Bertram Atkey

“ RAXENFELD had not penetrated half a mile into the forest before he realized that without the Dyak—L’yan—he would have been helpless. He was used to and at home in the vast, clean pine forests of the Northwest, and he was no stranger to the tangled profusion of African jungles; but here he was aware that he must learn a new style of woodcraft before he could travel alone for any distance or for any length of time. ”

“ And this was all that was left of that Crandall who, mainly by virtue of his physical beauty, had won Katherine Renny from him—James Raxenfeld.
The big man strove to thrust away from him the realization of the dilemma which now presented itself to him. Abject and terrible though Crandall still was, yet it seemed to Raxenfeld that he was not in danger of death; the warmth of the fire, the hot coffee, the blanket, the recovery of his speech and the meeting with Raxenfeld seemed to be stimulating him. ”

“ SOME six weeks later a lonely man, lounging in a cane chair on the veranda of a bungalow perched on the side of a hill in the Dyak country, saw, climbing slowly up toward him, a little party of natives carrying a litter, by the side of which walked a white man. He rose and stood for a moment, watching. The party skirted the edge of the rubber plantation and came steadily on to the bungalow; and the lonely man, a puzzled frown between his heavy brows, went out to meet them. ”

“ Straining his eyes, Raxenfeld saw dimly some dark, blurred shape climbing up the rocky peak; and even as he stared, there came from the rocks a strange howling cry, partly whine, partly long-drawn-out bark, that was freighted with such a lamentable cadence of terror and despair as to send an involuntary shudder through the big frame of the American. For a moment he listened, his face blanched, his hand on the repeating pistol in his pocket, ready to run out if the cry were repeated. ”

“ But Raxenfeld was no god. He was a man—human. Was he to throw everything away for that monster?
“Throw nothing!” he muttered scornfully. “Crandall’s down and out,—poor brute,—and I don’t intend to allow Katherine to blast her life for him.” He glared out across the camp, his chin thrust forward like a block of steel. He went back a little—what sort of man was Crandall in the first place to cause even a debased native to be jealous of him? What were Dyak girls to a man for whom Katherine Renny waited? ”

“ Raxenfeld of Wall Street, should discard all business at once and venture straightway into the wilds of Borneo in search of the man to whom this very girl—Katherine Renny—had affianced herself, two years before, in preference to him.
For he was powerful in America—and elsewhere—with the power that ownership of forty million dollars and a splendid intellect can give one. And such a man goes hither and yon at the beck and call of few. ”

“ RAXENFELD waited. Presently Crandall told his story, and the American listened as a man listens to the speech of those who speak in awful dreams.
“It was the Dyak girl who was the beginning of it all—the witch-doctor,” said Crandall, in that slow, blurred, husky voice. “She was very pretty. She was not really a witch-doctor, either—only she was going to marry one of the real witch-doctors. She liked me better and followed me into the woods one day and told me so. And I always was a fool with women.” ”

“ Only L’yan, the old head-hunter, remained awake. He sat in the shadows a little beyond the light of the camp-fire, brooding, the old sporting-rifle across his knees.
THE forest was very still, and out of the zone of light cast by the fire, was draped and hung with profound darkness. Occasionally the far cry of some hunted thing suddenly captured came squealing thinly out of the gulfs of blackness, and at times things rustled and slithered through the undergrowth at the edge of the tiny clearing in which the party was camped. But the head-hunter paid no attention to these sounds ”

“ He stared desperately at Raxenfeld and uttered a queer, cackling laugh.
“And that’s what it did for me—did for me. Out here in these infernal, moist, steamy swamps a man’s will gets sapped and weak—it’s like living in a greenhouse. The witch-doctor the girl was betrothed to got jealous and took me unaware one day. I felt something prick me—I remember—just as I was stooping to take an orchid I had found—and that was all. ”

“ Innumerable natives had been questioned,—heavy rewards offered, for they do not like white men to disappear mysteriously out there,—but nothing could be learned. And now, I think, everybody has quite accepted the idea that he is dead—everybody but his mother and I. And the neighbors talk sympathetically to us; but they hint vaguely that in such a country as Borneo there are a thousand things that might have happened to him—snake-bite, fever, swamps—oh, dreadful things! ”

“ Dot noise was the same noise the beast used to make aroundt the bungalow in the night—until Ware scared him with the shotgun. We haf ourselves become used to the morning song of the animal. Would you like to shoot him?”
“Lord, no! Let the poor brute live!” exclaimed Raxenfeld. “It always seems like murder to shoot a monkey.”
The Dutchman nodded and whistled sharply. L’yan, who was just disappearing in the bushes, rose instantly, sliding a Malayan creese away into his clothes. He came up to the veranda and listened submissively to a few brief sentences in the vernacular from Van Handen. ”

“ Sometimes a man can’t help feeling that there is something wrong about the forests—secret, you know—as though deadly things come up out of the swamps and creeks and watch you and wait their chance at you. We will do what we can, of course—it’s good to see white folk up here again.
“Van Handen will be crazy with pleasure. We’ll discuss the other matter presently; Van will help you. He’s a fine doctor too; you couldn’t have brought Miss Renny to better hands. This place isn’t quite adapted for a lady, though, but Mrs. Wahlen will be glad to have her. ”

“ Somewhere aboud dot village is a man dot knows what was the end of Crandall. And if dot man was foundt and was made to speak, den we also should know. Only dot is an impossibility. And now let us go and eat dinner.”
Throughout the meal which followed, Raxenfeld said little. When he spoke, it was to put quiet questions to the blunt old plantation-manager, which, for all their quietness, were nevertheless directed always to one end—the Dyak girl of whom Van Handen had hinted, and the chances of finding her. ”

“ There are things which a white man should not do—Crandall had done them. There are things which no man, white or black, must do—the half-man was on the verge of doing them. So Raxenfeld killed him. Whether it was right or wrong, let no man judge who has not faced the problem that Raxenfeld faced out there in those grim forests where ethics loom less large than here in the heart of a civilization as merciless in its way as the savagery of the land of the head-hunters.
The End ”

“ Under the giant teak, ironwood, sandalwood and ebony trees that shot up to an immense height was a riot and chaos of growth that hemmed them in like fold upon fold upon fold of some monstrous netting of living fibers. ”

“ Raxenfeld rose and crossed over to him.
“You'd better sleep,” he said. “We'll get back to the bungalow at the plantation to-morrow and see Van Handen. He knows the country—perhaps there is something he can do. We'll see.”
HE helped the wreck that had been Crandall into the little tent, wrapped him in rugs and blankets and left him. He sat long by the fire, smoking and thinking. But think as he would, he could see no hope for Crandall. As he had said himself, Crandall was “done for.” ”

“ It is not possible to tell who blows a poisoned arrow out of the darkness and the silence of the night and creeps and crawls away, leaving a dead man.
“But in a preddy short time, I go to the Dyak village the foreman had spoken about. But dere was noding to be gained derefrom—dey can be secret as the grave, dose people, when dey choose. Dey said dey had nefer seen nor heard of a white man for years; dey: knew noding, dey said. Dey oferdid it, mine friendt, for the foreman had told me dot Misder Crandall had camped near dot village. ”

“ Raxenfeld set the porters to burying the witch-doctor and the woman, who had also been disfigured.
But Crandall he buried himself.
CHAPTER VII
The Return
THEN he cut the bonds of L’yan.
“We will return now to the bungalow,” he said to the men. Then, pointing to Crandall’s grave, he said to L’yan: “Let this not be spoken of—tell these men that. There lies the body of a white man who, made mad by the evil deeds of others, would have done evil deeds himself. You have seen a little—no more than a little—of the might of the white man. ”

“ I'll have something prepared for Miss Renny to eat and drink while she rests, and then go on to Wahlen’s with you. But I hope you'll stop here; we can manage a shakedown for a man.”
Raxenfeld accepted gladly. He fancied that he detected in Ware’s manner something queer, as though, for instance, he had not yet told all he knew of Crandall’s disappearance.
Thus it was that toward nightfall the big American found himself sitting on the veranda of the bungalow, smoking and talking with Ware, content in the knowledge that Katherine Renny was in kind and capable hands. ”

“ I suppose they try to convince us because no doubt they think it would be kindness to end the suspense, but it is not suspense at all. It is hope—hope; and how can anyone kill such hope as hers, who is his mother, and mine, who was to be his wife? ”

“ He knows the woods inch by inch by instinct, and Van says that if one could only make him talk, he could probably put you on the track of what happened to Crandall. But it depends a good deal on whether L’yan ‘takes’ to you. They are rather like children,—even the more murderous of them,—these little Dyaks. You'll see how you get on.”
Raxenfeld understood, for he had dealt with natives before. He arranged that L’yan should present himself at the bungalow at dawn on the following morning and accompany him first to the house of the missionary. ”

“ THE grotesque figure by the fire rocked to and fro, trembling.
“Whatever evil it is they know—doesn’t matter now. They’ve done for me—done for me,” he said. “Nothing can make me what I was. This morning I stood within a few yards of Katherine Renny, who was to have been my wife, and she did not recognize me.
“I was tracking you all-day until L’yan the guide fired at me. ”

“ But the Dutchman was not encouraging. He explained that it was unlikely to the last degree that either the man whom he believed had killed Crandall, or the girl for whose sake he suspected Crandall had been killed, would be in the village now.
“Dey will haf disappeared into der woods,” he said, “chust as a snake creeps away into the undergrowd and disappears. Moreofer, dere is the liddle lady dot awaits at Wahlen’s—so pale and with such great wis’ful eyes and so full of belief in the love and faith of dis young man Crandall. ”

“ Raxenfeld suggested.
The Dutchman nodded slowly.
“The head-hunters are preddy well exdincted by now,” he said, “so far as the heads of white men are concerned. Perhaps among the villages in the inside of the country the head of a Dyak is nod always preddy safe, but dey would not be likely to try for the head of a white man.” ”

“ When he finally dismissed them, he turned again to Raxenfeld.
“Dey will tell noding,” he said gravely. “Come now to the bungalow and refresh yourself with a bath and change and razor. Den we will eat, and after, haf the story again—slow and correct and sure. And den we must arrange a story for the liddle lady at our friendt Wahlen’s. The true story is nod the story for her—and dot poor young man’s mother. The lie dot com- forts is better than the truth dot breaks the heart—if the lie is believed to be the truth.”
Raxenfeld softened strangely to the old Dutchman. ”

“ She! Somehow, he had not expected a woman.
Raxenfeld saw his surprise and added quietly: “The lady is Miss Renny.” Ware flushed a little, and a certain distress shadowed his eyes. He stepped a few paces back from the litter, beckoning Raxenfeld.
The lady who was to have married that poor chap Crandall—the orchid-hunter?” he asked softly. “Van Handen, the manager here, wrote to her.”
Raxenfeld nodded.
“Mr. Crandall went into the forest alone,” Ware continued. “He was difficult to advise—overconfident, you know. I’m afraid he will never come back—this Dyak country is a queer place. ”

“ Intelligent, isn’t he?”
Raxenfeld nodded.
“He’s not an orang-outang?” he asked.
“No—I don’t quite know what species he is. He’s a lonely chap—disappears sometimes for weeks. A collector might find him worth capturing. Ah, here’s Van Handen!”
A BIG, bearded, middle-aged man came round the corner of the bungalow. He was a burly, capable-looking Dutchman, with steady gray eyes.
“Dey told me at Wahlen’s dot you were here, and I am glad to see you,” he said, shaking hands with Raxenfeld. “I took der opportunity to see the liddle lady with the touch of fever. Dere is noding to be fearful for. ”

“ You haf come to make inquiry for dot unlucky Misder Crandall?”
He sat down as Raxenfeld answered that he had.
The Dutchman shook his head gravely.
“We too haf made much inquiry afder him, but we haf learned noding. He wend into the forest, and he did not come out dere from. Dot is all we know, and all dot we can discover. The forest swallowed him up.” He looked keenly at Raxenfeld through half-closed lids.
“He was an expert in his line—an orchid-hunter; he knew the ordinary dangers of his business,” said Raxenfeld.
“Dere is plenty dangers,” threw in Van Handen. ”