Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 47: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SON her arms about his neck, and he climbed to the ground, she following. They ate more of their store of meat, with berries pulled from the bushes, drank from the stream, and En-ro seated himself on the ground to watch while Va-m’rai combed her tangled hair with her fingers. After a time the girl spoke: . “Carver of Tusks, why did the Ta-an cry the hunting-call? Did they see you take me from the altar?” “I do not know,” he answered. ‘ But I think they cried the hunting-call because they found the body of Men-ko, and knew or thought that I had slain him.” Va-m’rai left off combing her hair, sat up straight, and looked at her lover with wide eyes. “They thought you slew him! But— but—was he not slain by the lightning?” En-ro shook his head. Gradually an ex- pression of horror came over Va-m’rai’s face. “You slew the High Priest?” En-ro nodded. “With a dart from my throwing-stick,”’ he said, and the girl shrank away from him, looking at him with fear in her eyes. ‘“‘But—” she whispered, “ but—that is sacrilege! To slay the High Priest at the altar! You will be accursed!” En-ro shrugged his shoulders. “Could I see you die?” he asked, and Va-m’rai turned away and looked in the water. Finally she turned to him again, and in her face admiration and love strug- gled with horror. ‘You did that for me? You dared? Oh, En-ro, my love!” And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him. “If you are accursed of the gods so too am I, for I will share your lot, forever and ever!” And she kissed him again and again, and laid her cheek against his, while he clasped her tight. After a time the Carver of Tusks rose and lifted the girl, and they climbed to their place of safety in the tree, wrapped themselves in the skins, and lay down once more, and once more they slept. As the dawn was gilding the tree-tops, and while the deep shadows still shrouded the floor of the forest, En-ro woke, rose, OF THE RED GOD. 197 stretched, and prepared to descend the tree, but suddenly he stopped—he had heard something coming through the forest. At first he took it for a wild beast, but as the noise came nearer and nearer he realized that it was made by men; he could even guess roughly that there were about ten or twelve. ; He shook Va-m’rai awake and grasped his weapons, and together they listened to the rustling of the undergrowth. From time to time he could catch the sound of a voice, but could not make out the words. Tense and alert, the two peered down into the little clearing, and Va-m’rai whispered: “Ts it the Ta-an?” ‘IT cannot tell,” answered the young war- rior. ‘ Wait!” Soon the footsteps were at the edge of the glade, and dark forms came into view. En-ro counted them silently; one, two, three, up to eleven, and as they strode into the light, which was growing stronger, he ground his teeth and his hand tightened about the haft of his ax till the knuckles showed white—the leader of the negroes was Meng! En-ro heard a gasp behind him, felt his arm clutched, and turned to see Va-m’rai staring down, mingled fear and loathing on her face. He laid a finger on her lips and she looked up at him, then nodded and pulled herself together. The negroes spread over the little glade, speaking in subdued voices, which, how- ever, carried to the listeners in the tree, and En-ro could make out the words, though they spoke in their own tongue, for he had some knowledge of their language. He whispered to Va-m’rai what they were say- ing, and it was clear that Meng, hearing of the rescue and flight, had got together a party of warriors and had set out to over- take the fugitives, to find and_kill En-ro, and keep the girl. The two crouched low on the little plat- form, hiding themselves as best they might. They knew they would be found, and that soon, but with the instinct of the hunted animal they put off the evil moment as long as they could; they would fight, but in the meantime something ‘might happen—one never knows. The hunters might be scat- ™ CORMMICOOOKS (C@