Part 4

“The canoe was half waterlogged, and I knew that it would not carry us very far, so I decided to try and get to Margherita and take our chances on the rest. When the day broke I could just distinguish the outlines of the island, with the usual big cloud hanging over it. We paddled all day long, without seeming to get any nearer; then Frederick grew sulky all at once and threw down his paddle with the remark that he was going to die.

“‘You certainly will,’ said I, ‘unless you keep at work.’ I had filled a water-jug that I found in the canoe before we started, but we had nothing to eat since afternoon of the day before, and what we got then was not of a tissue-building character.

“‘I am going to die,’ Frederick repeated—and then, confound him, he lay down in the bottom of the canoe and _did_ die!”

I grunted—for that seemed to me to be an adequate epitaph for such a person as I fancied Frederick to have been.

“I did not discover it at once,” Leyden went on, “but when I did I was rather relieved, as it is harder to share one’s nerve with another man than one’s food. I slid him over the side of the canoe and kept on with my paddling. Really, Doctor, that day is an absolute blank. About sunset I struck some of the outlying boats of the pearl divers and the next thing that I remember is waking up and finding myself lying in a nasty little hut covered with flies. I think that it was the smell of the shell-heaps on the beach that brought me to life again. But it was odd about that man Frederick, was it not?—and rather illustrates my theory, don’t you think?”

“Never mind your theory,” said I. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

“That was rather odd, too.” Leyden permitted himself a few reminiscent puffs. “The chap that rescued me was a French Jew who controlled quite a bit of the pearl-fishing industry on the island. He was clever enough to guess how I came to be floating about in that hollow log, but made no comment at the time. As soon as I was able to get about again, which was in a couple of days, he asked me if I wished to work for him. I declined with thanks, whereupon he said that in that case he felt that duty would compel his handing me over to the authorities. Practically, you see, I was his slave, but there seemed no help for it, so for the time being I took command of one of his larger boats and her crew. He gave me some clothes and my food and that was all.

“In the end I got even. One day, when I had landed my cargo of oysters on the beach and was about to begin opening—for you know the pearl fishers down here open the shells instead of rotting out, as they do in the East—an old native woman who had been squatting near the edge of the pile hobbled over to where I was standing and begged for one of the bivalves to eat. They are not bad, you know. I told her to help herself, expecting, naturally, that she would pick one up at her feet; but instead of that she went around to the other side of the heap and selected one there. This struck me as a bit odd; then, as she hobbled off, it seemed to me that she was in some haste to get away. Acting entirely upon impulse, and with no distinct idea of my motive, I picked up a couple of the oysters and ran after her.

“‘Here, mother,’ said I, ‘take these and give me that one which you have there.’

“She favored me with a look which actually reeked with malice, but, as there was no help for it, handed over the oyster. As I took it I saw my employer—or jailer, to be accurate—walking down the beach from his cabin—for he always superintended the opening of the shells, for very obvious reasons, and I had orders never to begin the work until his arrival. He was still some distance off, so, turning my back to him, I whipped out my knife and slit open the mollusk, and there, right on the very lip, was the largest pearl which I have ever seen on Margherita!

“You see, Doctor, when the oysters are thrown down on the beach the heat from the sun and the hot sand often causes them to open an inch or so. This old woman, who had come down, no doubt, with the purpose of begging an oyster to eat, was squatting in front of this especial one, and caught sight of the pearl through the slit between the two shells.”

Leyden turned to me suddenly. “What would you have done in such a case, Doctor?”

“Exactly what you did, I fancy,” I answered.

“Yes,” he replied, slowly; “I was justified. This Frenchman was detaining me through blackmail and forcing me to work like a dog for fear of being turned over to the Venezuelans. I kept the pearl and a week later managed to escape to Curaçao on a schooner. There I sold my pearl for eight hundred dollars, and as soon as I had the money I wrote to the gentleman who had broken up my expedition and offered him five hundred dollars for all my effects delivered to me at Curaçao. They came on the next Dutch steamer and were handed over to me by the captain upon my payment of the money. Three weeks later they were gracing the shelves of the new museum of Billings University and I was on my way to Mexico to collect Aztec relics for the same excellent institution.”

THE SHEARS OF ATROPOS

“WILL you please tell me why it is, Doctor,” said Leyden, “that when you and I are foregathered in this part of the ship at this hour of the evening we must immediately proceed to rake the lockers of our recollection for the morbid and anomalous?”

I told him that it was perhaps because the accent of a man’s mind was largely influenced by his profession, and that as the morbid was my source of livelihood and his the rare and _sui generis_ of Nature, our interests touched these topics.

“_Ach!_ there is something in that,” said Leyden, “but not all. It is that only in these violent upheavals do we get to see the hidden things of life, the more superficial of which are evident to a man who can translate the languages of his five senses and has perhaps a dialect or two in reserve.”

He was silent for a moment, letting his steady gray eyes rest upon the streaks of phosphorescent spume churned up about us by the stiff following trade. Abeam lay the moonlit isle of Curaçao, so near that one could see the towering yuccas standing sentinels upon the ridges of the broken hills—could almost see the yellow of their blossoms, for this moon gave color as well as perspective.

“This was in Borneo, Doctor,” he began abruptly. “I had been sent there on a head-hunting expedition. Odd, is it not, but appropriate! A countryman of mine who was writing a book on anthropology had sent me there to take photographs and notes and measurements and to collect specimens of skulls as I saw fit—attached or unattached, that was my lookout. You know, Doctor, that although the coast of Borneo is occupied by Malays, Bajaus, or Sea Gypsies, Bugis, Chinese and immigrants from Polynesia, very little is known of the interior, which is the exclusive domain of the great family of Dyaks, which is itself divided into several tribes. It was of the Punan and Olo-ot, who are fairly pure, that my employer wanted specious information.

“I had taken with me one white man, oddly enough a tourist, a New York lawyer named Lynch, whom I had met in Singapore—a gentleman who had inherited a little money and was taking a trip around the world. A great explorer was lost in that man, Doctor—and there are too many good lawyers already.

“As a rule, I prefer to go into a savage country with no other white man, as once or twice it has been my misfortune to have all of my work undone by the single careless or tactless act of a companion; in the present case I needed an assistant, as I had just come down from the Irawady and was running a temperature which I thought possible the hills of Borneo might develop into a sharp attack of fever.

“I will not attempt to describe our adventures, nor what we found inside the island, for all of that you can read in my patron’s book. Eventually we struck the head of a river which, according to my reckoning, would take us down to a little trading port called Bangan, and I had learned from a few friendly natives that there was a missionary station not far below us. I had not known that there were any missionaries in that section; but then, they are universal perennials which one is apt to encounter anywhere.

“We slipped down this rapid stream, and late upon the third day, as we turned into a long reach of the river, saw a clearing at the other end. I was heartily glad, for my fever, which had developed, as I feared, did not yield to medication as it should, and, to tell the truth, Doctor, I did not really believe that I would reach sea-water alive. Lynch was in perfect condition—hard, seasoned, alert—but then, you see, he was not chock full of Irawady microbes when we started, and the country through which we had passed was not unhealthy.

“He had been of the greatest value to me; three times I owed my life to him that trip. Often he made me laugh by the ease with which he adapted his ultra-modernism to his primitive surroundings, for he was not a man who was used to roughing it. He treated our half-wild Dyaks as if they were the bellboys of his club; appeared to have not the slightest notion in the world that they could so far forget their manners as to become insubordinate; would sometimes relax and joke with them a bit. He would turn his back upon the most dangerous, sleep with both eyes apparently shut, seemed contemptuous of danger or treachery; yet the twice that it did occur he had anticipated it. Between us we were an efficient combination, for I am governed by instinct, Doctor; Lynch acted only from coldly wrought logic.

“To continue: We arrived at this clearing and were surprised to find near the edge of the bank a new stockade; the gum was still oozing from the stakes. To the right were some long, low buildings, of which I did not like the look. These also were very new—in fact, still in process of construction—and as I examined them through my glass I discovered some bungling contrivances hanging from a projecting rafter.

“‘Neck-yokes,’ said I to Lynch. ‘We have stumbled on a slaver!’

“‘Here comes a white man,’ he replied. There were a few natives watching us from the top of the bank, and through these there came a man of huge stature, with a rough, red beard and dressed in a suit of embroidered silk pajamas. The people wilted away from him as he approached, then fell in behind, walking with the curious drop-kneed gait of bush-folk the world over when ill at ease. This giant strode to the edge of the bank and stood glaring down without a word.

“‘Good evening,’ observed Lynch, and shoved the canoe to the bank.

“‘Where are ye from?’ said the fellow, with a rough Caledonian accent, and staring down with his red beard thrust out and his small, pale eyes watching us suspiciously. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and his huge forearms, covered with shaggy hair, were folded across his bulging chest.

“‘From the other side of the island,’ said Lynch. He stepped out on the bank as if he had been invited and proceeded to moor the canoe.

“‘What’s this ye’re doin’?’ growled the red-bearded giant above him. His great arms had dropped to his side and one could see how the thick muscles held them with bent elbows.

“‘Hitching the boat,’ replied Lynch, indifferently. He did so, and walked to the top of the bank.

“‘Whose house is that?’ he asked.

“‘The hoos is mine,’ growled the man, and ’tis no tavern I’m keepin’—d’ye see?’

“‘Oh, I quite understand that,’ said Lynch, pleasantly. ‘Of course, you wish us to be your guests.’ He turned to me. ‘Doctor,’ he said, ‘this gentleman wishes us to stop the night with him.’ He turned to the other. ‘Very decent of you, I’m sure, especially as my friend has a touch of the fever and ought to rest up a bit.’ He proceeded to direct the unloading of the canoes, even calling some of the red man’s retainers to assist.

“The face of the fellow was purple, but it seemed as if Lynch’s assurance had robbed him of speech. He stood glowering like a great Guernsey bull, while Lynch went back and forth about him as if he had been an obstructing tree.

“‘You see, we are naturalists,’ Lynch began, talking as he worked. ‘Some of these boxes contain trade-stuffs, but most of them are full of heads—skulls, you know, very interesting—I will show you some if you like. I suppose your people are honest? I fancy this stuff will be safe right here where it is. Hi!’—he relapsed into the dialect, and before I knew what was going on two of the boys had me up the bank.

“‘Permit me to introduce Dr. Leyden; I am Mr. Lynch,’ said this extraordinary lieutenant of mine; ‘and now, sir, if you will lead the way——’

“‘Ye’re takin’ a deal for granted,’ began the man in a surly voice.

“‘I’m taking it for granted that you are the missionary,’ said Lynch, calmly. ‘If you are not, it really makes no difference. No white man could help being glad to accommodate two other white men in a place like this, and, although you do not keep a tavern, perhaps we can render you some service in return for your hospitality. We have more firearms than we will need——’

“‘Ye’re verra kind,’ growled the man, but I saw his pale, swinish eye lighten a bit, and guessed that Lynch, with his usual tact, had touched him. ‘Of course, I’ll gie ye a lodgin’ for the night, though I’ve little to offer strangers.’ He walked sullenly ahead, Lynch following him, and I noticed that, although my companion was a tall, well-built man, the other topped him by half a head and the breadth of a hand across the shoulders. I do not think that I have ever seen a more powerful brute—all bone and muscle, and something in the shiftiness of his pale, cunning eye told me that he was not without a corresponding share of guile.

“As we drew near to the stockade I saw that it was quite new, and then Lynch reached behind him and pinched my foot as I lay on the stretcher, and, would you believe it, Doctor, on every sharpened stake that formed the front of the stockade there was a _human head_! They had been there varying lengths of time, I judged, but the—eh—evidences of the recency of some were quite apparent.

“‘I see that you go in for heads a bit yourself, Mr. Cullen,’ said Lynch, in his pleasant voice, but hardly was the name between his lips when this hairy giant of ours wheeled on him like a boar. You know the stiff, muscle-bound motion, Doctor: the swift sling of the rigid body all on one axis, the great, brutish head swung on its thick neck, the mean little eyes slanting up evilly. That is what this hairy brute was, a boar, with all of the cunning and surly moroseness of this animal. There was something horribly brutish in the swing of his shock head between the hulking shoulders as he turned on Lynch, and something horribly sinister in the yellow glint of his teeth between the bristling, red mustache, which seemed to roll upwards like that which one sees on the headpieces of ancient Japanese armor. If he had turned to me like that I would have presented him with the muzzle of my pistol—_Ach!_—and very possibly the bullet as well, for the secret of long life in my profession is to take no chances. I could not see, however, that Lynch moved a muscle, except to smile.

“‘Where got ye that name?’ snarled the man. His beard was thrust almost into Lynch’s face, and I could see the twitching of his thick fingers.

“‘On the collar of your pajamas,’ said Lynch, calmly. ‘Do you observe, Doctor,’ he continued, turning to me, ‘that some of these skulls are quite different from any we have secured? Possibly our host might be willing to exchange——’ He turned to survey the exhibit with interest. ‘What a Golconda it is, to be sure!’ cried my New York lawyer, enthusiastically. ‘You are to be complimented on your collection, Mr.—eh—eh——’

“‘McAdoo,’ supplied the red man, sulkily, but with a strange quaver in his voice. I glanced up at him quickly, then looked away and at the stockade, for the glimpse I had of his face told me that the burly ruffian had received a fright. He could not have been pale, even if he had been dead, but there was a look in his eyes that meant fear, yes, and meant murder, too, for a beast of that sort cannot become frightened without becoming homicidal at the same time.

“‘Ye’re very obsairvin’,’ he managed to say, in a thick voice.

Lynch turned and regarded him benevolently.

“‘You are very modest, Mr. McAdoo,’ he replied, genially. ‘You really have a noteworthy collection here.’

“‘They were folk not wanted here,’ retorted McAdoo, with what I could see was a considerable effort. And then he gathered himself together for a supreme stroke—the one heavily delivered blow of this round; and yet, do you know, Doctor, in spite of the man’s overwhelming physical force and ominous aspect, there was something rather ridiculous in his manner of delivering this last menace—something of the lout of a schoolboy who defies his pedagogue, although he half believes that there may be a thrashing behind it; defies him because his nature is too churlish and too abundant in a swinish sort of courage, born of the sense of a potent vitality, to feel the fear of the result, appreciable to a creature of the same courage but a higher power of imagination.

“‘_Maybe ye’d like to add to this same collection_,’ he said, and he said it with one mental arm raised toward, in a manner of speaking.

“Lynch laughed outright. It might have been a part of his—what you Americans call _bluff_, but I believe that it was sheer amusement. I began to be convinced that Lynch possessed a very keen sense of a very dangerous sort of humor. He saw the thing just as I saw it; of course he would see it so, because, although I was a trifle slow in discovering it, he had put this man ‘McAdoo’ on the witness stand the very moment he heard him speak, and he was cross-examining him and deriving infinite amusement from the process. Moreover, McAdoo himself, while too coarse-grained to understand it, was beginning to _feel_ it, and there grew to be in his manœuvres something of the sweating nervousness of a horse at the howl of a far-distant wolf; yet his ears were well back.

“‘That’s just exactly what we want to do, McAdoo,’ he answered, and it almost seemed as if he was going to pat the ruffian on the shoulder, ‘but we want to take a head or so in return.’ He smiled genially into the wicked face, and actually _turned his back_ upon the man and walked in through the gate as if entering the compound of an old friend. Perhaps something told him that I had a hand on the butt of my revolver.

“Once inside the stockade Lynch pushed matters; in fact, he carried it to the verge of spoiling everything; but, you see, Doctor, if this McAdoo had possessed the wit of a cockroach, or had been a little more lacking in that hereditary feudal instinct which made him uncomfortable in spite of himself in the presence of a gentleman, he might easily have slipped away and arranged our assassination, and this was precisely what Lynch did not intend that he should do. He told me afterwards that, like _Javert_ in ‘Les Miserables,’ he was born with an instinct for a criminal, but I do not credit this particularly, as I myself could deduct that this man McAdoo had more reason than mere surliness of disposition for not wishing us to stop at the mission-house. You see, it had to be a mission; it was either that or a fort; there was nothing there for which to trade.

“All of this had entered my mind, just as it had Lynch’s; but, although apparently careless, Lynch was in reality a painstaking man.

“We had entered the stockade, an enclosure of some size, in the middle of which stood a bungalow, which had once been pretty and which was evidently far older than the structure surrounding it. There was not a soul in sight, yet one had the feeling of furtive eyes peering from behind slanted jalousies. Lynch looked about him critically.

“‘Quite like an Australian ranch-house, is it not, Doctor?’ he remarked; then turned sharply to our host. ‘Have you ever been in Australia, friend McAdoo?’

“One could see the man’s heavy jowl drop a trifle beneath his coarse, red beard; his face looked flaccid—just for the second, and then the blood came pouring back until the veins across the side of his forehead became distended. His pale, little eyes began to dance, just as those of a hog when he is about to make a rush—you know the look.

“‘Where is Mr. Cullen—the missionary?’ asked Lynch, sharply, and at this direct question the congestion of McAdoo’s face faded in blotches and the glitter of his eyes changed to a gleam of cunning.

“‘He’s gone away, leavin’ me in charge o’ the station, and now if ye’ll kindly step inside’—the brute actually mustered a sort of grin which was, no doubt, intended for an expression of good-will—‘I’ll leave ye for a minute or two.’

“‘Thank you,’ said Lynch, calmly. ‘Doctor Leyden will wait here on the veranda, but I believe that I will go with you, if you don’t mind. I should like to look around a bit.’

“‘There’s little enough to see,’ growled McAdoo, but his tone was growing wary. ‘I’ll ask ye to bide here for a bit.’

“‘Thanks,’ said Lynch, and there was actually a sing-song tone of sarcastic _ennui_ in his voice, ‘but I’ve conceived such a fondness for your society that I really can’t bear to have you out of my sight, friend McAdoo. We’ll go together; the Doctor does not mind being left alone.’

“This to that desperado whom we both believed to be an escaped Australian convict, whose presence in the mission-house was still to be explained. Lynch was armed, of course—armed with one of the big revolvers your cowboys carry, and, in fact, he had been a plainsman for a while after leaving college, and I knew that, for all his languid air, if McAdoo laid a hand on the butt of either of the two revolvers which he carried he would be a dead man before the weapon was half-drawn, for Lynch was a master of your Western American art of lightning extermination. It did not seem to me, however, that this would help matters much, as I had seen that the man kept a swarm of Malays about him; and Malays, even when ill-treated, are apt to be faithful brutes, if the master who ill-treats them inspires their respect, as no doubt McAdoo must, or he would have been dead long before.

“McAdoo did not permit himself another exhibition of badly suppressed rage; the situation was growing too serious for such petty self-indulgence. Instead, he assumed an air of awkward good-nature, which was far more sinister.

“‘Please yourself,’ said he, and walked away toward the gate, with Lynch walking at his side; this time, however, I observed that my companion went out _last_.

“When they had disappeared I entered the silent house. My fever would not mount until late in the evening, and in the meantime, though very weak, I was able to get about. I went into the first room, which appeared to be a library and living-room. I had been in hundreds of such rooms in mission-houses the world over. The same classic pictures, the same neat rows of classic and unread books, and the same little heaps of much-read periodicals from ‘home.’ Then there were the local curios draped over the photographs of smug-faced relatives. Everything was in perfect order; there had been little traffic in that room since the—departure of the former occupants.

“I passed from that to a room beyond, which I saw at a glance had been the missionary’s study. There was here the same hushed waiting. One of the drawers was half-opened and there was a sharp line of dust across the papers within. There was a native-made waste-basket, half-filled, and on top was an envelope with an English stamp addressed to ‘Rev. R. M. Cullen.’