Chapter 3

When he had first awakened, the unusual quiet of his surroundings had
aroused within him a presentiment of ill, which was augmented when
repeated calls for his body-servant, Gabula, elicited no response.

For weeks, as the safari had been approaching the precincts of the
feared Wiramwazi, his men had been deserting by twos and threes until
the preceding evening when they had made this camp well upon the
mountain slopes only a terrified remnant of the original safari had
remained with him. Now even these, overcome during the night by the
terrors of ignorance and superstition, had permitted fear to supplant
loyalty and had fled from the impending and invisible terrors of this
frowning range, leaving their master alone with the bloodthirsty spirits
of the dead.

A hasty survey of the camp site revealed that the blacks had stripped
von Harben of everything. All of his supplies were gone and his gun
carriers had decamped with his rifles and all of his ammunition, with
the exception of a single Luger pistol and its belt of ammunition that
had been in the tent with him.

Erich von Harben had had sufficient experience with these natives to
understand fairly well the mental processes based upon their deep-rooted
superstition that had led them to this seemingly inhuman and disloyal
act and so he did not place so much blame upon them as might another
less familiar with them.

While they had known their destination when they embarked upon the
undertaking, their courage had been high in direct proportion to the
great distance that they had been from the Wiramwazi, but in proportion
as the distance lessened with each day’s march their courage had
lessened until now upon the very threshold of horrors beyond the ken of
human minds the last vestige of self-control had deserted them and they
had fled precipitately.

That they had taken his provisions, his rifles and his ammunition might
have seemed the depth of baseness had von Harben not realized the
sincerity of their belief that there could be no possible hope for him
and that his immediate death was a foregone conclusion.

He knew that they had reasoned that under the circumstances it would be
a waste of food to leave it behind for a man who was already as good as
dead when they would need it for their return journey to their villages,
and likewise, as the weapons of mortal man could avail nothing against
the ghosts of Wiramwazi, it would have been a needless extravagance to
have surrendered fine rifles and quantities of ammunition that von
Harben could not use against his enemies of the spirit world.

Von Harben stood for some time looking down the mountain slope toward
the forest, somewhere in the depths of which his men were hastening
toward their own country. That he might overtake them was a possibility,
but by no means a certainty, and if he did not he would be no better off
alone in the jungle than he would be on the slopes of the Wiramwazi.

He faced about and looked up toward the rugged heights above him. He had
come a long way to reach his goal, which now lay somewhere just beyond
that serrated skyline, and he was of no mind to turn back now in defeat.
A day or a week in these rugged mountains might reveal the secret of The
Lost Tribe of legend, and surely a month would be sufficient to
determine beyond a reasonable doubt that the story had no basis in fact,
for von Harben believed that in a month he could fairly well explore
such portions of the range as might naturally lend themselves to human
habitations, where he hoped at best to find relics of the fabled tribe
in the form of ruins or burial mounds. For to a man of von Harben’s
training and intelligence there could be no thought that The Lost Tribe
of legend, if it had ever existed, could be anything more than a vague
memory surrounding a few mouldy artifacts and some crumbling bones.

It did not take the young man long to reach a decision and presently he
turned back to his tent and, entering it, packed a few necessities that
had been left to him in a light haversack, strapped his ammunition belt
about him, and stepped forth once more to turn his face upward toward
the mystery of the Wiramwazi.

In addition to his Luger, von Harben carried a hunting-knife and with
this he presently cut a stout staff from one of the small trees that
grew sparsely upon the mountainside against the time when he might find
an alpenstock indispensable.

A mountain rill furnished him pure, cold water to quench his thirst, and
he carried his pistol cocked, hoping that he might bag some small game
to satisfy his hunger. Nor had he gone far before a hare broke cover,
and as it rolled over to the crack of the Luger, von Harben gave thanks
that he had devoted much time to perfecting himself in the use of small
arms.

On the spot he built a fire and grilled the hare, after which he lit his
pipe and lay at ease while he smoked and planned. His was not a
temperament to be depressed or discouraged by seeming reverses, and he
was determined not to be hurried by excitement, but to conserve his
strength at all times during the strenuous days that he felt must lie
ahead of him.

All day he climbed, choosing the long way when it seemed safer,
exercising all the lore of mountain-climbing that he had accumulated,
and resting often. Night overtook him well up toward the summit of the
highest ridge that had been visible from the base of the range. What lay
behind, he could not even guess, but experience suggested that he would
find other ridges and frowning peaks before him.

He had brought a blanket with him from the last camp and in this he
rolled up on the ground. From below there came the noises of the jungle
subdued by distance—the yapping of jackals and faintly from afar the
roaring of a lion.

Toward morning he was awakened by the scream of a leopard, not from the
jungle far below, but somewhere upon the mountain slopes nearby. He knew
that this savage night prowler constituted a real menace, perhaps the
greatest he would have to face, and he regretted the loss of his heavy
rifle.

He was not afraid, for he knew that after all there was little
likelihood that the leopard was hunting him or that it would attack him,
but there was always that chance and so to guard against it he started a
fire of dry wood that he had gathered for the purpose the night before.
He found the warmth of the blaze welcome, for the night had grown cold,
and he sat for some time warming himself.

Once he thought he heard an animal moving in the darkness beyond the
range of the firelight, but he saw no shining eyes and the sound was not
repeated. And then he must have slept, for the next thing he knew it was
daylight and only embers remained to mark where the beast fire had
blazed.