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 mankillers 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 rocks; 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 bowstring 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.