toward the camp.

“I must go back there to my father,” she said, “and so must you. Our
place is there—God give that we be not too late,” and before von Horn
could stop her she turned and ran through the darkness of the jungle in
the direction of the camp.

Von Horn dashed after her, but so black was the night beneath the
overhanging trees, festooned with their dark myriad creepers, that the
girl was out of sight in an instant, and upon the soft carpet of the
rotting vegetation her light footfalls gave no sound.

The doctor made straight for the camp, but Virginia, unused to jungle
trailing even by day, veered sharply to the left. The sounds which had
guided her at first soon died out, the brush became thicker, and
presently she realized that she had no conception of the direction of
the camp. Coming to a spot where the trees were less dense, and a
little moonlight filtered to the ground, she paused to rest and attempt
to regain her bearings.

As she stood listening for some sound which might indicate the
whereabouts of the camp, she detected the noise of a body approaching
through the underbrush. Whether man or beast she could but conjecture
and so she stood with every nerve taut waiting the thing that
floundered heavily toward her. She hoped it might be von Horn, but the
hideous war cries which had apprised her of enemies at the encampment
made her fear that fate might be directing the footsteps of one of
these upon her.

Nearer and nearer came the sound, and the girl stood poised ready to
fly when the dark face of Bududreen suddenly emerged into the moonlight
beside her. With an hysterical cry of relief the girl greeted him.

“Oh, Bududreen,” she exclaimed, “what has happened at camp? Where is my
father? Is he safe? Tell me.”

The Malay could scarce believe the good fortune which had befallen him
so quickly following the sore affliction of losing the treasure. His
evil mind worked quickly, so that he grasped the full possibilities
that were his before the girl had finished her questioning.

“The camp was attacked by Dyaks, Miss Maxon,” he replied. “Many of our
men were killed, but your father escaped and has gone to the ship. I
have been searching for you and Doctor von Horn. Where is he?”

“He was with me but a moment ago. When we heard the cries at camp I
hastened on to discover what calamity had befallen us—we became
separated.”

“He will be safe,” said Bududreen, “for two of my men are waiting to
guide you and the doctor to the ship in case you returned to camp
before I found you. Come, we will hasten on to the harbor. Your father
will be worried if we are long delayed, and he is anxious to make sail
and escape before the Dyaks discover the location of the Ithaca.”

The man’s story seemed plausible enough to Virginia, although she could
not repress a little pang of regret that her father had been willing to
go on to the harbor before he knew her fate. However, she explained
that by her belief that his mind was unbalanced through constant
application to his weird obsession.

Without demur, then, she turned and accompanied the rascally Malay
toward the harbor. At the bank of the little stream which led down to
the Ithaca’s berth the man lifted her to his shoulder and thus bore her
the balance of the way to the beach. Here two of his men were awaiting
him in one of the ship’s boats, and without words they embarked and
pulled for the vessel.

Once on board Virginia started immediately for her father’s cabin. As
she crossed the deck she noticed that the ship was ready to sail, and
even as she descended the companionway she heard the rattle of the
anchor chain about the capstan. She wondered if von Horn could be on
board too. It seemed remarkable that all should have reached the Ithaca
so quickly, and equally strange that none of her own people were on
deck to welcome her, or to command the vessel.

To her chagrin she found her father’s cabin empty, and a moment’s
hurried investigation disclosed the fact that von Horn’s was unoccupied
as well. Now her doubts turned quickly to fears, and with a little gasp
of dismay at the grim possibilities which surged through her
imagination she ran quickly to the companionway, but above her she saw
that the hatch was down, and when she reached the top that it was
fastened. Futilely she beat upon the heavy planks with her delicate
hands, calling aloud to Bududreen to release her, but there was no
reply, and with the realization of the hopelessness of her position she
dropped back to the deck, and returned to her stateroom. Here she
locked and barricaded the door as best she could, and throwing herself
upon the berth awaited in dry-eyed terror the next blow that fate held
in store for her.

Shortly after von Horn became separated from Virginia he collided with
the fleeing lascar who had escaped the parangs of Muda Saffir’s head
hunters at the same time as had Bududreen. So terror stricken was the
fellow that he had thrown away his weapons in the panic of flight,
which was all that saved von Horn from death at the hands of the fear
crazed man. To him, in the extremity of his fright, every man was an
enemy, and the doctor had a tough scuffle with him before he could
impress upon the fellow that he was a friend.

From him von Horn obtained an incoherent account of the attack,
together with the statement that he was the only person in camp that
escaped, all the others having been cut down by the savage horde that
overwhelmed them. It was with difficulty that von Horn persuaded the
man to return with him to the campong, but finally, he consented to do
so when the doctor with drawn revolver, presented death as the only
alternative.

Together they cautiously crept back toward the palisade, not knowing at
what moment they might come upon the savage enemy that had wrought such
havoc among their forces, for von Horn believed the lascar’s story that
all had perished. His only motive for returning lay in his desire to
prevent Virginia Maxon falling into the hands of the Dyaks, or, failing
that, rescuing her from their clutches.

Whatever faults and vices were Carl von Horn’s cowardice was not one of
them, and it was without an instant’s hesitation that he had elected to
return to succor the girl he believed to have returned to camp,
although he entertained no scruples regarding the further pursuit of
his dishonorable intentions toward her, should he succeed in saving her
from her other enemies.

As the two approached the campong quiet seemed to have again fallen
about the scene of the recent alarm. Muda Saffir had passed on toward
the cove with the heavy chest, and the scrimmage in the bungalow was
over. But von Horn did not abate his watchfulness as he stole silently
within the precincts of the north campong, and, hugging the denser
shadows of the palisade, crept toward the house.

The dim light in the living room drew him to one of the windows which
overlooked the verandah. A glance within showed him Sing and Number
Thirteen bending over the body of Professor Maxon. He noted the
handsome face and perfect figure of the young giant. He saw the bodies
of the dead lascars and Dyaks. Then he saw Sing and the young man lift
Professor Maxon tenderly in their arms and bear him to his own room.

A sudden wave of jealous rage swept through the man’s vicious brain. He
saw that the soulless thing within was endowed with a kindlier and more
noble nature than he himself possessed. He had planted the seed of
hatred and revenge within his untutored heart without avail, for he
read in the dead bodies of Bududreen’s men and the two Dyaks the story
of Number Thirteen’s defense of the man von Horn had hoped he would
kill.

Von Horn was quite sure now that Virginia Maxon was not within the
campong. Either she had become confused and lost in the jungle after
she left him, or had fallen into the hands of the wild horde that had
attacked the camp. Convinced of this, there was no obstacle to thwart
the sudden plan which entered his malign brain. With a single act he
could rid himself of the man whom he had come to look upon as a rival,
whose physical beauty aroused his envy and jealousy; he could remove,
in the person of Professor Maxon, the parental obstacle which might
either prevent his obtaining the girl, or make serious trouble for him
in case he took her by force, and at the same time he could transfer to
the girl’s possession the fortune which was now her father’s—and he
could accomplish it all without tainting his own hands with the blood
of his victims.

As the full possibilities of his devilish scheme unfolded before his
mind’s eye a grim smile curled his straight, thin lips at the thought
of the fate which it entailed for the creator of the hideous monsters
of the court of mystery.

As he turned away from the bungalow his eye fell upon the trembling
lascar who had accompanied him to the edge of the verandah. He must be
rid of the fellow in some way—no eye must see him perpetrate the deed
he had in mind. A solution quickly occurred to him.

“Hasten to the harbor,” he said to the man in a low voice, “and tell
those on board the ship that I shall join them presently. Have all in
readiness to sail. I wish to fetch some of my belongings—all within the
bungalow are dead.”

No command could have better suited the sailor. Without a word he
turned and fled toward the jungle. Von Horn walked quickly to the
workshop. The door hung open. Through the dark interior he strode
straight to the opposite door which let upon the court of mystery. On a
nail driven into the door frame hung a heavy bull whip. The doctor took
it down as he raised the strong bar which held the door. Then he
stepped through into the moonlit inner campong—the bull whip in his
right hand, a revolver in his left.

A half dozen misshapen monsters roved restlessly about the hard packed
earth of the pen. The noise of the battle in the adjoining enclosure
had aroused them from slumber and awakened in their half formed brains
vague questionings and fears. At sight of von Horn several of them
rushed for him with menacing growls, but a swift crack of the bull whip
brought them to a sudden realization of the identity of the intruder,
so that they slunk away, muttering and whining in rage.

Von Horn passed quickly to the low shed in which the remainder of the
eleven were sleeping. With vicious cuts from the stinging lash he lay
about him upon the sleeping things. Roaring and shrieking in pain and
anger the creatures stumbled to their feet and lumbered awkwardly into
the open. Two of them turned upon their tormentor, but the burning
weapon on their ill protected flesh sent them staggering back out of
reach, and in another moment all were huddled in the center of the
campong.

As cattle are driven, von Horn drove the miserable creatures toward the
door of the workshop. At the threshold of the dark interior the
frightened things halted fearfully, and then as von Horn urged them on
from behind with his cruel whip they milled as cattle at the entrance
to a strange corral.

Again and again he urged them for the door, but each time they turned
away, and to escape the whip beat and tore at the wall of the palisade
in a vain effort to batter it from their pathway. Their roars and
shrieks were almost deafening as von Horn, losing what little remained
of his scant self-control, dashed among them laying to right and left
with the stern whip and the butt of his heavy revolver.

Most of the monsters scattered and turned back into the center of the
enclosure, but three of them were forced through the doorway into the
workshop, from the darkness of which they saw the patch of moonlight
through the open door upon the opposite side. Toward this they scurried
as von Horn turned back into the court of mystery for the others.

Three more herculean efforts he made before he beat the last of the
creatures through the outer doorway of the workshop into the north
campong.

Among the age old arts of the celestials none is more strangely
inspiring than that of medicine. Odd herbs and unspeakable things when
properly compounded under a favorable aspect of the heavenly bodies are
potent to achieve miraculous cures, and few are the Chinamen who do not
brew some special concoction of their own devising for the lesser ills
which beset mankind.

Sing was no exception in this respect. In various queerly shaped,
bamboo covered jars he maintained a supply of tonics, balms and
lotions. His first thought when he had made Professor Maxon comfortable
upon the couch was to fetch his pet nostrum, for there burned strong
within his yellow breast the same powerful yearning to experiment that
marks the greatest of the profession to whose mysteries he aspired.

Though the hideous noises from the inner campong rose threateningly,
the imperturbable Sing left the bungalow and passed across the north
campong to the little lean-to that he had built for himself against the
palisade that separated the north enclosure from the court of mystery.

Here he rummaged about in the dark until he had found the two phials he
sought. The noise of the monsters upon the opposite side of the
palisade had now assumed the dimensions of pandemonium, and through it
all the Chinaman heard the constant crack that was the sharp voice of
the bull whip.

He had completed his search and was about to return to the bungalow
when the first of the monsters emerged into the north campong from the
workshop. At the door of his shack Sing Lee drew back to watch, for he
knew that behind them some one was driving these horribly grotesque
creatures from their prison.

One by one they came lumbering into the moonlight until Sing had
counted eleven, and then, after them, came a white man, bull whip and
revolver in hand. It was von Horn. The equatorial moon shone full upon
him—there could be no mistake. The Chinaman saw him turn and lock the
workshop door; saw him cross the campong to the outer gate; saw him
pass through toward the jungle, closing the gate.

Of a sudden there was a sad, low moaning through the surrounding trees;
dense, black clouds obscured the radiant moon; and then with hideous
thunder and vivid flashes of lightning the tempest broke in all its
fury of lashing wind and hurtling deluge. It was the first great storm
of the breaking up of the monsoon, and under the cover of its darkness
Sing Lee scurried through the monster filled campong to the bungalow.
Within he found the young man bathing Professor Maxon’s head as he had
directed him to do.

“All gettee out,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the
court of mystery. “Eleven devils. Plenty soon come bung’low. What do?”

Number Thirteen had seen von Horn’s extra bull whip hanging upon a peg
in the living room. For answer he stepped into that room and took the
weapon down. Then he returned to the professor’s side.

Outside the frightened monsters groped through the blinding rain and
darkness in search of shelter. Each vivid lightning flash, and
bellowing of booming thunder brought responsive cries of rage and
terror from their hideous lips. It was Number Twelve who first spied
the dim light showing through the bungalow’s living room window. With a
low guttural to his companions he started toward the building. Up the
low steps to the verandah they crept. Number Twelve peered through the
window. He saw no one within, but there was warmth and dryness.

His little knowledge and lesser reasoning faculties suggested no
thought of a doorway. With a blow he shattered the glass of the window.
Then he forced his body through the narrow aperture. At the same moment
a gust of wind sucking through the broken panes drew open the door, and
as Number Thirteen, warned by the sound of breaking glass, sprang into
the living room he was confronted by the entire horde of misshapen
beings.

His heart went out in pity toward the miserable crew, but he knew that
his life as well as those of the two men in the adjoining room depended
upon the force and skill with which he might handle the grave crisis
which confronted them. He had seen and talked with most of the
creatures when from time to time they had been brought singly into the
workshop that their creator might mitigate the wrong he had done by
training the poor minds with which he had endowed them to reason
intelligently.

A few were hopeless imbeciles, unable to comprehend more than the
rudimentary requirements of filling their bellies when food was placed
before them; yet even these were endowed with superhuman strength; and
when aroused battled the more fiercely for the very reason of their
brainlessness. Others, like Number Twelve, were of a higher order of
intelligence. They spoke English, and, after a fashion, reasoned in a
crude sort of way. These were by far the most dangerous, for as the
power of comparison is the fundamental principle of reasoning, so they
were able to compare their lot with that of the few other men they had
seen, and with the help of von Horn to partially appreciate the
horrible wrong that had been done them.

Von Horn, too, had let them know the identity of their creator, and
thus implanted in their malformed brains the insidious poison of
revenge. Envy and jealousy were there as well, and hatred of all beings
other than themselves. They envied the ease and comparative beauty of
the old professor and his assistant, and hated the latter for the
cruelty of the bull whip and the constant menace of the ever ready
revolver; and so as they were to them the representatives of the great
human world of which they could never be a part, their envy and
jealousy and hatred of these men embraced the entire race which they
represented.

It was such that Number Thirteen faced as he emerged from the
professor’s apartment.

“What do you want here?” he said, addressing Number Twelve, who stood a
little in advance of the others.

“We have come for Maxon,” growled the creature. “We have been penned up
long enough. We want to be out here. We have come to kill Maxon and you
and all who have made us what we are.”

“Why do you wish to kill me?” asked the young man. “I am one of you. I
was made in the same way that you were made.”

Number Twelve opened his mismated eyes in astonishment.

“Then you have already killed Maxon?” he asked.

“No. He was wounded by a savage enemy. I have been helping to make him
well again. He has wronged me as much as he has you. If I do not wish
to kill him, why should you? He did not mean to wrong us. He thought
that he was doing right. He is in trouble now and we should stay and
protect him.”

“He lies,” suddenly shouted another of the horde. “He is not one of us.
Kill him! Kill him! Kill Maxon, too, and then we shall be as other men,
for it is these men who keep us as we are.”

The fellow started forward toward Number Thirteen as he spoke, and
moved by the impulse of imitation the others came on with him.

“I have spoken fairly to you,” said Number Thirteen in a low voice. “If
you cannot understand fairness here is something you can understand.”

Raising the bull whip above his head the young giant leaped among the
advancing brutes and lay about him with mighty strokes that put to
shame the comparatively feeble blows with which von Horn had been wont
to deal out punishment to the poor, damned creatures of the court of
mystery.

For a moment they stood valiantly before his attack, but after two had
grappled with him and been hurled headlong to the floor they gave up
and rushed incontinently out into the maelstrom of the screaming
tempest.

In the doorway behind him Sing Lee had been standing waiting the
outcome of the encounter and ready to lend a hand were it required. As
the two men turned back into the professor’s room they saw that the
wounded man’s eyes were open and upon them. At sight of Number Thirteen
a questioning look came into his eyes.

“What has happened?” he asked feebly of Sing. “Where is my daughter?
Where is Dr. von Horn? What is this creature doing out of his pen?”

The blow of the parang upon the professor’s skull had shocked his
overwrought mind back into the path of sanity. It had left him with a
clear remembrance of the past, other than the recent fight in the
living room—that was a blank—and it had given him a clearer perspective
of the plans he had been entertaining for so long relative to this
soulless creature.

The first thought that sprang to his mind as he saw Number Thirteen
before him was of his mad intention to give his daughter to such a
monstrous thing. With the recollection came a sudden loathing and
hatred of this and the other creatures of his unholy experimentations.

Presently he realized that his questions had not been answered.

“Sing!” he shouted. “Answer me. Where are Virginia and Dr. von Horn?”

“All gonee. Me no know. All gonee. Maybeso allee dead.”

“My God!” groaned the stricken man; and then his eyes again falling
upon the silent giant in the doorway, “Out of my sight,” he shrieked.
“Out of my sight! Never let me see you again—and to think that I would
have given my only daughter to a soulless thing like you. Away! Before
I go mad and slay you.”

Slowly the color mounted to the neck and face of the giant—then
suddenly it receded, leaving him as ashen as death. His great hand
gripped the stock of the bull whip. A single blow was all that would
have been needed to silence Professor Maxon forever. There was murder
in the wounded heart. The man took a step forward into the room, and
then something drew his eyes to a spot upon the wall just above
Professor Maxon’s shoulder—it was a photograph of Virginia Maxon.

Without a word Number Thirteen turned upon his heel and passed out into
the storm.




8
THE SOUL OF NUMBER 13


Scarcely had the Ithaca cleared the reef which lies almost across the
mouth of the little harbor where she had been moored for so many months
than the tempest broke upon her in all its terrific fury. Bududreen was
no mean sailor, but he was short handed, nor is it reasonable to
suppose that even with a full crew he could have weathered the terrific
gale which beat down upon the hapless vessel. Buffeted by great waves,
and stripped of every shred of canvas by the force of the mighty wind
that howled about her, the Ithaca drifted a hopeless wreck soon after
the storm struck her.

Below deck the terrified girl clung desperately to a stanchion as the
stricken ship lunged sickeningly before the hurricane. For half an hour
the awful suspense endured, and then with a terrific crash the vessel
struck, shivering and trembling from stem to stern.

Virginia Maxon sank to her knees in prayer, for this she thought must
surely be the end. On deck Bududreen and his crew had lashed themselves
to the masts, and as the Ithaca struck the reef before the harbor, back
upon which she had been driven, the tall poles with their living
freight snapped at the deck and went overboard carrying every thing
with them amid shrieks and cries of terror that were drowned and choked
by the wild tumult of the night.

Twice the girl felt the ship strike upon the reef, then a great wave
caught and carried her high into the air, dropping her with a
nauseating lunge which seemed to the imprisoned girl to be carrying the
ship to the very bottom of the ocean. With closed eyes she clung in
silent prayer beside her berth waiting for the moment that would bring
the engulfing waters and oblivion—praying that the end might come
speedily and release her from the torture of nervous apprehension that
had terrorized her for what seemed an eternity.

After the last, long dive the Ithaca righted herself laboriously,
wallowing drunkenly, but apparently upon an even keel in less turbulent
waters. One long minute dragged after another, yet no suffocating
deluge poured in upon the girl, and presently she realized that the
ship had, at least temporarily, weathered the awful buffeting of the
savage elements. Now she felt but a gentle roll, though the wild
turmoil of the storm still came to her ears through the heavy planking
of the Ithaca’s hull.

For a long hour she lay wondering what fate had overtaken the vessel
and whither she had been driven, and then, with a gentle grinding
sound, the ship stopped, swung around, and finally came to rest with a
slight list to starboard. The wind howled about her, the torrential
rain beat loudly upon her, but except for a slight rocking the ship lay
quiet.

Hours passed with no other sounds than those of the rapidly waning
tempest. The girl heard no signs of life upon the ship. Her curiosity
became more and more keenly aroused. She had that indefinable,
intuitive feeling that she was utterly alone upon the vessel, and at
length, unable to endure the inaction and uncertainty longer, made her
way to the companion ladder where for half an hour she futilely
attempted to remove the hatch.

As she worked she failed to hear the scraping of naked bodies
clambering over the ship’s side, or the padding of unshod feet upon the
deck above her. She was about to give up her work at the hatch when the
heavy wooden cover suddenly commenced to move above her as though
actuated by some supernatural power. Fascinated, the girl stood gazing
in wide-eyed astonishment as one end of the hatch rose higher and
higher until a little patch of blue sky revealed the fact that morning
had come. Then the cover slid suddenly back and Virginia Maxon found
herself looking into a savage and terrible face.

The dark skin was creased in fierce wrinkles about the eyes and mouth.
Gleaming tiger cat’s teeth curved upward from holes pierced to receive
them in the upper half of each ear. The slit ear lobes supported heavy
rings whose weight had stretched the skin until the long loop rested
upon the brown shoulders. The filed and blackened teeth behind the
loose lips added the last touch of hideousness to this terrible
countenance.

Nor was this all. A score of equally ferocious faces peered down from
behind the foremost. With a little scream Virginia Maxon sprang back to
the lower deck and ran toward her stateroom. Behind her she heard the
commotion of many men descending the companionway.

As Number Thirteen came into the campong after quitting the bungalow
his heart was a chaos of conflicting emotions. His little world had
been wiped out. His creator—the man whom he thought his only friend and
benefactor—had suddenly turned against him. The beautiful creature he
worshipped was either lost or dead; Sing had said so. He was nothing
but a miserable _thing_. There was no place in the world for him, and
even should he again find Virginia Maxon, he had von Horn’s word for it
that she would shrink from him and loathe him even more than another.

With no plans and no hopes he walked aimlessly through the blinding
rain, oblivious of it and of the vivid lightning and deafening thunder.
The palisade at length brought him to a sudden stop. Mechanically he
squatted on his haunches with his back against it, and there, in the
midst of the fury of the storm he conquered the tempest that raged in
his own breast. The murder that rose again and again in his untaught
heart he forced back by thoughts of the sweet, pure face of the girl
whose image he had set up in the inner temple of his being, as a
gentle, guiding divinity.

“He made me without a soul,” he repeated over and over again to
himself, “but I have found a soul—she shall be my soul. Von Horn could
not explain to me what a soul is. He does not know. None of them knows.
I am wiser than all the rest, for I have learned what a soul is. Eyes
cannot see it—fingers cannot feel it, but he who possess it knows that
it is there for it fills his whole breast with a great, wonderful love
and worship for something infinitely finer than man’s dull senses can
gauge—something that guides him into paths far above the plain of
soulless beasts and bestial men.

“Let those who will say that I have no soul, for I am satisfied with
the soul I have found. It would never permit me to inflict on others
the terrible wrong that Professor Maxon has inflicted on me—yet he
never doubts his own possession of a soul. It would not allow me to
revel in the coarse brutalities of von Horn—and I am sure that von Horn
thinks he has a soul. And if the savage men who came tonight to kill
have souls, then I am glad that my soul is after my own choosing—I
would not care for one like theirs.”

The sudden equatorial dawn found the man still musing. The storm had
ceased and as the daylight brought the surroundings to view Number
Thirteen became aware that he was not alone in the campong. All about
him lay the eleven terrible men whom he had driven from the bungalow
the previous night. The sight of them brought a realization of new
responsibilities. To leave them here in the campong would mean the
immediate death of Professor Maxon and the Chinaman. To turn them into
the jungle might mean a similar fate for Virginia Maxon were she
wandering about in search of the encampment— Number Thirteen could not
believe that she was dead. It seemed too monstrous to believe that he
should never see her again, and he knew so little of death that it was
impossible for him to realize that that beautiful creature ever could
cease to be filled with the vivacity of life.

The young man had determined to leave the camp himself—partly on
account of the cruel words Professor Maxon had hurled at him the night
before, but principally in order that he might search for the lost
girl. Of course he had not the remotest idea where to look for her, but
as von Horn had explained that they were upon a small island he felt
reasonably sure that he should find her in time.

As he looked at the sleeping monsters near him he determined that the
only solution of his problem was to take them all with him. Number
Twelve lay closest to him, and stepping to his side he nudged him with
the butt of the bull whip he still carried. The creature opened his
dull eyes.

“Get up,” said Number Thirteen.

Number Twelve rose, looking askance at the bull whip.

“We are not wanted here,” said Number Thirteen. “I am going away and
you are all going with me. We shall find a place where we may live in
peace and freedom. Are you not tired of always being penned up?”

“Yes,” replied Number Twelve, still looking at the whip.

“You need not fear the whip,” said the young man. “I shall not use it
on those who make no trouble. Wake the others and tell them what I have
said. All must come with me—those who refuse shall feel the whip.”

Number Twelve did as he was bid. The creatures mumbled among themselves
for a few minutes. Finally Number Thirteen cracked his long whip to
attract their attention.

“Come!” he said.

Nine of them shuffled after him as he turned toward the outer gate—only
Number Ten and Number Three held back. The young man walked quickly to
where they stood eyeing him sullenly. The others halted to watch—ready
to spring upon their new master should the tide of the impending battle
turn against him. The two mutineers backed away snarling, their hideous
features distorted in rage.

“Come!” repeated Number Thirteen.

“We will stay here,” growled Number Ten. “We have not yet finished with
Maxon.”

A loop in the butt of the bull whip was about the young man’s wrist.
Dropping the weapon from his hand it still dangled by the loop. At the
same instant he launched himself at the throat of Number Ten, for he
realized that a decisive victory now without the aid of the weapon they
all feared would make the balance of his work easier.

The brute met the charge with lowered head and outstretched hands, and
in another second they were locked in a clinch, tearing at one another
like two great gorillas. For a moment Number Three stood watching the
battle, and then he too sprang in to aid his fellow mutineer. Number
Thirteen was striking heavy blows with his giant hands upon the face
and head of his antagonist, while the long, uneven fangs of the latter
had found his breast and neck a half dozen times. Blood covered them
both. Number Three threw his enormous weight into the conflict with the
frenzy of a mad bull.

Again and again he got a hold upon the young giant’s throat only to be
shaken loose by the mighty muscles. The excitement of the conflict was
telling upon the malformed minds of the spectators. Presently one who
was almost brainless, acting upon the impulse of suggestion, leaped in
among the fighters, striking and biting at Number Thirteen. It was all
that was needed—another second found the whole monstrous crew upon the
single man.

His mighty strength availed him but little in the unequal
conflict—eleven to one were too great odds even for those powerful
thews. His great advantage lay in his superior intelligence, but even
this seemed futile in the face of the enormous weight of numbers that
opposed him. Time and again he had almost shaken himself free only to
fall once more—dragged down by hairy arms about his legs.

Hither and thither about the campong the battle raged until the
fighting mass rolled against the palisade, and here, at last, with his
back to the structure, Number Thirteen regained his feet, and with the
heavy stock of the bull whip beat off, for a moment, those nearest him.
All were winded, but when those who were left of the eleven original
antagonists drew back to regain their breath, the young giant gave them
no respite, but leaped among them with the long lash they had such good
reason to hate and fear.

The result was as his higher intelligence had foreseen—the creatures
scattered to escape the fury of the lash and a moment later he had them
at his mercy. About the campong lay four who had felt the full force of
his heavy fist, while not one but bore some mark of the battle.

Not a moment did he give them to recuperate after he had scattered them
before he rounded them up once more near the outer gate—but now they
were docile and submissive. In pairs he ordered them to lift their
unconscious comrades to their shoulders and bear them into the jungle,
for Number Thirteen was setting out into the world with his grim tribe
in search of his lady love.

Once well within the jungle they halted to eat of the more familiar
fruit which had always formed the greater bulk of their sustenance.
Thus refreshed, they set out once more after the leader who wandered
aimlessly beneath the shade of the tall jungle trees amidst the
gorgeous tropic blooms and gay, songless birds—and of the twelve only
the leader saw the beauties that surrounded them or felt the strange,
mysterious influence of the untracked world they trod. Chance took them
toward the west until presently they emerged upon the harbor’s edge,
where from the matted jungle they overlooked for the first time the
waters of the little bay and the broader expanse of strait beyond,
until their eyes rested at last upon the blurred lines of distant
Borneo.

From other vantage points at the jungle’s border two other watchers
looked out upon the scene. One was the lascar whom von Horn had sent
down to the Ithaca the night before but who had reached the harbor
after she sailed. The other was von Horn himself. And both were looking
out upon the dismantled wreck of the Ithaca where it lay in the sand
near the harbor’s southern edge.

Neither ventured forth from his place of concealment, for beyond the
Ithaca ten prahus were pulling gracefully into the quiet waters of the
basin.

Rajah Muda Saffir, caught by the hurricane the preceding night as he
had been about to beat across to Borneo, had scurried for shelter
within one of the many tiny coves which indent the island’s entire
coast. It happened that his haven of refuge was but a short distance
south of the harbor in which he knew the Ithaca to be moored, and in
the morning he decided to pay that vessel a visit in the hope that he
might learn something of advantage about the girl from one of her
lascar crew.

The wily Malay had long refrained from pillaging the Ithaca for fear
such an act might militate against the larger villainy he purposed
perpetrating against her white owner, but when he rounded the point and
came in sight of the stranded wreck he put all such thoughts from him
and made straight for the helpless hulk to glean whatever of salvage
might yet remain within her battered hull.

The old rascal had little thought of the priceless treasure hidden
beneath the Ithaca’s clean swept deck as he ordered his savage henchmen
up her sides while he lay back upon his sleeping mat beneath the canopy
which protected his vice-regal head from the blistering tropic sun.

Number Thirteen watched the wild head hunters with keenest interest as
they clambered aboard the vessel. With von Horn he saw the evident
amazement which followed the opening of the hatch, though neither
guessed its cause. He saw the haste with which a half dozen of the
warriors leaped down the companionway and heard their savage shouts as
they pursued their quarry within the bowels of the ship.

A few minutes later they emerged dragging a woman with them. Von Horn
and Number Thirteen recognized the girl simultaneously, but the doctor,
though he ground his teeth in futile rage, knew that he was helpless to
avert the tragedy. Number Thirteen neither knew nor cared.

“Come!” he called to his grotesque horde. “Kill the men and save the
girl—the one with the golden hair,” he added as the sudden realization
came to him that none of these creatures ever had seen a woman before.
Then he dashed from the shelter of the jungle, across the beach and
into the water, his fearful pack at his heels.

The Ithaca lay now in about five feet of water, and the war prahus of
Muda Saffir rode upon her seaward side, so that those who manned them
did not see the twelve who splashed through the water from land. Never
before had any of the rescuers seen a larger body of water than the
little stream which wound through their campong, but accidents and
experiments in that had taught them the danger of submerging their
heads. They could not swim, but all were large and strong, so that they
were able to push their way rapidly through the water to the very side
of the ship.

Here they found difficulty in reaching the deck, but in a moment Number
Thirteen had solved the problem by requiring one of the taller of his
crew to stand close in by the ship while the others clambered upon his
shoulders and from there to the Ithaca’s deck.

Number Thirteen was the first to pull himself over the vessel’s side,
and as he did so he saw some half dozen Dyaks preparing to quit her
upon the opposite side. They were the last of the boarding party—the
girl was nowhere in sight. Without waiting for his men the young giant
sprang across the deck. His one thought was to find Virginia Maxon.

At the sound of his approach the Dyak turned, and at the sight of a
pajama clad white man armed only with a long whip they emitted savage
cries of anticipation, counting the handsome trophy upon the white
one’s shoulders as already theirs. Number Thirteen would have paid no
attention whatever to them had they not molested him, for he wished
only to reach the girl’s side as quickly as possible; but in another
moment he found himself confronted by a half dozen dancing wild men,
brandishing wicked looking parangs, and crying tauntingly.

Up went the great bull whip, and without abating his speed a particle
the man leaped into the midst of the wicked blades that menaced him.
Right and left with the quickness of thought the heavy lash fell upon
heads, shoulders and sword arms. There was no chance to wield a blade
in the face of that terrific onslaught, for the whip fell, not with the
ordinary force of a man-held lash, but with all the stupendous power of
those giant shoulders and arms behind it.

A single blow felled the foremost head hunter, breaking his shoulder
and biting into the flesh and bone as a heavy sword bites. Again and
again the merciless leather fell, while in the boats below Muda Saffir
and his men shouted loud cries of encouragement to their companions on
the ship, and a wide-eyed girl in the stern of Muda Saffir’s own prahu
looked on in terror, hope and admiration at the man of her own race
whom she felt was battling against all these odds for her alone.

Virginia Maxon recognized her champion instantly as he who had fought
for her and saved her once before, from the hideous creature of her
father’s experiments. With hands tight pressed against her bosom the
girl leaned forward, tense with excitement, watching every move of the
lithe, giant figure, as, silhouetted against the brazen tropic sky, it
towered above the dancing, shrieking head hunters who writhed beneath
the awful lash.

Muda Saffir saw that the battle was going against his men, and it
filled him with anger. Turning to one of his headmen he ordered two
more boatloads of warriors to the Ithaca’s deck. As they were rushing
to obey their leader’s command there was a respite in the fighting on
the ship, for the three who had not fallen beneath the bull whip had
leaped overboard to escape the fate which had overtaken their comrades.

As the reinforcements started to scale the vessel’s side Number
Thirteen’s searching eyes found the girl in Muda Saffir’s prahu, where
it lay a little off from the Ithaca, and as the first of the enemy
clambered over the rail she saw a smile of encouragement light the
clear cut features of the man above her. Virginia Maxon sent back an
answering smile—a smile that filled the young giant’s heart with pride
and happiness—such a smile as brave men have been content to fight and
die for since woman first learned the art of smiling.

Number Thirteen could have beaten back many of the reinforcing party
before they reached the deck, but he did not care to do so. In the
spontaneous ethics of the man there seemed no place for an unfair
advantage over an enemy, and added to this was his newly acquired love
of battle, so he was content to wait until his foes stood on an even
footing with him before he engaged them. But they never came within
reach of his ready lash. Instead, as they came above the ship’s side
they paused, wide-eyed and terror stricken, and with cries of fear and
consternation dropped precipitately back into the sea, shouting
warnings to those who were about to scale the hull.

Muda Saffir arose in his prahu cursing and reviling the frightened
Dyaks. He did not know the cause of their alarm, but presently he saw
it behind the giant upon the Ithaca’s deck—eleven horrible
monstrosities lumbering forward, snarling and growling, to their
leader’s side.

At the sight his own dark countenance went ashen, and with trembling
lips he ordered his oarsmen to pull for the open sea. The girl, too,
saw the frightful creatures that surrounded the man upon the deck. She
thought that they were about to attack him, and gave a little cry of
warning, but in another instant she realized that they were his
companions, for with him they rushed to the side of the ship to stand
for a moment looking down upon the struggling Dyaks in the water below.

Two prahus lay directly beneath them, and into these the head hunters
were scrambling. The balance of the flotilla was now making rapid
headway under oars and sail toward the mouth of the harbor, and as
Number Thirteen saw that the girl was being borne away from him, he
shouted a command to his misshapen crew, and without waiting to see if
they would follow him leaped into the nearer of the two boats beneath.

It was already half filled with Dyaks, some of whom were hastily
manning the oars. Others of the head hunters were scrambling over the
gunwale. In an instant pandemonium reigned in the little vessel. Savage
warriors sprang toward the tall figure towering above them. Parangs
flashed. The bull whip hissed and cracked, and then into the midst of
it all came a horrid avalanche of fearful and grotesque monsters—the
young giant’s crew had followed at his command.

The battle in the prahu was short and fierce. For an instant the Dyaks
attempted to hold their own, but in the face of the snarling, rending
horde that engulfed them terror got the better of them all, so that
those who were not overcome dived overboard and swam rapidly toward
shore.

The other prahu had not waited to assist its companion, but before it
was entirely filled had gotten under way and was now rapidly
overhauling the balance of the fleet.

Von Horn had been an excited witness to all that had occurred upon the
tranquil bosom of the little harbor. He had been filled with
astonishment at sight of the inhabitants of the court of mystery
fighting under the leadership of Number Thirteen, and now he watched
interestedly the outcome of the adventure.

The sight of the girl being borne away in the prahu of the Malay rajah
to a fate worse than death, had roused in him both keen regret and
savage rage, but it was the life of ease that he was losing that
concerned him most. He had felt so sure of winning Professor Maxon’s
fortune through either a forced or voluntary marriage with the girl
that his feelings now were as of one whose rightful heritage has been
foully wrested from him. The thought of the girl’s danger and suffering
were of but secondary consideration to him, for the man was incapable
of either deep love or true chivalry.

Quite the contrary were the emotions which urged on the soulless
creature who now found himself in undisputed possession of a Dyak war
prahu. His only thought was of the girl being rapidly borne away across
the glimmering waters of the strait. He knew not to what dangers she
was exposed, or what fate threatened her. All he knew was that she had
been taken by force against her will. He had seen the look of terror in
her eyes, and the dawning hope die out as the boat that carried her had
turned rapidly away from the Ithaca. His one thought now was to rescue
her from her abductors and return her to her father. Of his own reward
or profit he entertained no single thought—it was enough if he could
fight for her. That would be reward sufficient.

Neither Number Thirteen nor any of his crew had ever before seen a
boat, and outside of the leader there was scarcely enough brains in the
entire party to render it at all likely that they could ever navigate
it, but the young man saw that the other prahus were being propelled by
the long sticks which protruded from their sides, and he also saw the
sails bellying with wind, though he had but a vague conception of their
purpose.

For a moment he stood watching the actions of the men in the nearest
boat, and then he set himself to the task of placing his own men at the
oars and instructing them in the manner of wielding the unfamiliar
implements. For an hour he worked with the brainless things that
constituted his party. They could not seem to learn what was required
of them. The paddles were continually fouling one another, or being
merely dipped into the water and withdrawn without the faintest
semblance of a stroke made.

The tiresome maneuvering had carried them about in circles back and
forth across the harbor, but by it Number Thirteen had himself learned
something of the proper method of propelling and steering his craft. At
last, more through accident than intent, they came opposite the mouth
of the basin, and then chance did for them what days of arduous
endeavor upon their part might have failed to accomplish.

As they hung wavering in the opening, the broad strait before them, and
their quarry fast diminishing to small specks upon the distant horizon,
a vagrant land breeze suddenly bellied the flapping sail. The prahu
swung quickly about with nose pointed toward the sea, the sail filled,
and the long, narrow craft shot out of the harbor and sped on over the
dancing waters in the wake of her sisters.

On shore behind them the infuriated Dyaks who had escaped to the beach
danced and shrieked; von Horn, from his hiding place, looked on in
surprised wonder, and Bududreen’s lascar cursed the fate that had left
a party of forty head hunters upon the same small island with him.

Smaller and smaller grew the retreating prahu as, straight as an arrow,
she sped toward the dim outline of verdure clad Borneo.




9
INTO SAVAGE BORNEO


Von Horn cursed the chance that had snatched the girl from him, but he
tried to content himself with the thought that the treasure probably
still rested in the cabin of the Ithaca, where Bududreen was to have
deposited it. He wished that the Dyaks would take themselves off so
that he could board the vessel and carry the chest ashore to bury it
against the time that fate should provide a means for transporting it
to Singapore.

In the water below him floated the Ithaca’s masts, their grisly burdens
still lashed to their wave swept sides. Bududreen lay there, his
contorted features set in a horrible grimace of death which grinned up
at the man he would have cheated, as though conscious of the fact that
the white man would have betrayed him had the opportunity come, the
while he enjoyed in anticipation the other’s disappointment in the loss
of both the girl and the treasure.

The tide was rising now, and presently the Ithaca began to float. No
sooner was it apparent that she was free than the Dyaks sprang into the
water and swam to her side. Like monkeys they scrambled aboard,
swarming below deck in search, thought von Horn, of pillage. He prayed
that they would not discover the chest.

Presently a half dozen of them leaped overboard and swam to the mass of
tangled spars and rigging which littered the beach. Selecting what they
wished they returned to the vessel, and a few minutes later von Horn
was chagrined to see them stepping a jury mast—he thought the treasure
lay in the Ithaca’s cabin.

Before dark the vessel moved slowly out of the harbor, setting a course
across the strait in the direction that the war prahus had taken. When
it was apparent that there was no danger that the head hunters would
return, the lascar came from his hiding place, and dancing up and down
upon the shore screamed warlike challenges and taunts at the retreating
enemy.

Von Horn also came forth, much to the sailor’s surprise, and in silence
the two stood watching the disappearing ship. At length they turned and
made their way up the stream toward camp—there was no longer aught to
fear there. Von Horn wondered if the creatures he had loosed upon
Professor Maxon had done their work before they left, or if they had
all turned to mush as had Number Thirteen.

Once at the encampment his questions were answered, for he saw a light
in the bungalow, and as he mounted the steps there were Sing and
Professor Maxon just coming from the living room.

“Von Horn!” exclaimed the professor. “You, then, are not dead; but
where is Virginia? Tell me that she is safe.”

“She has been carried away,” was the startling answer. “Your creatures,
under the thing you wished to marry her to, have taken her to Borneo
with a band of Malay and Dyak pirates. I was alone and could do nothing
to prevent them.”

“God!” moaned the old man. “Why did I not kill the thing when it stood
within my power to do so. Only last night he was here beside me, and
now it is too late.”

“I warned you,” said von Horn, coldly.

“I was mad,” retorted the professor. “Could you not see that I was mad?
Oh, why did you not stop me? You were sane enough. You at least might
have forced me to abandon the insane obsession which has overpowered my
reason for all these terrible months. I am sane now, but it is too
late—too late.”

“Both you and your daughter could only have interpreted any such action
on my part as instigated by self-interest, for you both knew that I
wanted to make her my wife,” replied the other. “My hands were tied. I
am sorry now that I did not act, but you can readily see the position
in which I was placed.”

“Can nothing be done to get her back?” cried the father. “There must be
some way to save her. Do it von Horn, and not only is my daughter yours
but my wealth as well—every thing that I possess shall be yours if you
will but save her from those frightful creatures.”

“The Ithaca is gone, too,” replied the doctor. “There is only a small
boat that I hid in the jungle for some such emergency. It will carry us
to Borneo, but what can we four do against five hundred pirates and the
dozen monsters you have brought into the world? No, Professor Maxon, I
fear there is little hope, though I am willing to give my life in an
attempt to save Virginia. You will not forget your promise should we
succeed?”

“No, doctor,” replied the old man. “I swear that you shall have
Virginia as your wife, and all my property shall be made over to you if
she is rescued.”

Sing Lee had been a silent listener to this strange conversation. An
odd look came into his slant eyes as he heard von Horn exact a
confirmation from the professor, but what passed in his shrewd mind
only he could say.

It was too late to attempt to make a start that day for Borneo, as
darkness had already fallen. Professor Maxon and von Horn walked over
to the workshop and the inner campong to ascertain what damage had been
done there.

On their return Sing was setting the table on the verandah for the
evening meal. The two men were talking, and without making his presence
noticeable the Chinaman hovered about ever within ear shot.

“I cannot make it out, von Horn,” Professor Maxon was saying. “Not a
board broken, and the doors both apparently opened intentionally by
someone familiar with locks and bolts. Who could have done it?”

“You forget Number Thirteen,” suggested the doctor.

“But the chest!” expostulated the other. “What in the world would he
want of that enormous and heavy chest?”

“He might have thought that it contained treasure,” hazarded von Horn,
in an innocent tone of voice.

“Bosh, my dear man,” replied Professor Maxon. “He knew nothing of
treasures, or money, or the need or value of either. I tell you the
workshop was opened, and the inner campong as well by some one who knew
the value of money and wanted that chest, but why they should have
released the creatures from the inner enclosure is beyond me.”

“And I tell you Professor Maxon that it could have been none other than
Number Thirteen,” insisted von Horn. “Did I not myself see him leading
his eleven monsters as easily as a captain commands his company? The
fellow is brighter than we have imagined. He has learned much from us
both, he has reasoned, and he has shrewdly guessed many things that he
could not have known through experience.”

“But his object?” asked the professor.

“That is simple,” returned von Horn. “You have held out hopes to him
that soon he should come to live under your roof with Virginia. The
creature has been madly infatuated with her ever since the day he took
her from Number One, and you have encouraged his infatuation until
yesterday. Then you regained your sanity and put him in his rightful
place. What is the result? Denied the easy prey he expected he
immediately decided to take it by force, and with that end in view, and
taking advantage of the series of remarkable circumstances which played
into his hands, he liberated his fellows, and with them hastened to the
beach in search of Virginia and in hopes of being able to fly with her
upon the Ithaca. There he met the Malay pirates, and together they
formed an alliance under terms of which Number Thirteen is to have the
girl, and the pirates the chest in return for transporting him and his
crew to Borneo. Why it is all perfectly simple and logical, Professor
Maxon; do you not see it now?”

“You may be right, doctor,” answered the old man. “But it is idle to
conjecture. Tomorrow we can be up and doing, so let us get what sleep
we can tonight. We shall need all our energies if we are to save my
poor, dear girl, from the clutches of that horrid, soulless thing.”

At the very moment that he spoke the object of his contumely was
entering the dark mouth of a broad river that flowed from out of the
heart of savage Borneo. In the prahu with him his eleven hideous
companions now bent to their paddles with slightly increased
efficiency. Before them the leader saw a fire blazing upon a tiny
island in the center of the stream. Toward this they turned their
silent way. Grimly the war prahu with its frightful freight nosed
closer to the bank.

At last Number Thirteen made out the figures of men about the fire, and
as they came still closer he was sure that they were members of the
very party he had been pursuing across the broad waters for hours. The
prahus were drawn up upon the bank and the warriors were preparing to
eat.

Just as the young giants’ prahu came within the circle of firelight a
swarthy Malay approached the fire, dragging a white girl roughly by the
arm. No more was needed to convince Number Thirteen of the identity of
the party. With a low command to his fellows he urged them to redoubled
speed. At the same instant a Dyak warrior caught sight of the
approaching boat as it sped into the full glare of the light.

At sight of the occupants the head hunters scattered for their own
prahus. The frightful aspect of the enemy turned their savage hearts to
water, leaving no fight in their ordinarily warlike souls.

So quickly they moved that as the pursuing prahu touched the bank all
the nearer boats had been launched, and the remaining pirates were
scurrying across the little island for those which lay upon the
opposite side. Among these was the Malay who guarded the girl, but he
had not been quick enough to prevent Virginia Maxon recognizing the
stalwart figure standing in the bow of the oncoming craft.

As he dragged her away toward the prahu of Muda Saffir she cried out to
the strange white man who seemed her self-appointed protector.

“Help! Help!” she called. “This way! Across the island!” And then the
brown hand of her jailer closed over her mouth. Like a tigress she
fought to free herself, or to detain her captor until the rescue party
should catch up with them, but the scoundrel was muscled like a bull,
and when the girl held back he lifted her across his shoulder and broke
into a run.

Rajah Muda Saffir had no stomach for a fight himself, but he was loathe
to lose the prize he had but just won, and seeing that his men were
panic-stricken he saw no alternative but to rally them for a brief
stand that would give the little moment required to slip away in his
own prahu with the girl.

Calling aloud for those around him to come to his support he halted
fifty yards from his boat just as Number Thirteen with his fierce,
brainless horde swept up from the opposite side of the island in the
wake of him who bore Virginia Maxon. The old rajah succeeded in
gathering some fifty warriors about him from the crews of the two boats
which lay near his. His own men he hastened to their posts in his prahu
that they might be ready to pull swiftly away the moment that he and
the captive were aboard.

The Dyak warriors presented an awe inspiring spectacle in the fitful
light of the nearby camp fire. The ferocity of their fierce faces was
accentuated by the upturned, bristling tiger cat’s teeth which
protruded from every ear; while the long feathers of the Argus pheasant
waving from their war-caps, the brilliant colors of their war-coats
trimmed with the black and white feathers of the hornbill, and the
strange devices upon their gaudy shields but added to the savagery of
their appearance as they danced and howled, menacing and intimidating,
in the path of the charging foe.

A single backward glance was all that Virginia Maxon found it possible
to throw in the direction of the rescue party, and in that she saw a
sight that lived forever in her memory. At the head of his hideous,
misshapen pack sprang the stalwart young giant straight into the heart
of the flashing parangs of the howling savages. To right and left fell
the mighty bull whip cutting down men with all the force and dispatch
of a steel saber. The Dyaks, encouraged by the presence of Muda Saffir
in their rear, held their ground; and the infuriated, brainless things
that followed the wielder of the bull whip threw themselves upon the
head hunters with beating hands and rending fangs.

Number Ten wrested a parang from an adversary, and acting upon his
example the other creatures were not long in arming themselves in a
similar manner. Cutting and jabbing they hewed their way through the
solid ranks of the enemy, until Muda Saffir, seeing that defeat was
inevitable turned and fled toward his prahu.

Four of his creatures lay dead as the last of the Dyaks turned to
escape from the mad white man who faced naked steel with only a rawhide
whip. In panic the head hunters made a wild dash for the two remaining
prahus, for Muda Saffir had succeeded in getting away from the island
in safety.

Number Thirteen reached the water’s edge but a moment after the prow of
the rajah’s craft had cleared the shore and was swinging up stream
under the vigorous strokes of its fifty oarsmen. For an instant he
stood poised upon the bank as though to spring after the retreating
prahu, but the knowledge that he could not swim held him back—it was
useless to throw away his life when the need of it was so great if
Virginia Maxon was to be saved.

Turning to the other prahus he saw that one was already launched, but
that the crew of the other was engaged in a desperate battle with the
seven remaining members of his crew for possession of the boat. Leaping
among the combatants he urged his fellows aboard the prahu which was
already half filled with Dyaks. Then he shoved the boat out into the
river, jumping aboard himself as its prow cleared the gravelly beach.

For several minutes that long, hollowed log was a veritable floating
hell of savage, screaming men locked in deadly battle. The sharp
parangs of the head hunters were no match for the superhuman muscles of
the creatures that battered them about; now lifting one high above his
fellows and using the body as a club to beat down those nearby; again
snapping an arm or leg as one might break a pipe stem; or hurling a
living antagonist headlong above the heads of his fellows to the dark
waters of the river. And above them all in the thickest of the fight,
towering even above his own giants, rose the mighty figure of the
terrible white man, whose very presence wrought havoc with the valor of
the brown warriors.

Two more of Number Thirteen’s creatures had been cut down in the prahu,
but the loss among the Dyaks had been infinitely greater, and to it was
now added the desertions of the terror stricken savages who seemed to
fear the frightful countenances of their adversaries even as much as
they did their prowess.

There remained but a handful of brown warriors in one end of the boat
when the advantage of utilizing their knowledge of the river and of
navigation occurred to Number Thirteen. Calling to his men he commanded
them to cease killing, making prisoners of those who remained instead.
So accustomed had his pack now become to receiving and acting upon his
orders that they changed their tactics immediately, and one by one the
remaining Dyaks were overpowered, disarmed and held.

With difficulty Number Thirteen communicated with them, for among them
there was but a single warrior who had ever had intercourse with an
Englishman, but at last by means of signs and the few words that were
common to them both he made the native understand that he would spare
the lives of himself and his companions if they would help him in
pursuit of Muda Saffir and the girl.

The Dyaks felt but little loyalty for the rascally Malay they served,
since in common with all their kind they and theirs had suffered for
generations at the hands of the cruel, crafty and unscrupulous race
that had usurped the administration of their land. So it was not
difficult to secure from them the promise of assistance in return for
their lives.

Number Thirteen noticed that when they addressed him it was always as
Bulan, and upon questioning them he discovered that they had given him
this title of honor partly in view of his wonderful fighting ability
and partly because the sight of his white face emerging from out of the
darkness of the river into the firelight of their blazing camp fire had
carried to their impressionable minds a suggestion of the tropic moon
which they admired and reverenced. Both the name and the idea appealed
to Number Thirteen and from that time he adopted Bulan as his rightful
cognomen.

The loss of time resulting from the fight in the prahu and the ensuing
peace parley permitted Muda Saffir to put considerable distance between
himself and his pursuers. The Malay’s boat was now alone, for of the
eight prahus that remained of the original fleet it was the only one
which had taken this branch of the river, the others having scurried
into a smaller southerly arm after the fight upon the island, that they
might the more easily escape their hideous foemen.

Only Barunda, the headman, knew which channel Rajah Muda Saffir
intended following, and Muda wondered why it was that the two boats
that were to have borne Barunda’s men did not catch up with his. While
he had left Barunda and his warriors engaged in battle with the
strangers he did not for an instant imagine that they would suffer any
severe loss, and that one of their boats should be captured was beyond
belief. But this was precisely what had happened, and the second boat,
seeing the direction taken by the enemy, had turned down stream the
more surely to escape them.

So it was that while Rajah Muda Saffir moved leisurely up the river
toward his distant stronghold waiting for the other boats of his fleet
to overtake him, Barunda, the headman, guided the white enemy swiftly
after him. Barunda had discovered that it was the girl alone this white
man wanted. Evidently he either knew nothing of the treasure chest
lying in the bottom of Muda Saffir’s boat, or, knowing, was
indifferent. In either event Barunda thought that he saw a chance to
possess himself of the rich contents of the heavy box, and so served
his new master with much greater enthusiasm than he had the old.

Beneath the paddles of the natives and the five remaining members of
his pack Bulan sped up the dark river after the single prahu with its
priceless freight. Already six of the creatures of Professor Maxon’s
experiments had given up their lives in the service of his daughter,
and the remaining six were pushing forward through the inky blackness
of the jungle night into the untracked heart of savage Borneo to rescue
her from her abductors though they sacrificed their own lives in the
endeavor.

Far ahead of them in the bottom of the great prahu crouched the girl
they sought. Her thoughts were of the man she felt intuitively to
possess the strength, endurance and ability to overcome every obstacle
and reach her at last. Would he come in time? Ah, that was the
question. The mystery of the stranger appealed to her. A thousand times
she had attempted to solve the question of his first appearance on the
island at the very moment that his mighty muscles were needed to rescue
her from the horrible creature of her father’s creation. Then there was
his unaccountable disappearance for weeks; there was von Horn’s strange
reticence and seeming ignorance as to the circumstances which brought
the young man to the island, or his equally unaccountable disappearance
after having rescued her from Number One. And now, when she suddenly
found herself in need of protection, here was the same young man
turning up in a most miraculous fashion, and at the head of the
terrible creatures of the inner campong.

The riddle was too deep for her—she could not solve it; and then her
thoughts were interrupted by the thin, brown hand of Rajah Muda Saffir
as it encircled her waist and drew her toward him. Upon the evil lips
were hot words of passion. The girl wrenched herself from the man’s
embrace, and, with a little scream of terror, sprang to her feet, and
as Muda Saffir arose to grasp her again she struck him full in the face
with one small, clenched fist.

Directly behind the Malay lay the heavy chest of Professor Maxon. As
the man stepped backward to recover his equilibrium both feet struck
the obstacle. For an instant he tottered with wildly waving arms in an
endeavor to regain his lost balance, then, with a curse upon his lips,
he lunged across the box and over the side of the prahu into the dark
waters of the river.




10
DESPERATE CHANCE


The great chest in the bottom of Rajah Muda Saffir’s prahu had awakened
in other hearts as well as his, blind greed and avarice; so that as it
had been the indirect cause of his disaster it now proved the incentive
to another to turn the mishap to his own profit, and to the final
undoing of the Malay.

The panglima Ninaka of the Signana Dyaks who manned Muda Saffir’s war
prahu saw his chief disappear beneath the swift waters of the river,
but the word of command that would have sent the boat hurriedly back to
pick up the swimmer was not given. Instead a lusty cry for greater
speed ahead urged the sinuous muscles gliding beneath the sleek brown
hides; and when Muda Saffir rose to the surface with a cry for help
upon his lips Ninaka shouted back to him in derision, consigning his
carcass to the belly of the nearest crocodile.

In futile rage Muda Saffir called down the most terrible curses of
Allah and his Prophet upon the head of Ninaka and his progeny to the
fifth generation, and upon the shades of his forefathers, and upon the
grim skulls which hung from the rafters of his long-house. Then he
turned and swam rapidly toward the shore.

Ninaka, now in possession of both the chest and the girl, was rich
indeed, but with Muda Saffir dead he scarce knew to whom he could
dispose of the white girl for a price that would make it worth while to
be burdened with the danger and responsibility of retaining her. He had
had some experience of white men in the past and knew that dire were
the punishments meted to those who wronged the white man’s women. All
through the remainder of the long night Ninaka pondered the question
deeply. At last he turned to Virginia.

“Why does the big white man who leads the ourang outangs follow us?” he
asked. “Is it the chest he desires, or you?”

“It is certainly not the chest,” replied the girl. “He wishes to take
me back to my father, that is all. If you will return me to him you may
keep the chest, if that is what you wish.”

Ninaka looked at her quizzically for a moment. Evidently then she was
of some value. Possibly should he retain her he could wring a handsome
ransom from the white man. He would wait and see, it were always an
easy matter to rid himself of her should circumstances require. The
river was there, deep, dark and silent, and he could place the
responsibility for her loss upon Muda Saffir.

Shortly after day break Ninaka beached his prahu before the long-house
of a peaceful river tribe. The chest he hid in the underbrush close by
his boat, and with the girl ascended the notched log that led to the
verandah of the structure, which, stretching away for three hundred
yards upon its tall piles, resembled a huge centipede.

The dwellers in the long-house extended every courtesy to Ninaka and
his crew. At the former’s request Virginia was hidden away in a dark
sleeping closet in one of the windowless living rooms which opened
along the verandah for the full length of the house. Here a native girl
brought her food and water, sitting, while she ate, in rapt
contemplation of the white skin and golden hair of the strange female.

At about the time that Ninaka pulled his prahu upon the beach before
the long-house, Muda Saffir from the safety of the concealing
underbrush upon the shore saw a familiar war prahu forging rapidly up
the stream. As it approached him he was about to call aloud to those
who manned it, for in the bow he saw a number of his own men; but a
second glance as the boat came opposite him caused him to alter his
intention and drop further into the engulfing verdure, for behind his
men squatted five of the terrible monsters that had wrought such havoc
with his expedition, and in the stern he saw his own Barunda in
friendly converse with the mad white man who had led them.

As the boat disappeared about a bend in the river Rajah Muda Saffir
arose, shaking his fist in the direction it had vanished and, cursing
anew and volubly, damned each separate hair in the heads of the
faithless Barunda and the traitorous Ninaka. Then he resumed his watch
for the friendly prahu, or smaller sampan which he knew time would
eventually bring from up or down the river to his rescue, for who of
the surrounding natives would dare refuse succor to the powerful Rajah
of Sakkan!

At the long-house which harbored Ninaka and his crew, Barunda and Bulan
stopped with theirs to obtain food and rest. The quick eye of the Dyak
chieftain recognized the prahu of Rajah Muda Saffir where it lay upon
the beach, but he said nothing to his white companion of what it
augured—it might be well to discover how the land lay before he
committed himself too deeply to either faction.

At the top of the notched log he was met by Ninaka, who, with
horror-wide eyes, looked down upon the fearsome monstrosities that
lumbered awkwardly up the rude ladder in the wake of the agile Dyaks
and the young white giant.

“What does it mean?” whispered the panglima to Barunda.

“These are now my friends,” replied Barunda. “Where is Muda Saffir?”

Ninaka jerked his thumb toward the river. “Some crocodile has feasted
well,” he said significantly. Barunda smiled.

“And the girl?” he continued. “And the treasure?”

Ninaka’s eyes narrowed. “They are safe,” he answered.

“The white man wants the girl,” remarked Barunda. “He does not suspect
that you are one of Muda Saffir’s people. If he guessed that you knew
the whereabouts of the girl he would torture the truth from you and
then kill you. He does not care for the treasure. There is enough in
that great chest for two, Ninaka. Let us be friends. Together we can
divide it; otherwise neither of us will get any of it. What do you say,
Ninaka?”

The panglima scowled. He did not relish the idea of sharing his prize,
but he was shrewd enough to realize that Barunda possessed the power to
rob him of it all, so at last he acquiesced, though with poor grace.

Bulan had stood near during this conversation, unable, of course, to
understand a single word of the native tongue.

“What does the man say?” he asked Barunda. “Has he seen anything of the
prahu bearing the girl?”

“Yes,” replied the Dyak. “He says that two hours ago such a war prahu
passed on its way up river—he saw the white girl plainly. Also he knows
whither they are bound, and how, by crossing through the jungle on
foot, you may intercept them at their next stop.”

Bulan, suspecting no treachery, was all anxiety to be off at once.
Barunda suggested that in case of some possible emergency causing the
quarry to return down the river it would be well to have a force remain
at the long-house to intercept them. He volunteered to undertake the
command of this party. Ninaka, he said, would furnish guides to escort
Bulan and his men through the jungle to the point at which they might
expect to find Muda Saffir.

And so, with the girl he sought lying within fifty feet of him, Bulan
started off through the jungle with two of Ninaka’s Dyaks as
guides—guides who had been well instructed by their panglima as to
their duties. Twisting and turning through the dense maze of underbrush
and close-growing, lofty trees the little party of eight plunged
farther and farther into the bewildering labyrinth.

For hours the tiresome march was continued, until at last the guides
halted, apparently to consult each other as to the proper direction. By
signs they made known to Bulan that they did not agree upon the right
course to pursue from there on, and that they had decided that it would
be best for each to advance a little way in the direction he thought
the right one while Bulan and his five creatures remained where they
were.

“We will go but a little way,” said the spokesman, “and then we shall
return and lead you in the proper direction.”

Bulan saw no harm in this, and without a shade of suspicion sat down
upon a fallen tree and watched his two guides disappear into the jungle
in opposite directions. Once out of sight of the white man the two
turned back and met a short distance in the rear of the party they had
deserted—in another moment they were headed for the long-house from
which they had started.

It was fully an hour thereafter that doubts began to enter Bulan’s
head, and as the day dragged on he came to realize that he and his
weird pack were alone and lost in the heart of a strange and tangled
web of tropical jungle.

No sooner had Bulan and his party disappeared in the jungle than
Barunda and Ninaka made haste to embark with the chest and the girl and
push rapidly on up the river toward the wild and inaccessible regions
of the interior. Virginia Maxon’s strong hope of succor had been
gradually waning as no sign of the rescue party appeared as the day
wore on. Somewhere behind her upon the broad river she was sure a long,
narrow native prahu was being urged forward in pursuit, and that in
command of it was the young giant who was now never for a moment absent
from her thoughts.

For hours she strained her eyes over the stern of the craft that was
bearing her deeper and deeper into the wild heart of fierce Borneo. On
either shore they occasionally passed a native long-house, and the girl
could not help but wonder at the quiet and peace which reigned over
these little settlements. It was as though they were passing along a
beaten highway in the center of a civilized community; and yet she knew
that the men who lolled upon the verandahs, puffing indolently upon
their cigarettes or chewing betel nut, were all head hunters, and that
along the verandah rafters above them hung the grisly trophies of their
prowess.

Yet as she glanced from them to her new captors she could not but feel
that she would prefer captivity in one of the settlements they were
passing—there at least she might find an opportunity to communicate
with her father, or be discovered by the rescue party as it came up the
river. The idea grew upon her as the day advanced until she spent the
time in watching furtively for some means of escape should they but
touch the shore momentarily; and though they halted twice her captors
were too watchful to permit her the slightest opportunity for putting
her plan into action.

Barunda and Ninaka urged their men on, with brief rests, all day, nor
did they halt even after night had closed down upon the river. On, on
the swift prahu sped up the winding channel which had now dwindled to a
narrow stream, at intervals rushing strongly between rocky walls with a
current that tested the strength of the strong, brown paddlers.

Long-houses had become more and more infrequent until for some time now
no sign of human habitation had been visible. The jungle undergrowth
was scantier and the spaces between the boles of the forest trees more
open. Virginia Maxon was almost frantic with despair as the utter
helplessness of her position grew upon her. Each stroke of those
slender paddles was driving her farther and farther from friends, or
the possibility of rescue. Night had fallen, dark and impenetrable, and
with it had come the haunting fears that creep in when the sun has
deserted his guardian post.

Barunda and Ninaka were whispering together in low gutturals, and to
the girl’s distorted and fear excited ima

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/96