The Perils of Pauline Part 34

As he approached, cringing and bowing, Pauline noted that a penetrating, not unkindly eye gleamed from under his bushy brow, scrutinizing her in flashes between his obeisances. Unlike the other Indians, he was not afraid to look the Great White Queen in the face, as he solemnly repeated the last words of Red Snake:

"According to the prophecy, you have come from the heart of the world to lead us against those who steal our land."

Pauline stood for a moment in complete bewilderment. Then, as the meaning of the words, with the meaning of the strange gathering, flashed upon her mind, she took a step forward, speaking in earnest protest.

But she spoke only to the Chief, for the Indians had broken all restraint and were crus.h.i.+ng their way out of the teepee, with cries and brandis.h.i.+ng of weapons. They swept the little interpreter with them.

And Red Snake saw in Pauline's look and tone of appeal only the pleading of a wronged G.o.ddess for vengeance upon her enemies. He called the women of his household, who shyly led the Queen away.

Darkness had fallen as the women glided ahead of her to a spot outside the main village, where a s.p.a.cious teepee had been erected apart. Only a peaceful moon and a firmament glittering with stars lighted their path. But from the town behind came terrifying yells, the rattle of tom-toms and occasionally a rifle shot as the braves prepared their spirits for the test of battle. Pauline found her new home filled with all the luxuries and sacred relics of the tribe. There were rugs richer than those in the Chief's house; the walls were festooned with strung beads, and on the large, low couch of bear skins lay the most splendid of Indian raiment.

The women, with better understanding than men of the earthly needs of immortals, made her lie down, while they bathed her aching temples and wounded hands, replaced her torn garments with a gorgeous blanket robe and smoothed her flying tresses into long comfortable braids. Other women came bringing food. And there was a pipe and a pouch of agency tobacco with which the G.o.ddess might soothe the hours before repose.

Pauline ate eagerly while the women looked oil in silent approval.

When she had finished, she arose smiling and signed to them that she would rest. They left softly, and neither the exciting recollections of the day's adventures nor the tumult of the braves outside could hold her for a moment longer from the blessedness of sleep.

She slept far into the next morning. But so did the village, for the Indians had reveled to exhaustion. It was nearly noon before she attired herself in a fringed and beaded dress of buckskin, with leggings and exquisite little moccasins and laughingly permitted one of the women attendants to place a painted war feather in her hair. Thus clad and with her wide braids falling, she sat regally to receive the morning call of Red Snake. She was beginning to take a tremulous pleasure in the game of being an immortal. Pauline's questing spirit was too happy in adventure not to find a thrill in being thus translated from hungering captive to reigning queen, from queen to angel.

Red Snake's call was formal and politely brief. He brought with him the amusing interpreter to inquire if the Spirit had found comfort in the hospitality of his people, and more particularly if the war dance of the preceding night had given her satisfaction.

Pauline replied, with gracious solemnity, that her Spirit had found good repose and had been comforted by the pleasant music.

"And when will the White Queen lead us against our enemies--the men of her own color, but not of her kind?" inquired the Chief with child-like eagerness.

Pauline hesitated an instant after the interpreter repeated the question. Then, recovering herself, she answered gravely:

"Today, Red Snake, the Queen rests from her long journey out of the Happy Hunting Ground. Tomorrow also. Upon the next day, perhaps, she will lead the warriors."

The little interpreter's keen eyes flashed understandingly as he left out the word "perhaps" in repeating her answer.

Red Snake was elated. He made profound salutations, promised that the war party would do her honor, and hastened away to announce the news.

The interpreter lingered, pretending to smooth the door rug. He looked up suddenly and his eyes met Pauline's with an expression of friendly interest. Instinctively she accepted the tacitly offered friends.h.i.+p.

"You are a white man--you speak English," she said.

"Part white--part red. You speak all white," he added significantly.

"Of course," she whispered, stepping to his side. "I am not a Queen-- not a Spirit. I do not know why they believe I am. But I must get away--to Rockvale, to Mr. Haines's ranch, to the white people anywhere. You will help me?"

He looked at her pityingly now. He had believed that she was an accomplice of the medicine man in a shrewd fraud, and he had merely wanted to share the joke, risky as it was. To find her an accidental and unwilling monarch struck him dumb.

"That is very hard," he said slowly. "Look!"

He parted the folds of the teepee door curtain so that she looked out toward the village. Three women sat next the door and beyond were groups of braves, still in their war paint, some conversing, some stalwart and still. They seemed to be doing nothing in particular.

"Well?" questioned Pauline.

He led her across the teepee to a narrow slit in the rear curtain.

Through this she peered as she had peered through the door and saw exactly what she had seen though the door--women crouching at their tasks in the near foreground, an armed circle of warriors beyond.

Now she understood.

"I am a prisoner then?"

"They will guard you night and day."

"Why?"

"It was prophesied that a Great White Queen would come to lead them to battle. You have come, as the prophet said, and you have promised to lead them to battle. Above all, be proud, and not afraid."

The ioterpreter hesitated a moment.

"There was another White Queen whose coming was prophesied many hundreds of years ago," he said. "She came. She led the Indians victory over other Indians and then she vanished in the strangest way.

I would tell you of it--but I am afraid. They say her spirit is always near. Some day you may know how she vanished."

Before she could speak again, he had glided out of the teepee.

While Pauline was away Harry had planned to accomplish mighty labors.

With masculine fatuity he let himself believe--before she went away --that a man can get more work done with his G.o.ddess afar than when Cupid has a desk in his office.

It did not take more than thirty-six hours to turn separation into bereavement; not more than forty-eight to turn his "freedom for work"

into slavery to the fidgets. The office, instead of a refuge, became a prison to him. However, he made a pretense of sticking to the grind, and it was not until the Thursday on which his chartings showed Pauline would arrive at Rockvale that he actually quit and went home.

He slipped into the library to be alone. It was more restful here. As he sat in the great leather chair and unfolded a newspaper, the portrait of Pauline smiled brightly down at him in seeming camaraderie. At his side stood the Mummy so intimately a.s.sociated with her and his dead father's strange vision from the tomb.

Harry began to read, but he was still nervous to the point of excitement, and his thoughts wandered from the words. He was suddenly conscious of another presence in the room. He let the paper fall and gazed intently at the portrait.

But a moment later, Harry Marvin sprang excitedly from the chair and fairly leaped towards the picture. From somewhere out of the dim air of the library a hand had reached and touched his. It had touched his shoulder and then, with a commanding finger, had pointed upward at the picture on the wall.

"The Mummy! It has warned again," gasped Harry. "Polly, Polly!" he cried to the portrait, "I'm coming. Just hold on."

He strode bark to the table and pressed a bell.

"Tell Reynolds to pack me up, Bemis," he charged the astonished butler. "Tell him it's for Montana in a rush. Have a machine ready for me in fifteen minutes."

Even Bemis's const.i.tutional aversion to haste was overridden. He sped into the hall, calling to the valet, as Harry picked up a telephone.

"h.e.l.lo, this is H. B. Marvin. I want our private car attached to the Chicago flyer," he said. "No matter if it holds up the flyer, I'll have President Grigsby's authorization in your hands in five minutes.

Thank you. Goodbye."

As he reached the door of the machine, a messenger boy turned up the steps. Harry called to him, took the telegram and read Mrs. Haines'

message: "Pauline kidnapped; come at once."

With a m.u.f.fled e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, he dropped the slip of paper and sprang into the car, which in ten minutes pulled up to the station just as the disgruntled, but curious trainmen were coupling the luxurious Marvinia to the eighteen-hour express.

Owen coming quietly down the steps of the Marvin house, picked up the telegram which Harry had let fall. Reading it, he smiled, and he was still smiling when another messenger boy followed him to the door.

Owen took the second message and the smile broadened into an ugly grin as he read:

"Raymond Owen Fifth avenue, New York. All's well.