EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS (continued 3)

"Where does this lead?" asked Fou-tan in a whisper.

"It is the King's private passage to the garden," replied the American, "and if I have made no mistake in my calculations, the other end of it is guarded by a sentry who will pass us with a wink."

As they groped their way slowly down the steps and along the corridor King explained to Fou-tan the subterfuge he had adopted to obtain a place upon the guard that night and that he had particularly noticed the little door at the end of this wing of the palace and when the major-domo had told him of the private passage leading to the garden he had guessed that it ended at this very door. "The sentry there," he had concluded, "is from my own barracks and knows the story. That is why you must be a little slave girl to-night, Fou-tan."

"I do not mind being a slave girl—now," she said, and King felt the little fingers of the hand he held press his own more tightly.

They came at last to the end of the corridor. In the darkness King's fingers ran over the surface of the door in search of bars and bolts. The fastening, which he found at last, was massive but simple. It moved beneath the pressure of his hand with only a slight grating sound. He pushed the door slowly open; the fresh night air blew in upon them; the starlit heavens bathed the garden in gentle luminosity. Cautiously King crossed the threshold. He saw the warrior upon his post without, and instantly the man saw him.

"Who comes?" demanded the sentry, dropping his spear-point on a level with King's breast as he wheeled quickly toward him.

"It is I—King—of Vama's ten. I have found the slave girl of whom I told you, and I would walk in the garden with her for a few moments."

"I do not know you," snapped the warrior. "I never heard of you or your slave girl," and then it was that King realised that he had never seen this man before—that the sentries had been changed since he had entered the palace. His heart sank within him, yet he maintained a bold front.

"It will do no harm to let us pass for a while," he said, "you can see that I am a member of the guard, as otherwise I could not have gained access to the King's house."

"That may be true," replied the warrior, "but I have my orders that no one shall pass either in or out of this doorway without proper authority. I will summon an officer. If he wishes to let you pass, that is none of my affair."

Fou-tan had been standing at King's side. Now she moved slowly and languorously toward the sentry. Every undulating motion of her lithe body was provocative. She came very close to him and turned her beautiful face up toward his. Her eyes were dreamy wells of promise. "For me?" she asked in a soft, caressing voice. "For me, warrior, could you not be blind for a moment?"

"For you, yes," said the man huskily, "but you are not for me; you belong to him."

"I have a sister," suggested Fou-tan. "When I return within the King's house, perhaps she will come to this little door. What do you say, warrior?"

"Perhaps it can do no harm," he said hesitatingly. "How long will you remain in the garden?"

"We shall be in the garden only a few minutes," said King.

"I shall turn my back," said the sentry. "I have not seen you. Remember that, I have not seen you."

"Nor have we seen you," replied King.

"Do not forget your sister, little one," said the sentry, as he turned away from them and continued along his post, while Gordon King and Fou-tan merged with the shadows of the trees beyond.

Perhaps, hours later, when he was relieved, the sentry realised that he had been duped, but there were excellent reasons why he should keep a still tongue in his head, though he intended at first opportunity to look up this warrior who said that his name was King and demand an accounting from him. Perhaps, after all, the slave girl had had no sister, with which thought he turned on his pallet of straw and fell asleep.

IX

THE FLIGHT

True to their promise to the sentry, Fou-tan and King did not remain long within the garden of Lodivarman, the Leper King. Inasmuch as the walls had been built to keep people out of the royal enclosure, rather than to keep them in, it was not difficult to find a spot where they might be scaled, since in many places trees grew near, their branches overhanging.

Along the unlighted streets of the city proper the sight of a warrior and a girl was not so uncommon as to attract attention, and so it was with comparative ease that they made their way to the city's outer wall. Here, once more, a like condition prevailed. Low sheds and buildings abutted against the inner surface of the city's ramparts, and presently King found a place where they could ascend to the roof of a building and surmount the wall itself. The drop to the ground upon the outside, however, was considerable, and here they were confronted with the greatest danger that had menaced them since they had passed the sentry. For either one of them to suffer a sprained ankle or a broken leg at this time would have been fatal to both.

In the darkness King could not determine the nature of the ground at the foot of the wall; the light of the stars was not sufficient for that.

"We shall have to take a chance here, Fou-tan," he said.

"It is high, Gordon King; but if you tell me to I will jump."

"No," he said, "that is not necessary. I judge that the wall is about twenty feet high here. My spear is six feet long; your sarong must be at least eight feet, possibly longer."

"Yes, it is much too long," she said; "it was not intended for a sarong. But what has that to do with it?"

"I am going to tie one end of the sarong to the end of my spear; I shall tie a knot in the other end of the sarong. Do you think that you are strong enough to cling to that knot while I lower you as near the ground as I can?"

"I am very strong," said Fou-tan, "and desperation lends even greater strength." As she spoke she commenced to remove her sarong, and a moment later King was lowering her slowly over the edge of the wall.

"When I have lowered you as far as I can," he whispered in her ear, "I shall tell you to drop. After you have done so, stand quickly to one side, and I will drop my spear. Then you must take it away so that I will not fall upon it; and also if the ground is rough, smooth it a little for me."

"Yes," she said, and King lowered her away down the outside of the wall of Lodidhapura.

Presently he was clinging only to the end of the spear and was leaning far over the edge of the wall. "Drop," he said in a low voice. Instantly the pull of her weight was gone from the spear handle in his hand. "Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes," she replied. "Drop the spear," and then an instant later: "the grass is thick and soft here."

King lowered himself over the edge of the wall and hung an instant by his fingers. Then he released his hold and dropped. As he rolled over in the tall grass, considerably jarred but unhurt, Fou-tan was at his side. "You are all right, Gordon King?" she demanded. "You are not hurt?"

"I am all right," he said.

"I shall sacrifice a bullock in the temple of Siva when we reach Pnom Dhek," she said.

"For your sake, Fou-tan, I hope that it will not be long before you are able to sacrifice the bullock, but we are not at Pnom Dhek yet; I do not even know where it is."

"I do," replied the girl.

"In what direction?" he asked.

She pointed. "There," she said, "but the way is long and difficult."

Near them was a group of native huts, clustered close to the foot of the wall, and so they moved out straight across the clearing to the edge of the jungle and then, turning, paralleled the jungle until they had passed the city.

"When we were brought into Lodidhapura I saw an avenue leading into the jungle somewhere in this direction," said King.

"Yes," replied Fou-tan, "but that does not lead to Pnom Dhek."

"Which is the reason that I wish to find it," said King. "The pursuit will be directed straight in the direction of Pnom Dhek, you may be assured. Men upon elephants and upon horses will travel after us much more rapidly than we can travel and we shall be overtaken if we take the road toward Pnom Dhek. We must go in some other direction and hide in the jungle for days, perhaps, before we may dare to approach Pnom Dhek."

"I do not care," she said, "and I shall not be afraid if you are with me, Gordon King."

It was not long before they found the road that he sought. In the open starlit night the transition to the jungle was depressing and, too, as they both realised, it was highly dangerous. All about them were the noises of the gloomy nocturnal forest: the mysterious rustling of underbrush as some beast passed on padded feet, a coughing growl in the distance, a snarl and a scream, followed by a long silence that was more terrifying than the noise.

A few months ago King would have considered their position far more precarious than he did this night, but now long familiarity with the jungle had so inured him to its dangers that he had unwittingly acquired that tendency to fatalism that is a noticeable characteristic of primitive people who live constantly beneath the menace of beasts of prey. He was, however, no less aware of the dangers that confronted them, but held them the lesser of two evils. To remain in the neighbourhood of Lodidhapura would most certainly result in their early capture and subject them to a fate more merciless and more cruel than any which might waylay them along the dark aisles of the forest. Propinquity had considerably altered his estimation of the great cats; whereas formerly he had thought of them as the fearless exterminators of mankind; he had since learned that not all of them are man-killers and that more often did they avoid man than pursue him. The chances, then, that they might come through the night without attack were greatly in their favour; but should they meet a tiger or a leopard or a panther which, because of hunger, old age, or viciousness, should elect to attack them, their doom might well be sealed; and whether they were moving away from Lodidhapura upon the ground or hiding in a tree, they would be almost equally at the mercy of one or another of these fierce carnivores.

The avenue that they were following, which entered the jungle from Lodidhapura, ran broad and clear for a considerable distance into the forest, dwindling at last to little more than an ordinary game-trail. To elude their pursuers, they must leave it; but that they might not attempt until daylight, since to strike out blindly into the trackless jungle, buried in the impenetrable gloom of night, must almost assuredly have spelled disaster.

"Even if they find Lodivarman before morning," he said, "I doubt that they will commence their search for us before daylight."

"They will be ordered out in pursuit the instant that Lodivarman can issue a command," replied Fou-tan; "but there is little likelihood that anyone will dare to risk his anger by approaching the apartment in which he lies until his long silence has aroused suspicion. If your bonds hold and he is unable to remove the gag from his mouth, I doubt very much that he will be discovered before noon. His people fear his anger, which is quick and merciless, and there is only one man in all Lodidhapura who would risk incurring it by entering that apartment before Lodivarman summoned him."

"And who is that?" asked King.

"Vay Thon, the high priest of Siva," replied the girl.

"If I am missed and the word reaches the ears of Vay Thon," said King, "it is likely that his suspicion may be aroused."

"Why?" asked Fou-tan.

"Because I talked with him this afternoon, and I could see that he guessed what was in my heart. It was he who told me that Lodivarman would send for you to-night. It was Vay Thon who warned me to attempt no rash deed."

"He does not love Lodivarman," said the girl, "and it may be that if he guessed the truth he might be silent, for he has been kind to me; and I know that he liked you."

For hour after hour the two groped their way along the dark trail, aided now by the dim light of the moon that the canopy of foliage above blocked and diffused until that which reached the jungle floor could not be called light at all, but rather a lesser degree of darkness.

With the passing of the hours King realised that Fou-tan's steps were commencing to lag. He timed his own then to suit hers and, walking close beside her, supported her with his arm. She seemed so small and delicate and unsuited to an ordeal like this that the man marvelled at her stamina. More of a hot-house plant than a girl of flesh and blood seemed Fou-tan of Pnom Dhek, and yet she was evincing the courage and endurance of a man. He recalled that not once during the night had she voiced any fear of the jungle, not even when great beasts had passed so close to them that they could almost hear their breathing. If Khmer slaves were of this stock, to what noble heights of courage must the masters achieve!

"You are very tired, Fou-tan," he said; "we shall rest presently."

"No," she replied. "Do not stop on my account. If you would not rest upon your own account, it must be that you do not think it wise to do so; that I am with you should make no difference. When you feel the need of rest and believe that it is safe to rest, then I may rest also, but not until then."

Stealthily the dawn, advance guard of the laggard day, crept slowly through the jungle, pushing back the impenetrable shadows of the night. Shadowy trees emerged from the darkness; armies of gaunt grey boles marched in endless procession slowly by them; the trail that had been but a blank wall of darkness before projected itself forward to the next turn; the hideous night lay behind them, and a new hope was born within their bosoms. It was time now to leave the trail and search for a hiding-place, and conditions were particularly favourable at this spot, since the underbrush was comparatively scant.

Turning abruptly to the left, King struck off at right angles to the trail; and for another hour the two pushed onward into the untracked mazes of the forest. This last hour was particularly difficult, for there was no trail and the ground rose rapidly, suggesting to King that they were approaching mountains. There were numerous outcroppings of rock; and at length they came to the edge of a gorge, in the bottom of which ran a stream of pure water.

"The gods have been good to us," exclaimed King.

"I have been praying to them all night," said Fou-tan.

The little stream had cut deeply into its limestone bed; but at last they found a way down to the water, where the cool and refreshing liquid gave them renewed strength and hope.

The evidences of erosion in the limestone about them suggested to King that a little search might reveal a safe and adequate hiding-place. Fortunately the water in the stream was low, giving them dry footing along its side as they followed the gorge upward; nor had they gone far before they discovered a location that was ideal for their purpose. Here the stream made a sharp bend that was almost a right angle; and where the waters had rushed for countless ages against the base of a limestone cliff, they had eaten their way far into it, hollowing out a sanctuary where the two fugitives would be safe from observation from above.

Leaving Fou-tan in the little grotto, King crossed the stream and gathered an armful of dry grasses that grew above the high water-line upon the opposite side. After several trips he was able to make a reasonably comfortable bed for each of them.

"Sleep now," he said to Fou-tan; "and when you are rested, I shall sleep."

The girl would have demurred, wishing him to sleep first; but even as she voiced her protest, exhaustion overcame her and she sank into a profound slumber. Seated with his back against the limestone wall of their retreat, King sought desperately to keep awake; but the monotonous sound of the running water, which drowned all other sounds, acted as a soporific, which, combined with outraged Nature's craving for rest, made the battle he was waging a difficult one. Twice he dozed and then, disgusted with himself, he arose and paced to and fro the length of their sanctuary, but the instant that he sat down again he was gone.

It was mid-afternoon when King awoke with a start. He had been the victim of a harrowing dream, so real that even as he awoke he grasped his spear and leaped to his feet, but there was no danger menacing. He listened intently, but the only sound came from the leaping waters of the stream.

Fou-tan opened her eyes and looked at him. "What is it?" she asked.

He grimaced in self-disgust. "I slept at my post," he said. "I have been asleep a long time, and I have just awakened."

"I am glad," she said with a smile. "I hope that you have slept for a long time."

"I have slept almost as long as you have, Fou-tan," he replied; "but suppose that they had come while I slept."

"They did not come, however," she reminded him.

"Well, right or wrong, we have both slept now," he said, "and my next business is to obtain food."

"There is plenty in the forest," she said.

"Yes, I noted it as we came this way in the morning."

"Will it be safe to go out and search for food?" asked the girl.

"We shall have to take the chance," he replied. "We must eat and we cannot find food at night. We shall have to go together, Fou-tan, as I cannot risk leaving you alone for a moment."

As King and Fou-tan left their hiding-place and started down the gorge toward a place where they could clamber out of it into the forest in search of food, a creature at the summit of the cliff upon the opposite side of the stream crouched behind a low bush and watched them. Out of small eyes, deep-set beneath a mass of tangled hair, the creature watched every movement of the two; and when they had passed, it followed them stealthily, stalking them as a tiger might have stalked. But this was no tiger; it was a man—a huge, hulking brute of a man, standing well over six-feet-six on its great flat feet. Its only apparel was a G string, made from the skin of a wild animal. It wore no ornaments, but it carried weapons—a short spear, a bow, and arrows.

The jungle lore that the American had learned under the tutorage of Che stood him in good stead now, for it permitted him quickly to locate edible fruit and tubers without waste of time and with a minimum of effort. Fou-tan, city-bred, had but a hazy and most impractical knowledge of the flora of the jungle. She knew the tall, straight teak standing leafless now in the dry season and the India-rubber tree; and with almost childish delight she recognised the leathery laurel-like leaves of the tree from whose gum resin gamboge is secured; the tall, flowering stems of the cardamon she knew too; but the sum total of her knowledge would not have given sustenance to a canary in the jungle. It was therefore that King's efficiency in this matter filled her with awe and admiration. Her dark eyes followed his every move; and when he had collected all of the food that they could conveniently carry and they had turned their steps back toward their hiding-place, Fou-tan was bubbling over with pride and confidence and happiness. Perhaps it was as well that she did not see the uncouth figure hiding in the underbrush as they passed.

Back in their retreat they partially satisfied their hunger with such of the food as did not require cooking. "To-night we can have a fire," said King, "and roast some of these tubers. It would not be safe now, for the smoke might be seen for a considerable distance; but at night they will not be searching for us, and the light of a small fire will never escape from this gorge."

After they had eaten, King took his spear and walked down to the stream where he had seen fish jumping. He was prompted more by a desire to pass away the time than by any hope of success in this piscatorial adventure, but so numerous were the fish and so unafraid that he succeeded in spearing two with the utmost ease while Fou-tan stood at his elbow applauding him with excited little exclamations and squeals of delight.

King had never been any less sensitive to the approbation of the opposite sex than any other normal man, but never, he realised, had praise sounded more sweetly in his ears than now. There was something so altogether sincere in Fou-tan's praise that it never even remotely suggested adulation. He had always found her such an altogether forthright little person that he could never doubt her sincerity.

"Now we shall have a feast," she exclaimed, as they carried the fishes back into their grotto. "It is a good thing for me that you are here, Gordon King, and not another."

"Why, Fou-tan?" he asked.

"Imagine Bharata Rahon or any of the others being faced with the necessity of finding food for me here in the jungle!" she exclaimed. "Why, I should either have starved to death or have been poisoned by their ignorance and stupidity. No, there is no one like Gordon King, as Fou-tan, his slave, should know."

"Do not call yourself that," he said. "You are not my slave."

"Let us play that I am," she said. "I like it. A slave is great in the greatness of his master; therefore, it can be no disgrace to be the slave of Gordon King."

"If I had not found you here in the jungles of Cambodia," he said, "I could have sworn that you are Irish."

"Irish?" she asked. "What is Irish?"

"The Irish are a people who live upon a little island far, far away. They have a famous stone there, and when one has kissed this stone he cannot help thereafter speaking in terms of extravagant praise of all whom he meets. It is said that all of the Irish have kissed this stone."

"I do not have to kiss a stone to tell the truth to you, Gordon King," she said. "I do not always say nice things to people, but I like to say them to you."

"Why?" he asked.

"I do not know, Gordon King," said Fou-tan, and her eyes dropped from his level gaze.

They were sitting upon the dry grasses that he had gathered for their beds. King sat now in silence, looking at the girl. For the thousandth time he was impressed by her great beauty, and then the face of another girl arose in a vision between them. It was the face of Susan Anne Prentice. With a short laugh King turned his gaze down toward the stream; while once again, upon the opposite cliff-top, the little eyes of the great man watched them.

"Why do you laugh, Gordon King?" asked Fou-tan, looking up suddenly.

"You would not understand, Fou-tan," he said. He had been thinking of what Susan Anne would say could she have knowledge of the situation in which he then was—a situation which he realised was not only improbable but impossible. Here was he, Gordon King, a graduate physician, a perfectly normal product of the twentieth century, sitting almost naked under a big rock with a little slave girl of a race that had disappeared hundreds of years before. That in itself was preposterous. But there was another matter that was even less credible; he realised that he enjoyed the situation, and most of all he enjoyed the company of the little slave girl.

"You are laughing at me, Gordon King," said Fou-tan, "and I do not like to be laughed at."

"I was not laughing at you, Fou-tan," he replied. "I could not laugh at you. I—"

"You what?" she demanded.

"I could not laugh at you," he replied lamely.

"You said that once before, Gordon King," she reminded him. "You started to say something else. What was it?"

For a moment he was silent. "I have forgotten, Fou-tan," he said then.

His eyes were turned away from her as she looked at him keenly in silence for some time. Then a slow smile lighted her face and she broke into a little humming song.

The man upon the opposite cliff withdrew stealthily until he was out of sight of the two in the gorge below him. Then he arose to an erect position and crept softly away into the forest. Ready in his hands were his bow and an arrow. For all his great size and weight he moved without noise, his little eyes shifting constantly from side to side. Suddenly, and so quickly that one could scarcely follow the movements of his hands, an arrow sped from his bow, and an instant later he stepped forward and picked up a large rat that had been transfixed by his missile. The creature moved slowly onward, and presently a little monkey swung through the trees above him. Again the bow-string twanged, and the little monkey hurtled to the ground at the feet of the primitive hunter. Squatting on his haunches the man-thing ate the rat raw; then he carried the monkey back to the edge of the gorge, and after satisfying himself that the two were still there he fell to upon the principal item of his dinner; and he was still eating when darkness came.

Fou-tan had not broken King's embarrassed silence, but presently the man arose. "Where are you going, Gordon King?" she asked.

"There is some driftwood lodged upon the opposite bank, left there by last season's flood waters. We shall need it for our cooking fire to-night."

"I will go with you and help you," said Fou-tan, and together they crossed the little stream and gathered the dry wood for their fire.

From Che and Kangrey the American had learned to make fire without matches; and he soon had a little blaze burning, far back beneath the shelter of their overhanging rock. He had cleaned and washed the fish and now proceeded to grill them over the fire, while Fou-tan roasted two large tubers impaled upon the ends of sticks.

"I would not exchange this for the palace of a king, Gordon King," she said.

"Nor I, Fou-tan," he replied.

"Are you happy, Gordon King?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "And you, Fou-tan, are you happy?"

She nodded her head. "It is because you and I are together," she said simply.

"We come from opposite ends of the earth, Fou-tan," he said, "we are separated by centuries of time, we have nothing in common, your world and my world are as remote from one another as the stars; and yet, Fou-tan, it seems as though I had known you always. It does not seem possible that I have lived all my life up to now without even knowing that you existed."

"I have felt that too, Gordon King," said the girl. "I cannot understand it, but it is so. However, you are wrong in one respect."

"And what is that?" he asked.

"You said that we had nothing in common. We have."

"What is it?" demanded King.

Fou-tan shuddered. "The leprosy," she said. "He touched us both. We shall both have it."

Gordon King laughed. "We shall never contract leprosy from Lodivarman," he said. "I am a doctor. I know."

"Why shall we not?" she demanded.

"Because Lodivarman is not a leper," replied the American.

X

LOVE AND THE BRUTE

From the opposite side of the gorge the brute, gnawing upon a leg bone of the monkey, watched the two below. He saw the fire kindled and it troubled him. He was afraid of fire. Muddily, in his undeveloped brain, it represented the personification of some malign power. The brute knew no god; but he knew that there were forces that brought pain, disaster, death, and that oftentimes these forces were invisible. The visible causes of such effects were the enemies he had met in the jungle in the form of men or of beasts; therefore, it was natural that he should endow the invisible causes of similar effects with the physical attributes of the enemies that he could see. He peopled the jungle accordingly with invisible men and invisible beasts that wrought pain, disaster, and death. These enemies he held in far greater fear than those that were visible to him. Fire, he knew, was the work of one of these dread creatures, and the very sight of it made him uncomfortable.

The brute was not hungry; he harboured no animosity for the two creatures he stalked; he was motivated by a more powerful urge than hunger or hate. He had seen the girl!

The fire annoyed him and kept him at bay; but time meant little to the brute. He saw that the two had made beds, and he guessed that they would sleep where they were during the night. On the morrow they would go out after food, and there would be no fire with them. The brute was content to wait until the morrow. He found some tall grass and, getting upon his hands and knees, turned about several times, as bedding dogs are wont to do, and then lay down. He had flattened the grasses so that they all lay in one direction, and when he turned upon his bed he always turned in that direction, so that the sharp ends of the grasses did not stick into his flesh. Perhaps he had learned this trick from the wild dogs, or perhaps the wild dogs first learned it from man. Who knows?

In the darkness Fou-tan and King sat upon their beds and talked. Fou-tan was full of questions. She wanted to know all about the strange country from which King came. Most of the things he told her she could not understand; but her questions were quite often directed upon subjects that were well within her ken—there are some matters that are eternal; time does not alter them.

"Are the women of your country beautiful?" she asked.

"Some of them," replied the man.

"Have you a wife, Gordon King?" The question was voiced in a whisper.

"No, Fou-tan."

"But you love someone," she insisted, for love is so important to a woman that she cannot imagine a life devoid of love.

"I have been too busy to fall in love," he replied good-naturedly.

"You are not very busy now," suggested Fou-tan.

"I think I shall be a very busy man for the next few days trying to get you back to Pnom Dhek," he assured her.

Fou-tan was silent. It was so dark that he could scarcely see her. But he could feel her presence near him, and it seemed to exert as strong an influence upon him as might have physical contact. He had recognised the power of that indefinable thing called personality when he had talked with people and looked into their eyes; but he never had had it reach out through the dark and lay hold of him as though with warm fingers of flesh and blood, and King found the sensation most disquieting.

They lay in silence upon their beds of dry grasses, each occupied with his own thoughts. The heat of the jungle day was rising slowly from the narrow gorge, and a damp chill was replacing it. The absolute darkness which surrounded them was slightly mitigated in their immediate vicinity by an occasional flame rising from the embers of their dying fire as some drying twigs of their fuel ignited. King was thinking of the girl at his side, of the responsibility which her presence entailed, and of the duty that he owed to her and to himself. He tried not to think about her, but that he found impossible, and the more that she was in his mind the stronger became the realisation of the hold that she had obtained upon him; that the sensation that she animated within him was love seemed incredibly preposterous. He tried to assure himself that it was but an infatuation engendered by her beauty and propinquity, and he girded himself to conquer his infatuation that he might perform the duty that had devolved upon him in so impersonal a way that there might be no regret.

In order to fortify this noble decision he cast Fou-tan from his mind entirely and occupied himself with thoughts of his friends in far-away America. In retrospect he laughed and danced again with Susan Anne Prentice; he listened to her pleasant cultured voice and enjoyed once more the sweet companionship of the girl who was to him all that a beloved sister might have been; and then a little sigh came from the bed of grasses at his side, and the vision of Susan Anne Prentice faded into oblivion.

Again there was a long silence, broken only by the murmur of the tumbling stream.

"Gordon King!" It was just a whisper.

"What is it, Fou-tan?"

"I am afraid, Gordon King," said the girl. How like a little child in the dark she sounded. Before he could answer, there came the sound of a soft thud down the gorge and the rattle of loose earth falling from above.

"What was that?" asked Fou-tan in a frightened whisper. "Something is coming, Gordon King. Look!"

Silently the man rose to his feet, grasping his spear in readiness. Down the gorge he saw two blazing points of flame; and quickly stepping to their fire, he placed dry twigs upon the embers, blowing upon them gently until they burst into flame. At a little distance those two glowing spots burned out of the darkness.

King piled more wood upon the fire until it blazed up bravely, illuminating their little grotto and revealing Fou-tan sitting up upon her bed of grasses, gazing with wide horror-filled eyes at those two silent, ominous harbingers of death fixed so menacingly upon them. "My Lord the Tiger!" she whispered; and her low, tense tones were vibrant with all the inherent horror of the great beast that had been passed down to her by countless progenitors, for whom My Lord the Tiger had constituted life's greatest menace.

Primitive creatures, constantly surrounded by lethal dangers, sleep lightly. The descent of the great cat into the gorge, followed by the sounds of the falling earth and stones it had dislodged, brought to his feet the sleeping brute upon the opposite summit. Thinking that the noise might have come from the quarry in the gorge below, the creature moved quickly to the edge of the cliff and looked down; and as the mounting blazes of King's fire illuminated the scene, the brute saw the great tiger standing with up-raised head, watching the man and the woman in their rocky retreat.

Here was an interloper that aroused the ire of the brute; here was a deadly enemy about to seize that which the brute had already marked as his own. The creature selected a heavy arrow, the heaviest arrow that he carried, and, fitting it to his bow, he bent the sturdy weapon until the point of the arrow touched the fingers of his bow-hand; then he let drive at a point just behind the shoulders of the tiger.

What happened thereafter happened very quickly. The arrow drove through to the great cat's lungs; the shock, the surprise and the pain brought instant reaction. Not having sensed the presence of any other formidable creature than those before him, My Lord the Tiger must naturally have assumed that they were the authors of his hurt. This supposition, at least, seemed likely if judged by that which immediately occurred.

With a hideous roar, with blazing eyes, with wide distended jaws, revealing gleaming fangs, the great cat charged straight for King. Into the circle of firelight it bounded like a personification of some hideous force of destruction.

Little Fou-tan, on her feet beside King, seized a blazing brand from the fire and hurled it full into the face of the charging beast; but the tiger was too far gone in pain and rage longer to harbour fear of aught.

King's spear-arm went back. Through his mind flashed the recollection of the other tiger that he had killed with a single spear-cast. He had known then that he had been for the instant the favoured child of Fortune. The laws of chance would never countenance a repetition of that amazing stroke of luck; yet there was naught that he could do but try.

He held his nerves and muscles in absolute control, the servants of his iron will. Every faculty of mind and body was centred upon the accuracy and the power of his spear-arm. Had he given thought to what might follow, his nerves must necessarily have faltered, but he did not. Cool and collected, he waited until he knew that he could not miss nor wait another moment. Then the bronze skin of his spear-arm flashed in the light of the fire, and at the same instant he swept Fou-tan to him with his left arm and leaped to one side.

Not even My Lord the Tiger could have acted with greater celerity, calmness, and judgment. A low grunt of surprise and admiration burst from the lips of the brute watching from the summit of the opposite cliff.

The charge of the tiger carried it full into the fire, scattering the burning branches in all directions. The dry grasses of the beds burst into flame. Blinded and terrified, the tiger looked about futilely for his prey; but King had leaped quickly across the stream to the opposite side of the gorge, having learned by experience that a creature near the fire can see nothing in the outer darkness. The great cat, clawing and biting at the spear protruding from its chest, rent the air with its screams of pain and growls of rage. Suddenly it was quiet, standing like a yellow and black statue carved from gold and ebony; then it took a few steps forward, sagged, and slumped lifeless to the ground.

Gordon King felt very weak in the knees, so weak that he sat down quite suddenly. He had rung the bell twice in succession, but he could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes. Fou-tan came and sat down close beside him and rested her cheek against his arm. "My Gordon King!" she murmured softly.

Almost without volition he put his arm about her. "My Fou-tan!" he said. The girl snuggled close in his embrace.

For a time they sat watching the tiger, hesitating to approach lest there might remain a spark of life within the great form, each knowing that one little instant of life would be sufficient to destroy them both were they near the beast; but the great cat never moved again.

The dissipated fire was dying down, and realising more than ever now the necessity for keeping it up, King and Fou-tan arose and, crossing the stream, scraped together the remaining embers of their fire and rebuilt it with fresh wood.

From the cliff above the brute watched them, and once again grunted his admiration as he saw King withdraw his spear from the body of the fallen tiger. Placing one foot against the breast of the great beast, the American was forced to exert every ounce of his weight and strength to withdraw the weapon, so deeply was it embedded in the bone and sinew of its victim.

"I am afraid that we shall not get much sleep to-night, Fou-tan," said King as he returned to the fire.

"I am not sleepy," replied the girl; "I could not sleep, and then, too, it is commencing to get cold. I would rather sit here by the fire until morning. I would rather have my eyes open than closed in the night when My Lord the Tiger walks abroad."

Once more they sat down side by side, their backs against the rocky wall that had been warmed by the heat of the nearby fire.

The brute, realising that they had settled themselves for the night, returned to his primitive bed and settled himself once more for sleep.

Fou-tan cuddled close to Gordon King; his arm was about her. He felt her soft hair against his cheek. He drew her closer to him. "Fou-tan!" he said.

"Yes, Gordon King, what is it?" she asked. He noted that her voice trembled.

"I love you," said Gordon King.

A sigh that came in little gasps was his reply. He felt her heart pounding against his side.

A soft arm crept upward to encircle his neck, drawing him gently down to the sweet face turned toward his. Eyes, dimmed with unshed tears, gazed into his eyes. Trembling lips fluttered beneath his lips, and then he crushed her to him in the first kiss of love.

The flower-like beauty of the girl, her softness, her helplessness, combined with the exaltation of this, his first love, enveloped Fou-tan with an aura of sanctity that rendered her almost an object of veneration in the eyes of the man—a high priestess enshrined in the Holy of Holies of his heart. He marvelled that he had won the love of so glorious a creature. The little slave girl became an angel, and he her paladin. In this thought lay the secret of King's attitude toward Fou-tan. He was glad that she was small and helpless, for he liked to think of himself as her champion and protector. He liked to feel that the safety of the girl he loved lay in his hands and that he was physically and morally competent to discharge the obligations that Fate had reposed within him.

Despite the fact that she was soft and small, Fou-tan was not without self-reliance and courage, as she had amply proved when she had run away from the palace of Lodivarman and risked the perils of the savage jungle; yet she was still so wholly feminine that she found her greatest happiness in the protection of the man she loved.

"I am very happy," whispered Fou-tan.

"And so am I," said King, "happier than I have ever been before in my life, but now we must make our plans all anew."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"We may not go to Pnom Dhek now. We must find our way out of the jungle so that I can take you to my own country."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Before I answer you," he replied, "there is one question that I have not asked but that you must answer before we make our plans for the future."

"What is that?" she asked.

"Will you be my wife, Fou-tan?"

"Oh, Gordon King, I have answered that already, for I have told you that I love you. Fou-tan would not tell any man that whom she could not or would not take as her husband; but what has that to do with our returning to Pnom Dhek?"

"It has everything to do with it," replied King, "because I will not take the woman who is to be my wife back into slavery."

She looked up into his face, her eyes alight with a new happiness and understanding. "Now I may never doubt that you love me, Gordon King," she said.

He looked at her questioningly. "I do not understand what you mean," he said.

"Though you thought that I was born a slave, you asked me to be your wife," she said.

"You told me from the first that you were a slave girl," he reminded her.

"I was a slave girl in Lodidhapura," she explained; "but in Pnom Dhek I am no slave. I must return there to my father's house. It is my duty. When the King learns what a great warrior you are, he will give you a place in his guard. Then you will be able to take a wife, and, perhaps, my father will not object."

"And if he does?" asked King.

"Let us not think of that," replied Fou-tan.

As the night wore on, a slow rain commenced to fall, herald of the coming rainy season. King kept the fire replenished, and its heat warmed them as they sat and talked of their future, or spoke in half-awed whispers of the transcendent happiness that had come into their lives.

Before dawn the rain ceased and the skies cleared, and when the sun rose he looked upon a steaming jungle, where strange odours, long imprisoned by drought, filled the air as they wandered through the forest.

King rose and stretched himself. Near him the carcass of the great beast he had slain aroused within him regret that he must leave such a trophy to the carrion creatures or to decay.

From the tiger's back protruded the feathered shaft of an arrow. King was puzzled. He tugged upon the missile and withdrew it. It was a crude thing—much more primitive than those made by Che. It created a mystery that appeared little likely of solution. The best that he could do was guess that the tiger had carried it for some time before he attacked them. Then, for the time, he forgot the matter, which later was to be recalled in poignant grief.

Across the gorge the brute bestirred himself. He had lain quietly throughout the rain, keeping the spot beneath him dry. Physical discomfort meant little to him; he was accustomed to it. He arose, and, like King, stretched himself. Then he crept to the edge of the gorge and looked down at the man and the woman.

Fou-tan, who had been dozing, awoke now and rose to her feet. With the undulating grace of youth and health and physical perfection she came and stood beside King. She leaned close against the man, who put an arm about her and, bending, kissed her upturned mouth. The brute moistened his thick lips with a red tongue.

"And now," said King, "I am going up into the forest to get some more fruit. It will be a light breakfast, but better than none; and I do not dare build up the fire again by daylight."

"While you are gone I shall bathe myself in the stream," said Fou-tan; "it will refresh me."

"I am afraid to leave you here alone," said King.

"There is no danger," replied Fou-tan. "The beasts are not hunting now, and there is little likelihood that the soldiers who are searching for us have broken camp so early. No, I shall remain here. Let me have my bath, Gordon King, and do not return too quickly."

As King walked down the gorge to the place where he could ascend into the forest, the brute upon the opposite side watched his every move and then proceeded quickly up the farther bank of the gorge in the opposite direction from that taken by King. There was no trail in the jungle that the brute did not know, so that he was aware of a place where he might easily descend into the gorge a short distance above the spot where Fou-tan bathed.

The girl wore only two garments beside her sandals—a silken sampot and the makeshift sarong—so that scarcely was King out of sight before she was splashing in the cold waters of the stream. The temperature of the water that came down from the high hills, coupled with her fear that King might return too soon, prompted her to haste. Having no towel, she used one end of the sarong to dry herself, adjusted her sampot and wound the sarong about her lithe body. Then she stood looking down the gorge in the direction from which King would return. Her heart was filled with her new happiness, so that it was with difficulty that she restrained her lips from song.

From up the gorge, behind her, crept the brute. Even if he had approached noisily, the rushing waters would have drowned the sound, but it was not the way of the brute to move noisily. Like the other carnivores, stealth was habitual to him. The brute was the personification of the cunning and malignity of the tiger; but there the parallel ceased, for the tiger was beautiful and the brute was hideous.

It is remarkable that there should be so many more beautiful creatures in the world than man, which suggests a doubt of man's boast that he is made in the image of God. There are those who believe that the image of God must transcend in its beauty the finite conceptions of man. If that be true and God chose to create any animal in His own likeness, man must have trailed at the far end of that celestial beauty contest.

The brute crept stealthily down upon the unsuspecting girl. He rounded the corner of a cliff and saw her standing with her back toward him. He moved swiftly now, crouched like a charging tiger, yet his naked feet gave forth no sound; while Fou-tan, with half-closed eyes and smiling lips, dreamed of the future that love held in store.

The brute sprang close behind her. A filthy, calloused paw was clapped across her mouth. A rough and powerful arm encircled her waist. She was whirled from her feet, her cries stifled in her throat, as the brute wheeled and ran swiftly up the gorge, bearing his prize.

King quickly found the fruit he sought, but he loitered in returning to give Fou-tan an opportunity to complete her toilet. As he idled slowly back to the gorge, his mind was occupied with plans for the future. He was considering the advisability of remaining in hiding where they were for several days on the chance that the soldiers of Lodivarman might in the meantime give up the search and return to Lodidhapura. He determined that they might explore the gorge further in the hope of finding a safer and more comfortable retreat, where they might be less at the mercy of night prowlers and even more securely hidden from searchers than they were at present. He was also moved by the prospect of a few idyllic days during which there would be no one in the world but himself and Fou-tan.

Filled with enthusiasm for his heaven-sent plan, King descended into the gorge and approached the now hallowed precincts of his greatest happiness; but as he rounded the last bend he saw that Fou-tan was not there. Perhaps she had gone farther up the stream to bathe. He called her name aloud, but there was no reply. Again he called, raising his voice, but still there was only silence. Now he became alarmed and, running quickly forward, searched about for some sign or clue to her whereabouts; nor had he long to search. In the soft earth, damp from the recent rain, he saw the imprints of a huge foot—the great bare foot of a man. He saw where the prints had stopped and turned, and it was easy to follow them up the gorge. Casting aside the fruit that he had gathered, he hastened along the well-marked trail, his mind a fiery furnace of fear and rage, his heart a cold clod in his leaden breast.

Now, quite suddenly, he recalled the arrow he had found embedded behind the shoulders of the tiger that he had killed. He recalled the beast's sudden scream of rage and pain as it had charged so unexpectedly toward him, and quite accurately he reconstructed the whole scene—the man had been spying upon them from the top of the gorge; he had seen the tiger and had shot it to save his quarry to himself; then he had waited until King had left Fou-tan alone; the rest was plainly discernible in the footprints that he followed. He was confident that this was no soldier of Lodivarman; the crude arrow refuted that idea, as did the imprints of the great bare feet. But what sort of man was it and why had he stolen Fou-tan? The answer to that question goaded King to greater speed.

A short distance up the gorge King discovered where the tracks turned to the right, up the bed of a dry wash and thus to the level of the forest above. He gave thanks now for the providential rain that rendered the spoor easily followed. He knew that the abductor could not be far ahead, and he was sure that he could overtake him before harm could befall Fou-tan. However, as he hastened on, he was chilled by the thought that no matter how plain the spoor, the necessity for keeping it always in sight could but retard his speed; and his fear was that the slight delay might permit the man to outdistance him; and then he came to a patch of rocky ground where the trail, becoming immediately faint, suddenly disappeared entirely. Sick with apprehension, the American was forced to stop and search for a continuation of the tracks, and when, at last, he found them he knew that his quarry had gained greatly upon him during this enforced delay.

Again he sped along as rapidly as he could through a forest unusually devoid of underbrush. As he advanced he presently became aware of a new sound mingling with the subdued daylight noises of the jungle. It was a sound that he could not identify, but there was something ominous about it; and then, quite suddenly, he came upon the authors of it—great grey bulks looming among the boles of the trees directly in his path.

Under other circumstances he would have halted or, at least, changed his route; and had he reflected even for an instant, his better judgment now would have prompted him to do the latter; but uppermost in his mind and entirely dominating him was the great fear that he felt for Fou-tan's safety; and when he saw this obstacle looming menacingly before him, his one thought was to override it by sheer effrontery that it might not even delay him, much less thwart him in the pursuit of his object.

Had he been vouchsafed from his insanity even a single brief moment of lucidity, he would have avoided those ominous bulks moving restlessly to and fro among the boles of the giant trees, for even at the best wild elephants are nervous and short-tempered; and these, obviously disconcerted and suspicious by reason of some recent occurrence, were in a particularly hysterical and ugly mood. There were young calves among them and, therefore, watchful and irritable mothers; while the great bulls, aroused and on guard, were in no mood to be further provoked.

A huge bull, his ears outspread, his tail erect, wheeled toward the advancing man. The forest trembled to his mad trumpeting, and in that instant King realised for the first time the deadly peril of his position and knew that it would serve Fou-tan nothing were he to rush headlong into that inevitable death.

XI

WARRIORS FROM PNOM DHEK

As the hideous creature bore her on, Fou-tan struggled to release herself; but she was utterly helpless in the Herculean grasp of her gigantic captor. She tried to wrench the creature's hand from her mouth that she might scream a warning to King, but even in this she was doomed to failure.

The creature had at first been carrying her under one arm, with her face down; but after he reached the floor of the forest he swung her lightly up in front of him, carrying her so that she had a clear view of his face; and at sight of it her heart sank within her. It was a hideous face, with thick lips and protruding teeth, great ears that flapped as the creature ran, and a low, receding forehead hidden by filthy, tangled hair that almost met the bushy, protruding eyebrows, beneath which gleamed wicked, bloodshot eyes.

It did not require a second look to convince Fou-tan that she had fallen into the hands of one of the dread Yeacks. Notwithstanding the fact that she had never before seen one of these ogre people, nor had known anyone who had, she was nevertheless as positive in her identification as though she had come in daily contact with them all her life, so strongly implanted in the mind of man are the superstitions of childhood. What else, indeed, could this creature be but a Yeack?

The horror of her situation was augmented by its contrast to the happy state from which it had snatched her. Had her Gordon King been there she would have been sure of rescue, so absolute was her conviction of his prowess. But how was he to know what had become of her? Being city-bred, it did not immediately occur to her that King might follow the tracks of her abductor, and so she was borne on more deeply into the sombre forest without even the slightly alleviating reassurance of faint hope. She was lost! Of that Fou-tan was convinced; for was it not well known that the Yeacks fed upon human flesh?

The brute, sensing muddily that he would be pursued, and having witnessed something of the prowess of King, did not pause in his flight but hastened steadily on toward a rocky fastness which he knew, where one might hide for days or, if discovered, find a cave, the mouth of which might be easily defended.

As he strode steadily through the forest his keen ears were presently attracted by a familiar sound, a sound which experience told him was a warning to change his course. A moment later he saw the elephants moving slowly across his path toward his left. He had no wish to dispute the right-of-way with them; so he veered to the right with the intention of passing behind them. They did not see him, but they caught his scent spoor, and an old bull left the herd and came ponderously down toward the point where the brute had first sighted them. The rest of the herd halted and then followed the old bull. The scent spoor of the man grated upon the nerves of the pachyderms. They became restless and irritable, more so because they could not locate the authors of this disturbing scent.

As the brute moved quickly to the right to circle to the rear of the herd and resume his interrupted course toward the wild sanctuary that was his objective, he kept his eyes turned to the left upon the members of the herd, lest, by chance, one of them might discover him and charge. A remote possibility, perhaps, but it is by guarding against remote possibilities that the fittest of primitive creatures survive. So, because of the fact that his attention was riveted in one direction, he did not see the danger approaching from another.

A score of soldiers, their brass cuirasses dulled and tarnished by the rain and dirt of jungle marches, halted at the sight of the brute and the burden he bore. A young officer in charge whispered a few low words of command. The soldiers crept forward, forming a half-circle as they went, to intercept the brute and his captive. One of the soldiers stumbled over a branch that had fallen from the tree above. Instantly the brute wheeled toward them. He saw twenty well-armed men advancing, their spears menacingly ready; and responding to the urge of Nature's first law, the brute cast the girl roughly to the ground and, wheeling, broke for freedom. A shower of arrows followed him and some of the soldiers would have pursued, but the officer called them back.

"We have the girl," he said; "let that thing go. We were not sent out for him. He is not the man who abducted the apsaras from the palace of Lodivarman."

At the moment that the brute had seen the soldiers, so had Fou-tan; and now she scrambled quickly to her feet, from where he had hurled her to the ground, and turned in flight back toward the gorge where she had last seen King.

"After her!" cried the officer; "but do not harm her."

Fou-tan ran fleetly and perhaps would have gotten away from them had not she tripped and fallen; as she scrambled to her feet, they were upon her. Rough hands seized her, but they did not harm her, nor did they offer her insult; for she who was to have been the favourite of Lodivarman might yet be, and it is not well to incur the displeasure of a king's favourite.

"Where is the man?" asked the officer, addressing Fou-tan.

The girl thought very quickly in that instant, and there was apparently no hesitation as she nodded her head in the direction that the fleeing brute had taken. "You know as well as I do," she said. "Why did you not capture him?"

"Not that man," said the officer. "I refer to the soldier of the guard who abducted you from the palace of Lodivarman."

"It was no soldier of the guard who abducted me," replied the girl. "This creature stole into the palace and seized me. A soldier of the guard followed us into the jungle and tried to rescue me, but he failed."

"Lodivarman sent word that it was the strange warrior, Gordon King, who stole you from the palace," said the officer.

"You saw the creature that stole me," said Fou-tan. "Did it look like a soldier of Lodivarman?"

"No," admitted the officer, "but where is this Gordon King? He has disappeared from Lodidhapura."

"I told you that he tried to rescue me," explained Fou-tan. "He followed us into the jungle. What became of him I do not know. Perhaps the Yeacks wrought a magic spell that killed him."

"Yeacks!" exclaimed the officer. "What do you mean?"

"Did you not recognise my captor as a Yeack?" asked Fou-tan. "Do you not know a Yeack when you see one?"

Exclamations arose from the soldiers gathered about them. "By the gods, it was a Yeack," said one. "Perhaps there are others about," suggested another. The men looked about them fearfully.

Fou-tan thought that she saw in their superstitious terror, which she fully shared herself, a possibility of escape. "The Yeacks will be angry with you for having taken me from one of their number," she said. "Doubtless he has gone to summon his fellows. You had best escape while you can. If you do not take me with you, they will not follow you."

"By Siva, she is right!" exclaimed a warrior.

"I am not afraid of the Yeacks," said the officer bravely; "but we have the apsaras and there is no reason why we should remain here longer. Come!" He took Fou-tan gently by the arm.

"If you take me they will follow you," she said. "You had better leave me here."

"Yes, leave her here," grumbled some of the warriors.

"We shall take the girl with us," said the officer. "I may escape the wrath of the Yeacks, but if I return to Lodidhapura without the apsaras I shall not escape the wrath of Lodivarman," and he gave the command to form for the march.

As the party moved away down toward the trail that leads to Lodidhapura, many were the nervous glances that the warriors cast behind them. There was much muttering and grumbling, and it was apparent that they did not relish being the escort of a recaptured prisoner of the Yeacks. Fou-tan fed their fears and their dissatisfaction by constant reference to the vengeance that would fall upon them in some form when the Yeacks should overtake them.

"You are very foolish to risk your life needlessly," she told the young officer. "If you leave me here you will be safe from the Yeacks, and no one in Lodidhapura need know that you have found me."

"Why should you wish to remain and become the victim of the Yeacks?" demanded the officer.

"It makes no difference whether you are with me or not," insisted Fou-tan. "The Yeacks will get me again. In some form they will come and take me. If you are with me they will slay you all."

"But there is a chance that we may escape them and get back to Lodidhapura," insisted the officer.

"I would rather remain with the Yeacks than go back to Lodivarman," said the girl. But in her breast was the hope that she could find Gordon King before the Yeacks overtook her; and, notwithstanding her superstitious fear of them, so great was her faith in the prowess of her man that she had no doubt but that he could overcome them.

Her arguments, however, were unavailing. She could not swerve the young officer from his determination to take her back to Lodidhapura. From the first, however, it was apparent that the common soldiers were less enthusiastic about her company. The warriors of Pnom Dhek they could face with courage, or the charge of My Lord the Tiger, but contemplation of the supernatural powers of the mythological Yeacks filled their superstitious breasts with naught but terror. There were those among them who even discussed the advisability of murdering the officer, abandoning the girl, and returning to Lodidhapura with some plausible explanation, which their encounter with the Yeack readily suggested; but none of these things were they destined to do.

As King saw the great elephant advancing toward him he became seriously alive to the danger of his situation. He looked hurriedly about him, searching for an avenue of escape, but nowhere near was there a single tree of sufficient size to have withstood the titanic strength of the great bull should he have elected to fell it. To face the bull or to attempt to escape by running seemed equally futile; yet it was the latter alternative which commended itself to him as being the less suicidal.

But just then something happened. The bull stopped in his advance and looked suddenly toward his left. His trumpeting ceased, and then most unexpectedly he wheeled about and bolted directly away from King to be immediately followed by the entire herd, which went crashing through the jungle, bowling over trees in their mad progress until finally they disappeared from view.

With a sigh of relief King took up his interrupted pursuit, following in the wake of the elephants, which had disappeared in the direction taken by the abductor of Fou-tan. What had brought about the sudden change in the attitude of the bull King could not guess, nor did he ever discover. He attributed it to the mental vagaries of a naturally timid and nervous animal. He did not know that a changing breeze had brought to the nostrils of the pachyderm the scent spoor of many men—the soldiers of Lodivarman—nor was the matter of any particular importance to King, whose mind was occupied now with something of far greater moment. The stampeding elephants had entirely obliterated the tracks that King had been following, and this it was that gave him the greatest concern. It seemed that everything militated against the success of his pursuit. He zigzagged to the right and left of the elephant tracks in the hope of picking up the footprints of the fleeing man. When he had about abandoned hope, he saw in the soft earth a single familiar spoor—the imprint of a great flat foot. By what seemed little less than a miracle this single tell-tale clue had escaped the rushing feet of the herd. It pointed on in the direction that King had been going; and, with renewed hope, he hurried forward.

Among fallen trees, bowled over by the terrified elephants, King pursued his quarry until he was brought to a sudden stop by a tragic tableau of the jungle that instantly filled him with dire misgiving. A short distance ahead of him lay a man pinioned to the earth by a small tree that had fallen across his legs. Facing the man, crouching belly to the ground, advancing slowly inch by inch, was a great leopard. The man was helpless. In another instant the cat would be upon him, rending and tearing. Naturally the first thought that entered King's head was that this was the man who had abducted Fou-tan, and, if so, where was the girl? Until that question was answered the man must not die.

With a cry of warning intended to distract the attention of the leopard, King sprang forward, simultaneously fitting an arrow to his bow. The leopard leaped to its feet. For an instant it stood glaring menacingly at the advancing man; and seeing it hesitate, King did not launch his shaft, for he saw now that he might come within effective spear range of the beast before it charged; and he guessed that an arrow might only serve to infuriate it.

Disconcerted by this unexpected interference with its plans and with the interloper's bold advance, the brute hesitated a moment and then, wheeling, bounded off into the jungle.

The man lying upon the ground had been a witness to all this. He was saved from the leopard, but he looked apprehensively at King as the latter stopped beside him, for he recognised the newcomer as the man from whom he had stolen the girl. If he had any doubts as to the other's awareness of his guilt, it was dissipated by King's first words.

"Where is the girl?" demanded the American.

"The soldiers took her from me," replied the brute sullenly.

"What soldiers?"

"They were soldiers from Lodidhapura," replied the other.

"I believe that you are lying," said King, "and I ought to kill you." He raised his spear.

The brute did not wish to die. He had lost the girl, but he did not wish to lose his life also; and now, with effort, spurred by the desire to live, his brain gave birth to a simple idea. "You have saved my life," he said. "If you will raise this tree from my legs, I will help you to find the girl and take her away from the soldiers. That I will do if you do not kill me."

The man's spear had fallen beside him. As King considered the proposition he recovered the weapon and then took the bow and arrows from the man also.

"Why do you do that?" asked the brute.

"So that if I decide to release you, you may not be tempted to kill me," replied King.

"Very well," replied the brute, "but I shall not try to kill you." King stooped and seized the bole of the tree. It was not a very large tree, but it had fallen in such a way that the man, unassisted, could not have released himself; and as King raised it, the brute drew his legs from beneath it.

"Any bones broken?" asked King.

The brute rose slowly to his feet. "No," he said.

"Then let's be on our way," urged King. "We have no time to lose."

As the two men set out King walked a little in the rear of the other. He had been impressed from the first by the savage bestiality of his companion's face and now by his tremendous size. His huge, drooped shoulders and his long arms seemed capable of the most titanic feats of strength; yet the creature, who seemingly could have slain him as easily without weapons as with, led docilely on, until at last King was convinced that the fellow contemplated no treachery, but would carry out his part of the bargain with simple-minded loyalty.

"Who are you?" demanded King after they had walked in silence for a considerable distance.

"I am Prang," replied the brute.

"What were you doing out here in the jungle?" asked King.

"I live here," replied the brute.

"Where?"

"Anywhere," replied Prang with a broad gesture.

"Where are your people?" asked King.

"I have none; I live alone."

"Have you always lived in the jungle?"

"Not always, but for a long time."

"Where did you come from?"

"From Pnom Dhek."

"Then you are a runaway slave?" asked King.

The brute nodded his head. "But you need not try to return me. If you did that I should kill you."

"I do not intend to try to return you to Pnom Dhek. I am not from Pnom Dhek."

"Yes, I knew that from your armour," said the brute. "You are from Lodidhapura. You stole the girl and they sent soldiers after you. Is that not true?"

"Yes," replied King.

"It may be hard to take the girl away from the soldiers of Lodidhapura," said Prang. "We cannot do it by day, for they are many and we are few; but we can find them and follow them; and at night, perhaps, you can sneak into their camp and steal the girl, if she will come with you willingly."

"She will," said King; and then: "How long have you lived alone in the jungle, Prang?"

"I ran away when I was a boy. Many rains have come since then. I do not know how many, but it has been a long time."

As Prang led on through the jungle they conversed but little; enough, however, to assure King that the great, hulking brute had the mind of a little child, and as long as King did nothing to arouse his suspicions or his fears he would be quite docile and tractable. King noticed that Prang was not leading him back over the same route that they had come, and when he asked the man why they were going in a different direction, Prang explained that he knew the trail that the warriors would take in returning to Lodidhapura and that this was a short-cut to it.

In places the jungle was quite open and covered with tall, dry elephant grass, which, growing higher than their heads, obstructed their view in all directions, while the rustling of its leaves as they pushed their way through it drowned all other sounds. At such times King always felt particularly helpless and was relieved each time they emerged from the stifling embrace of the tall grasses; but Prang seemed not at all concerned, although he was walking almost naked and unarmed.

They had passed through a particularly long stretch of elephant grass when they emerged into a clearing entirely destitute of either grass or trees. Beyond the clearing, in front of them, they could see the forest at no great distance, but there was still a narrow belt of elephant grass which they must pass through before they reached the trees.

When they had advanced almost to the centre of this clearing, simultaneously their attention was attracted to a movement among the grasses ahead and to the left of them, and almost at the same moment a cuirassed soldier stepped into view, to be followed immediately by others. At the first glance King recognised that these men were not soldiers from Lodidhapura, for though their armour and harness were similar, they were not identical, and their helmets were of an entirely different pattern from that which he wore. At sight of them Prang halted; then he turned and started to run back in the direction from which they had come. "Run!" he cried. "They are warriors from Pnom Dhek."

Instantly King realised that these newcomers might prove to be Fou-tan's salvation if he could guide them to her, but without Prang that might be impossible, and therefore he turned and pursued the fleeing brute. Into the tall elephant grasses, close upon his heels, ran King. "Stop!" commanded the white man.

"Never!" screamed Prang. "They will take me back into slavery. Do not try to stop me, or I shall kill you." But the capture of Prang meant more to Gordon King than his life, and so he only redoubled his efforts to gain upon the fleeing man. Gradually he crept up upon him until at last he was within reach.

How futile it seemed to attempt to seize that mountain of muscle and bone, yet if he could detain him even momentarily he was positive that the soldiers would overtake them, for at the instant that they had turned to flee he had seen the soldiers from Pnom Dhek start in pursuit.

In King's experience he had learned but one way to stop a fleeing man without maiming or killing him, which he had no desire to do, although he held in his hands lethal weapons with which he might easily have brought down his quarry; and so he threw aside the spear that he carried and launched himself at the great legs of Prang. It was a noble tackle, and it brought Prang to earth with a resounding crash that almost knocked the wind out of him.

"Hurry!" yelled King to the soldiers of Pnom Dhek. "I have him!" He heard the warriors crashing through the dry grasses behind him.

"Let me go," cried the struggling Prang. "Let me go or they will take me back into slavery." But King clung to him in desperation, though it was much like attempting to cling to the business end of a mule, so mighty and vigorous were the kicks of Prang; and then the soldiers of Pnom Dhek arrived and fell upon both of them impartially.

"Don't kill him!" cried King as he saw the menacing spears of the warriors. "Wait until you hear me."

"Who are you?" demanded an officer. "What does this all mean? We saw you in company with this fellow; and now, though you are a soldier of Lodivarman, you turn upon your companion and capture him for us. What does it mean?"

"It is a long story," said King, "and there is no time for explanations now. Somewhere ahead of us there is a girl from Pnom Dhek whom I helped to escape from Lodidhapura. She has just been recaptured by some of Lodivarman's warriors. This man was guiding me to her. Will you help me to rescue this girl?"

"You are trying to lead me into a trap," said the officer suspiciously. "I do not believe that there is any girl."

"Yes, there is a girl," said Prang.

"Her name is Fou-tan," said King.

Interest was immediately evident in the eyes of the officer and excitement in the attitude of his men. "I will go with you," said the officer. "If you have lied to me and this is indeed a trap, you shall die at the first indication of treachery."

"I am content," said King; "but there is one more condition, I cannot lead you to the girl; but this man says that he can, and I know that he will do it willingly and quickly if you will promise him his freedom in return for his assistance."

A sudden gleam of hope shone in Prang's eyes as he heard King's words; and he looked up expectantly at the officer, awaiting his reply.

"Certainly," said the latter. "If he leads us to Fou-tan, he shall have not only his liberty but any other reward that he may desire. I can promise him that."

"I wish only my freedom," said Prang.

"Lead on, then," said the officer. And then as the march started he detailed two warriors to remain constantly at Prang's side and two with King, and these warriors he instructed to kill their charges at the first indication of treachery.

Evidently interested in King, the officer walked beside him. It was apparent that he had noticed the lack of physical resemblance to the Khmers and his curiosity was aroused. "You do not greatly resemble the men of Lodidhapura," he said finally.

"I am not of Lodidhapura," said King.

"But you are in the armour of Lodivarman's warriors," insisted the officer.

"I am from a far country," explained King. "Lost in the jungle, I was taken prisoner by Lodivarman's warriors. I pleased the King, and he gave me service in the royal guard."

"But how is it, then, that you are befriending a girl from Pnom Dhek?"

"That, as I told you, is a long story," said King, "but when we have found her she will corroborate all that I have said. I was forced into the service of Lodivarman. I owe him no loyalty, and should I fall into his hands again I can expect no mercy. Therefore, it had been my intention, when I reached Pnom Dhek with Fou-tan, to seek service in your army."

"If you have befriended Fou-tan, your petition will not go unheeded," said the officer.

"You have heard of her, then?" asked King.

The officer gave the American a long, searching look before he replied. "Yes," he said.

XII

GUEST AND PRISONER

The captors of Fou-tan were exerting no effort to make haste. For almost two days they had been marching rapidly through the jungle, searching for a clue to the whereabouts of Fou-tan and her escort; and now that they had found her, they were taking it easy, moving slowly toward the spot where they were to camp for the night. Knowing nothing of the presence of the soldiers of Beng Kher of Pnom Dhek, they anticipated no pursuit. Their conversation was often filled with conjecture as to the identity of Fou-tan's companion. Some of them insisted that the Yeack and King were one and the same.

"I always knew that there was something wrong with the fellow," opined a warrior; "there was a peculiar look about him. He was no Khmer; nor was he of any race of mortal men."

"Perhaps he was a Naga, who took the form first of a man and then changed himself into a Yeack," suggested another.

"I think that he was a Yeack all along," said another, "and that he took the form of man only to deceive us, that he might enter the palace of Lodivarman and steal the girl."

It was while they were discussing this matter that a warrior marching at the rear of the column was attracted by a noise behind him. Turning his head to look, he gave a sudden cry of alarm, for in their rear, creeping upon them, he saw the brute and a body of soldiers.

"The Yeacks are coming!" he cried.

The others turned quickly at his warning cry. "I told you so," screamed one. "The Yeack has brought his fellows."

"Those are soldiers of Pnom Dhek," cried the officer. "Form line and advance upon them. Let it not be said that men of Lodidhapura fled from the warriors of Beng Kher."

"They are Yeacks who have taken the form of soldiers of Pnom Dhek," cried a warrior. "Mortals cannot contend against them," and with that he threw down his spear and fled.

At the same instant the soldiers of Pnom Dhek leaped forward, shouting their war-cry.

The defection of the single Lodidhapurian warrior was all that had been needed to ignite the smouldering embers of discontent and mutiny already fully fed by their superstitious fears. To a man, the common soldiers turned and ran, leaving their officer and Fou-tan alone. For an instant the man stood his ground and then, evidently realising the hopelessness of his position, he, too, wheeled and followed his retreating men at top speed.

What Fou-tan's feelings must have been, it was difficult to imagine. Here, suddenly and entirely without warning, appeared a company of soldiers from her native city, and with them were the horrid Yeack that had stolen her away from King and also Gordon King himself. For a moment she stood in mute and wide-eyed wonderment as the men approached her, and then she turned to the man she loved. "Gordon King," she said, "I knew that you would come."

The soldiers of Pnom Dhek gathered around her, the common warriors keeping at a respectful distance, while the officer approached and, kneeling, kissed her hand.

King was not a little puzzled for an explanation of the evident respect in which they held her, but then he realised that he was not familiar with the customs of the country. He was aware, however, that the apsarases, or dancing girls of the temples, were held in considerable veneration because of the ritualistic nature of their dances, which identified them closely with the religious life of the nation and rendered them, in a way, the particular wards of the gods.

The officer questioned her briefly and respectfully; and, having thus assured himself of King's loyalty and integrity, his attitude toward the American changed from suspicion to cordiality.

To Fou-tan's questions relative to Prang, King explained by telling the story of the brute as he had had it from his own lips; yet it was evidently most difficult for Fou-tan to relinquish her conviction that the creature was a Yeack; nor could any other have assured her of Prang's prosaic status than Gordon King, in whose lightest words she beheld both truth and authority.

"Now that I have led you to the girl," said Prang, addressing the officer, "give me the liberty that you promised me."

"It is yours," said the officer; "but if you wish to return and live in Pnom Dhek I can promise you that the King will make you a free man."

"Yes," said Fou-tan, "and you shall have food and clothing as long as you live."

The brute shook his head. "No," he said. "I am afraid of the city. Let me stay in the jungle, where I am safe. Give me back my weapons and let me go."

They did as he requested, and a moment later Prang slouched off into the forest soon to be lost to their view, choosing the freedom of the jungle to the luxuries of the city.

Once again the march was resumed, this time in the direction of Pnom Dhek. As Fou-tan and King walked side by side the girl said to him in a low voice, "Do not let them know yet of our love. First, I must win my father, and after that the whole world may know."

All during the long march King was again and again impressed by the marked deference accorded Fou-tan. It was so noticeable that the natural little familiarities of their own comradeship took on the formidable aspects of sacrilege by comparison. To King's western mind it seemed strange that so much respect should be paid to a temple dancing girl; but he was glad that it was so, for in his heart he knew that whatever reverence they showed Fou-tan she deserved, because of the graces of her character and the purity of her soul.

The long march to Pnom Dhek was uneventful, and near the close of the second day the walls of the city rose before them across a clearing as they emerged from the forest. In outward appearance Pnom Dhek was similar to Lodidhapura. Its majestic piles of masonry arose in stately grandeur above the jungle. Its ornate towers and splendid temples bore witness to the wealth and culture of its builders, and over all was the same indefinable suggestion of antiquity. Pnom Dhek was a living city, yet so softened and mellowed by the passing centuries that even in life it suggested more the reincarnation of ancient glories than an actuality of the present.

"Pnom Dhek!" whispered Fou-tan, and in her tone there were love and reverence.

"You are glad to get back?" asked King.

"That can scarcely express what I feel," replied the girl. "I doubt if you can realise what Pnom Dhek means to one of her sons or daughters; and so, too, you cannot guess the gratitude that I feel to you, Gordon King, who, alone are responsible for my return."

He looked at her for a moment in silence. As she stood devouring Pnom Dhek with her eyes there was a rapturous exaltation in her gaze that suggested the fervour of religious passion, and the thought gave him pause.

"Perhaps, Fou-tan," he suggested, "you have mistaken gratitude for love."

She looked up at him quickly. "You do not understand, Gordon King," she said. "For two thousand years love for Pnom Dhek has been bred into the blood that animates me. It is a part of me that can die only when I die; yet I could never see Pnom Dhek again and yet be happy; though should I never see you again, I might never be happy again even in Pnom Dhek. Now do you understand?"

"That I was jealous of stone and wood shows how much I love you, Fou-tan," he said.

A soldier, lightened of his cuirass and weapons, had run swiftly ahead to the city gates, which they were approaching, to announce their coming; and presently there was a blare of trumpets at the gate, and this was answered by the sound of other trumpets within the city and the deep booming of gongs and the ringing of bells until the whole city was alive with noise. Then once again was King mystified; but there was more to come.

As they moved slowly now along the avenue toward the city gates, a company of soldiers emerged and behind them a file of elephants, gaudily trapped, and surging forward upon either side of these were people—men, women and children—shouting and singing, until from hundreds their numbers grew to thousands. So quickly had they gathered that it seemed as much a miracle to King as did the occasion for their rejoicing, and now he became convinced that Fou-tan must be a priestess at least, if all this rejoicing and pandemonium were in honour of her return.

The populace, outstripping the soldiers, were the first to reach them. Quickly the warriors that composed their escort formed a ring about Fou-tan and King, but the people held their distance respectfully, and now out of the babel of voices King caught some of the words of their greeting—words that filled him with surprise.

"Fou-tan! Fou-tan!" they cried. "Welcome to our beloved Princess that was lost and is found again!"

King turned to the girl. "Princess!" he exclaimed. "You did not tell me, Fou-tan."

"Many men have courted me because I am a princess," she said. "You loved me for myself alone, and I wanted to cling to that as long as I might."

"And Beng Kher is your father?" he asked.

"Yes, I am the daughter of the King," replied Fou-tan.

"I am glad that I did not know," said King simply.

"And so am I," replied the girl, "for now no one can ever make me doubt your love."

"I wish that you were not a princess," he said in a troubled voice.

"Why?" she demanded.

"None would have objected had the slave girl wished to marry me," he said, "but I can well imagine that many will object to a nameless warrior taking the Princess of Pnom Dhek."

"Perhaps," she said sadly, "but let us not think of that now."

In the howdah of the leading elephant sat a large, stern-faced man, beneath a parasol of cloth of gold and red. When the elephant upon which he rode was stopped near them, ladder-like steps were brought from the back of an elephant in the rear and the man descended to the ground, while the people prostrated themselves and touched their foreheads to the earth. As the man approached, Fou-tan advanced to meet him, and when she was directly in front of him, she kneeled and took his hand. There was moisture in the man's stern eyes as he lifted the girl to her feet and took her into his arms. It was Beng Kher the King, father of Fou-tan.

After the first greeting Fou-tan whispered a few words to Beng Kher, and immediately Beng Kher directed Gordon King to advance. Following Fou-tan's example, the American knelt and kissed the King's hand. "Arise!" said Beng Kher. "My daughter, the Princess, tells me that it is to you she owes her escape from Lodidhapura. You shall be suitably rewarded. You shall know the gratitude of Beng Kher." He signalled to one of his retinue that had descended from the elephant in his rear. "See that this brave warrior lacks for nothing," he said. "Later we shall summon him to our presence again."

Once more did Fou-tan whisper a few low words to her father, the King.

The King knit his brows as though he were not entirely pleased with whatever suggestion Fou-tan had made, but presently the lines of his face softened and again he turned to the official to whom he had just spoken. "You will conduct the warrior to the palace and accord him all honour, for he is to be the guest of Beng Kher." Then, with Fou-tan, he ascended into the howdah of the royal elephant, while the officer, whom he had designated to escort Gordon King, approached the American.

King's first impression of the man was not a pleasant one. The fellow's face was coarse and sensual and his manner haughty and supercilious. He made no attempt to conceal his disgust as his eyes appraised the soiled and tarnished raiment of the common warrior before him. "Follow me, my man," he said. "The King has condescended to command that you be quartered in the palace," and without further words of greeting he turned and strode toward the elephant upon which he had ridden from the city.

In the howdah with them were two other gorgeously dressed officials and a slave who held a great parasol over them all. With no consideration for his feelings and quite as though he had not been present, King's companions discussed the impropriety of inviting a common soldier to the palace. Suddenly his escort turned toward him. "What is your name, my man?" he demanded, arrogantly.

"My name is Gordon King," replied the American; "but I am not your man." His voice was low and even and his level gaze was directed straight into the eyes of the officer.