THE VALLEY
OF SPIDERS
THE VALLEY
OF SPIDERS
Towards mid-day the three pursuers came abruptly round a
bend in
the torrent bed upon the sight of a very broad and spacious
valley.
The difficult and winding trench of pebbles along which they
had
tracked the fugitives for so long, expanded to a broad
slope,
and with a common impulse the three men left the trail, and
rode
to a little eminence set with olive-dun trees, and there
halted,
the two others, as became them, a little behind the man with
the 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
sere
thorn bushes here and there, and the dim suggestions of some
now
waterless ravine, to break its desolation of yellow grass.
Its purple
distances melted at last into the bluish slopes of the
further hills--
hills it might be of a greener kind--and above them
invisibly
supported, and seeming indeed to hang in the blue, were the
snowclad
summits of mountains that grew larger and bolder to the
north-westward
as the sides of the valley drew together. And westward the
valley
opened until a distant darkness under the sky told where the
forests
began. But the three men looked neither east nor west, but
only
steadfastly 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 white
horse.
"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
rage
on 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't
be 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 melancholy ears of
his steed.
"I did my best," he said.
The two others stared again across the valley for a space.
The gaunt
man 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
hoofs
of the three made a multitudinous faint pattering upon the
withered
grass as they turned back towards the trail. . . .
They rode cautiously down the long slope before them, and so
came
through a waste of prickly, twisted bushes and strange dry
shapes
of horny branches that grew amongst the rocks, into the
levels below.
And there the trail grew faint, for the soil was scanty, and
the only
herbage was this scorched dead straw that lay upon the
ground.
Still, by hard scanning, by leaning beside the horses' necks
and
pausing ever and again, even these white men could contrive
to follow
after their prey.
There were trodden places, bent and broken blades of the
coarse
grass, and ever and again the sufficient intimation of a
footmark.
And once the leader saw a brown smear of blood where the
half-caste
girl may have trod. And at that under his breath he cursed
her for
a fool.
The gaunt man checked his leader's tracking, and the little
man
on the white horse rode behind, a man lost in a dream. They
rode
one 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 man
on the white horse that the world was very still. He started
out
of 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
leaning
forward to the left, each impassively moving with the paces
of his
horse; their shadows went before them--still, noiseless, tapering
attendants; and nearer a crouched cool shape was his own. He
looked
about him. What was it had gone? Then he remembered the
reverberation
from the banks of the gorge and the perpetual accompaniment
of
shifting, jostling pebbles. And, moreover--? There was no
breeze.
That was it! What a vast, still place it was, a monotonous
afternoon
slumber. And the sky open and blank, except for a sombre
veil of haze
that had gathered in the upper valley.
He straightened his back, fretted with his bridle, puckered
his lips
to whistle, and simply sighed. He turned in his saddle for a
time,
and stared at the throat of the mountain gorge out of which
they
had come. Blank! Blank slopes on either side, with never a
sign
of 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 purple
black flash out into the form of a snake, and vanish amidst
the brown.
After all, the infernal valley WAS alive. And then, to
rejoice him
still more, came a little breath across his face, a whisper
that
came and went, the faintest inclination of a stiff
black-antlered
bush 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, who
had stopped at fault upon the trail. Just at that guilty
moment
he caught his master's eye looking towards him.
For a time he forced an interest in the tracking. Then, as
they rode
on 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 into
this desolate place, short of water, with nothing but a
strip
of 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 willful child! And the
man
had whole cityfulls of people to do his basest bidding--girls,
women!
Why in the name of passionate folly THIS one in particular?
asked
the little man, and scowled at the world, and licked his
parched lips
with a blackened tongue. It was the way of the master, and
that
was 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
stillness
out 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
bearing
down upon them. It was a big wild dog, coming before the
wind,
tongue out, at a steady pace, and running with such an
intensity
of purpose that he did not seem to see the horsemen he
approached.
He ran with his nose up, following, it was plain, neither
scent
nor 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
of
the little man followed its flight. "There was no
foam," he said.
For a space the man with the silver-studded bridle stared up
the 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
from
nothing but the wind, and lapsed into profound musings on
human
character. "Come on!" he whispered to himself.
"Why should it be
given to one man to say 'Come on!' with that stupendous
violence
of effect. Always, all his life, the man with the silver
bridle
has been saying that. If _I_ said it--!" thought the
little man.
But people marvelled when the master was disobeyed even in
the wildest
things. 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 as
his master, as brave and, indeed, perhaps braver, and yet
for him
there was obedience, nothing but to give obedience duly and
stoutly. . .
Certain sensations of the hands and knees called the little
man back
to more immediate things. He became aware of something. He
rode up
beside his gaunt fellow. "Do you notice the
horses?" he said in an
undertone.
The gaunt face looked interrogation.
"They don't like this wind," said the little man,
and dropped behind
as 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
rode
downcast upon the trail, the hindmost man watched the haze
that
crept down the vastness of the valley, nearer and nearer,
and noted
how the wind grew in strength moment by moment. Far away on
the left
he saw a line of dark bulks--wild hog perhaps, galloping
down
the valley, but of that he said nothing, nor did he remark
again upon
the 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
soared
high 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
restlessness
of the horses increased.
Then presently he saw that more of these drifting
globes--and then
soon 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
then
hurling on down the valley again. And at that, all three
stopped
and sat in their saddles, staring into the thickening haze
that
was 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
yards
of them. It was really not an even sphere at all, but a
vast, soft,
ragged, filmy thing, a sheet gathered by the corners, an
aerial
jelly-fish, as it were, but rolling over and over as it
advanced,
and trailing long, cobwebby threads and streamers that
floated
in 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
the
approach of some ambiguous thing, prompted them to turn
their horses
to the wind, ride forward for a few paces, and stare at that
advancing
multitude of floating masses. They came on before the wind
with a sort
of 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
army
passed. At one that rolled along the ground, breaking
shapelessly
and trailing out reluctantly into long grappling ribbons and
bands,
all three horses began to shy and dance. The master was
seized
with a sudden unreasonable impatience. He cursed the drifting
globes
roundly. "Get on!" he cried; "get on! What do
these things matter?
How CAN they matter? Back to the trail!" He fell
swearing at his horse
and 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
amidst
the grass. A long and clinging thread fell across his face,
a grey
streamer dropped about his bridle-arm, some big, active
thing
with many legs ran down the back of his head. He looked up
to discover
one of those grey masses anchored as it were above him by
these things
and 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 bring
the thing down upon him. For a space he stared up, reining
in his
prancing horse with the instinct born of years of
horsemanship.
Then the flat of a sword smote his back, and a blade flashed
overhead
and cut the drifting balloon of spider-web free, and the
whole mass
lifted softly and drove clear and away.
"Spiders!" cried the voice of the gaunt man.
"The things are full
of 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
thing
on the ground that, in spite of partial obliteration, could
still
wriggle unavailing legs. Then when the gaunt man pointed to
another
mass that bore down upon them, he drew his sword hastily. Up
the
valley now it was like a fog bank torn to rags. He tried to
grasp the
situation.
"Ride for it!" the little man was shouting.
"Ride for it down the
valley."
What happened then was like the confusion of a battle. The
man
with the silver bridle saw the little man go past him
slashing
furiously at imaginary cobwebs, saw him cannon into the
horse
of the gaunt man and hurl it and its rider to earth. His own
horse
went a dozen paces before he could rein it in. Then he
looked up
to avoid imaginary dangers, and then back again to see a
horse
rolling on the ground, the gaunt man standing and slashing
over it
at a rent and fluttering mass of grey that streamed and
wrapped
about them both. And thick and fast as thistle-down on waste
land
on 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 strength
of one arm, while with the other he slashed aimlessly, The
tentacles
of 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 ineffectual
movements with his sword. Grey streamers waved from him;
there was
a thin veil of grey across his face. With his left hand he
beat at
something on his body, and suddenly he stumbled and fell. He
struggled
to rise, and fell again, and suddenly, horribly, began to
howl,
"Oh--ohoo, ohooh!"
The master could see the great spiders upon him, and others
upon
the ground.
As he strove to force his horse nearer to this
gesticulating,
screaming grey object that struggled up and down, there came
a
clatter 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
swept
across the master's face. All about him, and over him, it seemed
this drifting, noiseless cobweb circled and drew nearer him.
. . .
To the day of his death he never knew just how the event of
that moment
happened. Did he, indeed, turn his horse, or did it really
of its
own accord stampede after its fellow? Suffice it that in
another
second he was galloping full tilt down the valley with his
sword
whirling furiously overhead. And all about him on the
quickening
breeze, 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 yards
ahead of him, with a tail of torn cobweb trailing behind
him, rode
the little man on the white horse, still but imperfectly in
the saddle.
The reeds bent before them, the wind blew fresh and strong,
over his
shoulder the master could see the webs hurrying to overtake.
. . .
He was so intent to escape the spiders' webs that only as
his horse
gathered together for a leap did he realise the ravine
ahead. And then
he reaIised it only to misunderstand and interfere. He was
leaning
forward 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 had
not forgotten how to fall. He was horseman again in mid-air.
He came off clear with a mere bruise upon his shoulder, and
his horse
rolled, kicking spasmodic legs, and lay still. But the
master's sword
drove its point into the hard soil, and snapped clean
across, as
though Chance refused him any longer as her Knight, and the
splintered
end missed his face by an inch or so.
He was on his feet in a moment, breathlessly scanning the
onrushing
spider-webs. For a moment he was minded to run, and then
thought
of the ravine, and turned back. He ran aside once to dodge
one drifting
terror, 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
might
crouch, and watch these strange, grey masses pass and pass
in safety
till the wind fell, and it became possible to escape. And
there
for a long time he crouched, watching the strange, grey,
ragged
masses trail their streamers across his narrowed sky.
Once a stray spider fell into the ravine close beside him--a
full
foot 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 escape
for a little while, and tempted it to bite his broken sword,
he lifted
up his iron-heeled boot and smashed it into a pulp. He swore
as he did
so, and for a time sought up and down for another.
Then presently, when he was surer these spider swarms could
not
drop into the ravine, he found a place where he could sit
down,
and sat and fell into deep thought and began after his
manner
to gnaw his knuckles and bite his nails. And from this he
was moved
by 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
man
appeared, a rueful figure, still with a tail of white cobweb
trailing
behind him. They approached each other without speaking,
without
a salutation. The little man was fatigued and shamed to the
pitch
of hopeless bitterness, and came to a stop at last, face to
face with
his seated master. The latter winced a little under his
dependant's
eye. "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-studded
bridle.
"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
where
the difference comes in."
"I never could have dreamt you would have left him. He
saved
your 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 better
than none. . . . One spavined white horse cannot be expected
to carry
two men a four days' journey. I hate white horses, but this
time
it cannot be helped. You begin to understand me? . . . I
perceive
that 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
perhaps
they 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
last
very cautiously and by an easy slope out of the ravine
again; but now
he led the white horse that once belonged to the little man.
He would have gone back to his horse to get his silver-mounted
bridle again, but he feared night and a quickening breeze
might
still find him in the valley, and besides he disliked
greatly
to think he might discover his horse all swathed in cobwebs
and perhaps unpleasantly eaten.
And as he thought of those cobwebs and of all the dangers he
had been through, and the manner in which he had been
preserved
that 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 so
his 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
amazed
anger. Smoke? He turned the head of the white horse about,
and
hesitated. And as he did so a little rustle of air went
through the
grass about him. Far away upon some reeds swayed a tattered
sheet of
grey. 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 white
horse.
As he rode, he picked his way amidst stranded masses of web.
For some
reason there were many dead spiders on the ground, and those
that
lived feasted guiltily on their fellows. At the sound of his
horse's
hoofs they fled.
Their time had passed. From the ground without either a wind
to carry
them or a winding sheet ready, these things, for all their
poison,
could do him little evil.
He flicked with his belt at those
he fancied came too near. Once, where a number ran together
over
a 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."
