The Valley of Spiders
Towards mid-day the three pursuers came abruptly round a bend inthe torrent bed upon the sight of a very broad and spacious valley.The difficult and winding trench of pebbles along which they hadtracked the fugitives for so long, expanded to a broad slope,and with a common impulse the three men left the trail, and rodeto a little eminence set with olive-dun trees, and there halted,the two others, as became them, a little behind the man withthe silver-studded bridle.For a space they scanned the great expanse below them with eager eyes.It spread remoter and remoter, with only a few clusters of serethorn bushes here and there, and the dim suggestions of some nowwaterless ravine, to break its desolation of yellow grass. Its purpledistances melted at last into the bluish slopes of the further hills--hills it might be of a greener kind--and above them invisiblysupported, and seeming indeed to hang in the blue, were the snowcladsummits of mountains that grew larger and bolder to the north-westwardas the sides of the valley drew together. And westward the valleyopened until a distant darkness under the sky told where the forestsbegan. But the three men looked neither east nor west, but onlysteadfastly across the valley.The gaunt man with the scarred lip was the first to speak. "Nowhere,"he said, with a sigh of disappointment in his voice. "But after all,they had a full day's start.""They don't know we are after them," said the little man on the whitehorse."She would know," said the leader bitterly, as if speaking to himself."Even then they can't go fast. They've got no beast but the mule,and all to-day the girl's foot has been bleeding---"The man with the silver bridle flashed a quick intensity of rageon him. "Do you think I haven't seen that?" he snarled."It helps, anyhow," whispered the little man to himself.The gaunt man with the scarred lip stared impassively. "They can'tbe over the valley," he said. "If we ride hard--"He glanced at the white horse and paused."Curse all white horses!" said the man with the silver bridle,and turned to scan the beast his curse included.The little man looked down between the mclancholy ears of his steed."I did my best," he said.The two others stared again across the valley for a space. The gauntman passed the back of his hand across the scarred lip."Come up!" said the man who owned the silver bridle, suddenly.The little man started and jerked his rein, and the horse hoofsof the three made a multitudinous faint pattering upon the witheredgrass as they turned back towards the trail. . . .They rode cautiously down the long slope before them, and so camethrough a waste of prickly, twisted bushes and strange dry shapesof horny branches that grew amongst the rocks, into the levels below.And there the trail grew faint, for the soil was scanty, and the onlyherbage was this scorched dead straw that lay upon the ground.Still, by hard scanning, by leaning beside the horses' necks andpausing ever and again, even these white men could contrive to followafter their prey.There were trodden places, bent and broken blades of the coarsegrass, and ever and again the sufficient intimation of a footmark.And once the leader saw a brown smear of blood where the half-castegirl may have trod. And at that under his breath he cursed her fora fool.The gaunt man checked his leader's tracking, and the little manon the white horse rode behind, a man lost in a dream. They rodeone after another, the man with the silver bridle led the way,and they spoke never a word. After a time it came to the little manon the white horse that the world was very still. He started outof his dream. Besides the little noises of their horses and equipment,the whole great valley kept the brooding quiet of a painted scene.Before him went his master and his fellow, each intently leaningforward to the left, each impassively moving with the paces of hishorse; their shadows went before them--still, noiseless, taperingattendants; and nearer a crouched cool shape was his own. He lookedabout him. What was it had gone? Then he remembered the reverberationfrom the banks of the gorge and the perpetual accompaniment ofshifting, jostling pebbles. And, moreover--? There was no breeze.That was it! What a vast, still place it was, a monotonous afternoonslumber. And the sky open and blank, except for a sombre veil of hazethat had gathered in the upper valley.He straightened his back, fretted with his bridle, puckered his lipsto whistle, and simply sighed. He turned in his saddle for a time,and stared at the throat of the mountain gorge out of which theyhad come. Blank! Blank slopes on either side, with never a signof a decent beast or tree--much less a man. What a land it was!What a wilderness! He dropped again into his former pose.It filled him with a momentary pleasure to see a wry stick of purpleblack flash out into the form of a snake, and vanish amidst the brown.After all, the infernal valley WAS alive. And then, to rejoice himstill more, came a little breath across his face, a whisper thatcame and went, the faintest inclination of a stiff black-antleredbush upon a little crest, the first intimations of a possible breeze.Idly he wetted his finger, and held it up.He pulled up sharply to avoid a collision with the gaunt man, whohad stopped at fault upon the trail. Just at that guilty momenthe caught his master's eye looking towards him.For a time he forced an interest in the tracking. Then, as they rodeon again, he studied his master's shadow and hat and shoulder,appearing and disappearing behind the gaunt man's nearer contours.They had ridden four days out of the very limits of the world intothis desolate place, short of water, with nothing but a stripof dried meat under their saddles, over rocks and mountains,where surely none but these fugitives had ever been before--for that!And all this was for a girl, a mere wilful child! And the manhad whole cityfuls of people to do his basest bidding--girls, women!Why in the name of passionate folly this one in particular? askedthe little man, and scowled at the world, and licked his parched lipswith a blackened tongue. It was the way of the master, and thatwas all he knew. Just because she sought to evade him. . . .His eye caught a whole row of high plumed canes bending in unison,and then the tails of silk that hung before his neck flapped and fell.The breeze was growing stronger. Somehow it took the stiff stillnessout of things--and that was well."Hullo!" said the gaunt man.All three stopped abruptly."What?" asked the master. "What?""Over there," said the gaunt man, pointing up the valley."What?""Something coming towards us."And as he spoke a yellow animal crested a rise and came bearingdown upon them. It was a big wild dog, coming before the wind,tongue out, at a steady pace, and running with such an intensityof purpose that he did not seem to see the horsemen he approached.He ran with his nose up, following, it was plain, neither scentnor quarry. As he drew nearer the little man felt for his sword."He's mad," said the gaunt rider."Shout!" said the little man, and shouted.The dog came on. Then when the little man's blade was already out,it swerved aside and went panting by them and past. The eyes ofthe little man followed its flight. "There was no foam," he said.For a space the man with the silver-studded bridle stared upthe valley. "Oh, come on!" he cried at last. "What does it matter?"and jerked his horse into movement again.The little man left the insoluble mystery of a dog that fled fromnothing but the wind, and lapsed into profound musings on humancharacter. "Come on!" he whispered to himself. "Why should it begiven to one man to say 'Come on!' with that stupendous violenceof effect. Always, all his life, the man with the silver bridlehas been saying that. If I said it--!" thought the little man.But people marvelled when the master was disobeyed even in the wildestthings. This half-caste girl seemed to him, seemed to every one,mad--blasphemous almost. The little man, by way of comparison,reflected on the gaunt rider with the scarred lip, as stalwart ashis master, as brave and, indeed, perhaps braver, and yet for himthere was obedience, nothing but to give obedience duly and stoutly. . .Certain sensations of the hands and knees called the little man backto more immediate things. He became aware of something. He rode upbeside his gaunt fellow. "Do you notice the horses?" he said in anundertone.The gaunt face looked interrogation."They don't like this wind," said the little man, and dropped behindas the man with the silver bridle turned upon him."It's all right," said the gaunt-faced man.They rode on again for a space in silence. The foremost two rodedowncast upon the trail, the hindmost man watched the haze thatcrept down the vastness of the valley, nearer and nearer, and notedhow the wind grew in strength moment by moment. Far away on the lefthe saw a line of dark bulks--wild hog perhaps, galloping downthe valley, but of that he said nothing, nor did he remark again uponthe uneasiness of the horses.And then he saw first one and then a second great white ball,a great shining white ball like a gigantic head of thistle-down,that drove before the wind athwart the path. These balls soaredhigh in the air, and dropped and rose again and caught for a moment,and hurried on and passed, but at the sight of them the restlessnessof the horses increased.Then presently he saw that more of these drifting globes--and thensoon very many more--were hurrying towards him down the valley.They became aware of a squealing. Athwart the path a huge boar rushed,turning his head but for one instant to glance at them, and thenhurling on down the valley again. And at that, all three stoppedand sat in their saddles, staring into the thickening haze thatwas coming upon them."If it were not for this thistle-down--" began the leader.But now a big globe came drifting past within a score of yardsof them. It was really not an even sphere at all, but a vast, soft,ragged, filmy thing, a sheet gathered by the corners, an aerialjelly-fish, as it were, but rolling over and over as it advanced,and trailing long, cobwebby threads and streamers that floatedin its wake."It isn't thistle-down," said the little man."I don't like the stuff," said the gaunt man.And they looked at one another."Curse it!" cried the leader. "The air's full of it up there.If it keeps on at this pace long, it will stop us altogether."An instinctive feeling, such as lines out a herd of deer at theapproach of some ambiguous thing, prompted them to turn their horsesto the wind, ride forward for a few paces, and stare at that advancingmultitude of floating masses. They came on before the wind with a sortof smooth swiftness, rising and falling noiselessly, sinking to earth,rebounding high, soaring--all with a perfect unanimity, with a still,deliberate assurance.Right and left of the horsemen the pioneers of this strange armypassed. At one that rolled along the ground, breaking shapelesslyand trailing out reluctantly into long grappling ribbons and bands,all three horses began to shy and dance. The master was seizedwith a sudden unreasonable impatience. He cursed the drifting globesroundly. "Get on!" he cried; "get on! What do these things matter?How can they matter? Back to the trail!" He fell swearing at his horseand sawed the bit across its mouth.He shouted aloud with rage. "I will follow that trail, I tell you!"he cried. "Where is the trail?"He gripped the bridle of his prancing horse and searched amidstthe grass. A long and clinging thread fell across his face, a greystreamer dropped about his bridle-arm, some big, active thingwith many legs ran down the back of his head. He looked up to discoverone of those grey masses anchored as it were above him by these thingsand flapping out ends as a sail flaps when a boat comes, about--but noiselessly.He had an impression of many eyes, of a dense crew of squat bodies,of long, many-jointed limbs hauling at their mooring ropes to bringthe thing down upon him. For a space he stared up, reining in hisprancing horse with the instinct born of years of horsemanship.Then the flat of a sword smote his back, and a blade flashed overheadand cut the drifting balloon of spider-web free, and the whole masslifted softly and drove clear and away."Spiders!" cried the voice of the gaunt man. "The things are fullof big spiders! Look, my lord!"The man with the silver bridle still followed the mass that drove away."Look, my lord!"The master found himself staring down at a red, smashed thingon the ground that, in spite of partial obliteration, could stillwriggle unavailing legs. Then when the gaunt man pointed to anothermass that bore down upon them, he drew his sword hastily. Up thevalley now it was like a fog bank torn to rags. He tried to grasp thesituation."Ride for it!" the little man was shouting. "Ride for it down thevalley."What happened then was like the confusion of a battle. The manwith the silver bridle saw the little man go past him slashingfuriously at imaginary cobwebs, saw him cannon into the horseof the gaunt man and hurl it and its rider to earth. His own horsewent a dozen paces before he could rein it in. Then he looked upto avoid imaginary dangers, and then back again to see a horserolling on the ground, the gaunt man standing and slashing over itat a rent and fluttering mass of grey that streamed and wrappedabout them both. And thick and fast as thistle-down on waste landon a windy day in July, the cobweb masses were coming on.The little man had dismounted, but he dared not release his horse.He was endeavouring to lug the struggling brute back with the strengthof one arm, while with the other he slashed aimlessly, The tentaclesof a second grey mass had entangled themselves with the struggle,and this second grey mass came to its moorings, and slowly sank.The master set his teeth, gripped his bridle, lowered his head,and spurred his horse forward. The horse on the ground rolled over,there were blood and moving shapes upon the flanks, and the gaunt man,suddenly leaving it, ran forward towards his master, perhaps ten paces.His legs were swathed and encumbered with grey; he made ineffectualmovements with his sword. Grey streamers waved from him; there wasa thin veil of grey across his face. With his left hand he beat atsomething on his body, and suddenly he stumbled and fell. He struggledto rise, and fell again, and suddenly, horribly, began to howl,"Oh--ohoo, ohooh!"The master could see the great spiders upon him, and others uponthe ground.As he strove to force his horse nearer to this gesticulating,screaming grey object that struggled up and down, there came aclatter of hoofs, and the little man, in act of mounting, swordless,balanced on his belly athwart the white horse, and clutching its mane,whirled past. And again a clinging thread of grey gossamer sweptacross the master's face. All about him, and over him, it seemedthis drifting, noiseless cobweb circled and drew nearer him. . . .To the day of his death he never knew just how the event of that momenthappened. Did he, indeed, turn his horse, or did it really of itsown accord stampede after its fellow? Suffice it that in anothersecond he was galloping full tilt down the valley with his swordwhirling furiously overhead. And all about him on the quickeningbreeze, the spiders' airships, their air bundles and air sheets,seemed to him to hurry in a conscious pursuit.Clatter, clatter, thud, thud--the man with the silver bridle rode,heedless of his direction, with his fearful face looking up now right,now left, and his sword arm ready to slash. And a few hundred yardsahead of him, with a tail of torn cobweb trailing behind him, rodethe little man on the white horse, still but imperfectly in the saddle.The reeds bent before them, the wind blew fresh and strong, over hisshoulder the master could see the webs hurrying to overtake. . . .He was so intent to escape the spiders' webs that only as his horsegathered together for a leap did he realise the ravine ahead. And thenhe reaIised it only to misunderstand and interfere. He was leaningforward on his horse's neck and sat up and back all too late.But if in his excitement he had failed to leap, at any rate he hadnot forgotten how to fall. He was horseman again in mid-air.He came off clear with a mere bruise upon his shoulder, and his horserolled, kicking spasmodic legs, and lay still. But the master's sworddrove its point into the hard soil, and snapped clean across, asthough Chance refused him any longer as her Knight, and the splinteredend missed his face by an inch or so.He was on his feet in a moment, breathlessly scanning the onrushingspider-webs. For a moment he was minded to run, and then thoughtof the ravine, and turned back. He ran aside once to dodge one driftingterror, and then he was swiftly clambering down the precipitous sides,and out of the touch of the gale.There under the lee of the dry torrent's steeper banks he mightcrouch, and watch these strange, grey masses pass and pass in safetytill the wind fell, and it became possible to escape. And therefor a long time he crouched, watching the strange, grey, raggedmasses trail their streamers across his narrowed sky.Once a stray spider fell into the ravine close beside him--a fullfoot it measured from leg to leg, and its body was half a man's hand--and after he had watched its monstrous alacrity of search and escapefor a little while, and tempted it to bite his broken sword, he liftedup his iron-heeled boot and smashed it into a pulp. He swore as he didso, and for a time sought up and down for another.Then presently, when he was surer these spider swarms could notdrop into the ravine, he found a place where he could sit down,and sat and fell into deep thought and began after his mannerto gnaw his knuckles and bite his nails. And from this he was movedby the coming of the man with the white horse.He heard him long before he saw him, as a clattering of hoofs,stumbling footsteps, and a reassuring voice. Then the little manappeared, a rueful figure, still with a tail of white cobweb trailingbehind him. They approached each other without speaking, withouta salutation. The little man was fatigued and shamed to the pitchof hopeless bitterness, and came to a stop at last, face to face withhis seated master. The latter winced a little under his dependant'seye. "Well?" he said at last, with no pretence of authority."You left him?""My horse bolted.""I know. So did mine."He laughed at his master mirthlessly."I say my horse bolted," said the man who once had a silver-studdedbridle."Cowards both," said the little man.The other gnawed his knuckle through some meditative moments,with his eye on his inferior."Don't call me a coward," he said at length."You are a coward like myself.""A coward possibly. There is a limit beyond which every man must fear.That I have learnt at last. But not like yourself. That is wherethe difference comes in.""I never could have dreamt you would have left him. He savedyour life two minutes before. . . . Why are you our lord?"The master gnawed his knuckles again, and his countenance was dark."No man calls me a coward," he said. "No. A broken sword is betterthan none. . . . One spavined white horse cannot be expected to carrytwo men a four days' journey. I hate white horses, but this timeit cannot be helped. You begin to understand me? . . . I perceivethat you are minded, on the strength of what you have seen and fancy,to taint my reputation. It is men of your sort who unmake kings.Besides which--I never liked you.""My lord!" said the little man."No," said the master. "No!"He stood up sharply as the little man moved. For a minute perhapsthey faced one another. Overhead the spiders' balls went driving.There was a quick movement among the pebbles; a running of feet,a cry of despair, a gasp and a blow. . . .Towards nightfall the wind fell. The sun set in a calm serenity,and the man who had once possessed the silver bridle came at lastvery cautiously and by an easy slope out of the ravine again; but nowhe led the white horse that once belonged to the little man.He would have gone back to his horse to get his silver-mountedbridle again, but he feared night and a quickening breeze mightstill find him in the valley, and besides he disliked greatlyto think he might discover his horse all swathed in cobwebsand perhaps unpleasantly eaten.And as he thought of those cobwebs and of all the dangers hehad been through, and the manner in which he had been preservedthat day, his hand sought a little reliquary that hung about his neck,and he clasped it for a moment with heartfelt gratitude. As he did sohis eyes went across the valley."I was hot with passion," he said, "and now she has met her reward.They also, no doubt--"And behold! Far away out of the wooded slopes across the valley,but in the clearness of the sunset distinct and unmistakable,he saw a little spire of smoke.At that his expression of serene resignation changed to an amazedanger. Smoke? He turned the head of the white horse about, andhesitated. And as he did so a little rustle of air went through thegrass about him. Far away upon some reeds swayed a tattered sheet ofgrey. He looked at the cobwebs; he looked at the smoke."Perhaps, after all, it is not them," he said at last.But he knew better.After he had stared at the smoke for some time, he mounted the whitehorse.As he rode, he picked his way amidst stranded masses of web. For somereason there were many dead spiders on the ground, and those thatlived feasted guiltily on their fellows. At the sound of his horse'shoofs they fled.Their time had passed. From the ground without either a wind to carrythem or a winding sheet ready, these things, for all their poison,could do him little evil. He flicked with his belt at thosehe fancied came too near. Once, where a number ran together overa bare place, he was minded to dismount and trample them with his boots,but this impulse he overcame. Ever and again he turned in his saddle,and looked back at the smoke."Spiders," he muttered over and over again. "Spiders! Well, well. . . .The next time I must spin a web."
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