The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific

by John Henry Goldfrap

CHAPTER XXX.—IN THE COILS OF A PYTHON.

From the jungle there had darted a lithe figure. It was Salloo. He had traced the source of the mysterious cries to a troop of monkeys. He was returning when Muldoon’s despairing cry broke on his ears.

The Malay, guessing that there was serious trouble, glided through the jungle at the best speed of which he was capable, making his way swiftly through thickets that a white man could not have passed at all. There is one weapon with which a Malay is always armed—his kriss, a razor-edged sword about two feet long, with a “wavy” outline. This kriss Salloo now drew from under his single garment.

One instant it flashed in the sunlight and the next, during which it was impossible to follow its movements, so swift were they, the python’s head was severed. But instantly, by a convulsive movement, its coils tightened and Muldoon emitted another pitiful cry. But, fortunately, the life of the snake had departed and soon its coils relaxed and its gaudily-colored body slipped in a heap to the ground.

They all sprang forward to Muldoon’s aid, for the man, powerful and rugged, was almost in a state of collapse as the result of his terrible experience. An examination by Captain Sparhawk soon showed that no bones had been broken, as they had at first feared, and after restoratives had been administered, and after a short rest, Muldoon announced that he was ready to march on again.

“That was a close shave, Muldoon,” remarked Raynor, as they pressed onward, after Muldoon had nearly wrung the hand off Salloo in expressing his thanks for the Malay’s courageous act, which had undoubtedly saved the boatswain’s life.

“Ouch! Don’t say a wurrud,” groaned the Irishman, “I thought I was a goner sure. Divil a bit more of snakes is it I want to see.”

That evening they reached the river, and leaving them camped, Salloo set off on a scouting expedition. It was a long time before he returned, but when he came in he brought good news. He had located the old fort and reported that the ruffians who had carried off Mr. Jukes and Jack were all there enjoying themselves round a big fire and apparently in no fear of an attack.

“Me see um white boy there, too,” he added. “Same boy hang round hotel at Bomobori all time.”

“Donald Judson!” exclaimed Billy. “How can that be possible? I can’t fit him into this at all.”

“Well, the question is, now that we have tracked the rascals, what’s the next move,” said Captain Sparhawk.

“Me think now good time attack,” counseled Salloo. “They no think anyone near. Give ’em heap big surprise.”

“Begorry, that’s well said, naygur,” approved Muldoon, “I’m aching to git a good crack at thim.”

After some consultation it was decided to make the attack at once. If they delayed they would have to wait till the next night in order to surprise Broom’s band and there was no telling what might happen during the twenty-four hours that would elapse.

Luckily, there was a moon, though it was somewhat obscured by the haze which Salloo had drawn attention to as presaging a storm. The party, piloted by Salloo, started off up the river, which was low, as the weather had been dry and there was plenty of room for them to pass between the bank and the water’s edge.

At last they arrived in sight of the cliff and Raynor’s heart gave a bound. At the top they could see the red glare of the camp fire, though they could not see any of the men.

“There’s one good thing, the ascent of the cliff will be easy,” said Billy, in a whisper, as he drew attention to the knotted and twisted vines that hung down it.

“Yes, we’ll need no scaling ladders,” rejoined Captain Sparhawk.

“No need for usum vines,” declared the Malay. “Salloo know a path to top.”

Telling them to remain where they were, the faithful fellow set off on another scouting expedition. His kriss glittered menacingly in the moonlight as he went on, trying to keep in the shadow of the cliff. Arrived at the path he knew of, he glided noiselessly up it, although it was a steep and tortuous one, and soon was at the top of the cliff. Through the gloom he made out a solitary figure sitting on a rock far removed from the campfire, about which the rest were gathered. The Malay guessed it was a sentry, although the fellow was not keeping a very careful watch and appeared to be half asleep.

“Me fixee you one minute,” grinned the Malay to himself.

He cast himself on his stomach in the long grass that grew on the cliff-top and began worming his way round the sentry so as to approach him from the rear. He scarcely made a sound as he moved with wonderful rapidity.

The sentry appeared to shake off his drowsiness suddenly and rose to his feet just as Salloo was within a few inches of him. But he left his rifle leaning against the rock on which he had been seated. Instantly Salloo leaped from the grass and the next instant the kriss was at the thunderstruck sentry’s throat.

“You no speak or me killee,” grated out the Malay, and one glance convinced the sentry that Salloo would carry out his threat.

Salloo stooped and picking up a small pebble cast it over the cliff. It fell almost at the feet of Captain Sparhawk and Billy, who were anxiously on the look-out for this signal, which had been prearranged.

“Forward,” ordered Captain Sparhawk, who was in the lead. Next came Billy, then Muldoon and last the natives, some of whom had spears, and others the peculiar blow-pipes used by the Papuans to shoot poisoned darts.

The advance was made in silence, and at the top of the cliff they found Salloo waiting for them. He was garmentless, having used his single cloak to tie up the sentry with. Grass stuffed in the man’s mouth had effectually gagged him.

“Good for you, Salloo,” said the captain approvingly, to which the native replied with a grin.

“Now we take him down below and find out some things from him,” said the Malay.

The helpless prisoner was bundled back down the trail and brought to the camp at the foot of the cliff. Here he was roped to a tree and the gag taken out of his mouth. But the sight of Salloo’s ever-ready kriss kept him from making any outcry.

Yes, he said, the old, fat man and the boy were all right. They had not been fed though, and wouldn’t be till a ransom was forthcoming.

This made the whites boil with indignation. Questioned as to how many were in the band, he said he did not know, and as he stuck to this it was thought best not to waste any more time questioning him.

After a consultation the gag was replaced, but the ropes were loosened so that with a little exertion the man could set himself free.

“If, for any reason, we couldn’t come back, and we left the ropes tight, he would perish,” said Captain Sparhawk, “and we want no human lives to our account.”

“Me leave him there starve to death plitty quick,” growled Salloo, with a scowl at the crestfallen prisoner.

At the foot of the cliff all was now dark and silent as the grave. The moon was obscured by a cloud and it was an ideal moment for the dash on the camp to begin.

“We go plenty slow or maybe take big tumble,” advised Salloo.

He was in advance but Billy was close at his heels. Cautiously they ascended, taking great care not to dislodge loose stones which might have been fatal to their plans. At last the stream was far below them and the summit of the cliff within reach.

It was at this moment that a torch flashed above them, glaring into their upturned faces.

“What’s all this, who are you?” a voice demanded.

“Silence if you value your life,” came from Captain Sparhawk.

“It’s Donald Judson!” exclaimed Billy.

“Billy Raynor,” cried the other in his turn. “How did you——?”

“Don’t utter another word,” ordered Captain Sparhawk. “Put your hands above your head, you young rascal.”

“Not much I won’t!” exclaimed Judson.

He flung his torch full in Billy’s face and then started at top speed for the camp fire, yelling the alarm at the top of his lungs.

For a minute Billy was in peril of losing his balance as the torch struck him. But Salloo caught and held him firmly. The torch dropped with a splash and hiss into the waters of the river below.

By this time Salloo scrambled to the cliff summit and made off after young Judson. Both reached the camp fire at about the same time. The others, following close on Salloo’s heels, saw Donald turn, catch sight of the glittering kriss, and then, with a yell of dismay, tumble headlong. He lay quite still and had apparently been stunned by the violence of the fall.

“Help! Help!” It was Jack’s voice from the fort and was instantly recognised by Billy.

But by this time the men about the fire, headed by ‘Bully’ Broom, were on their feet. There was no time for them to get their weapons, which had been left inside the fort so that they would not rust in the damp night air. The battle was a brief one, although some shots were fired, none of which, in the excitement, took effect.

Billy, by a clever ruse, brought the engagement to a speedy termination. In the midst of the fight he turned toward the cliff and then raising his voice as if summoning help, he shouted:

“This way, captain. Bring that company up here. Let the others guard the river.”

“Get out of here, boys,” roared Broom, completely taken in. “I’ll settle with you later on,” he cried, shaking his fist as he turned and followed the rout of his followers, who, imagining they were being pursued by great numbers, made off at top speed for the jungle, which soon swallowed them up.