Crash—crash—crash—outside was a grating roar, and caught by the rising tide the ship surged forward. The bulge of it swung against the cave mouth, and in an instant caught and gripped the pendant neck, sawing and grinding its flesh against the jagged edges. The prisoned head in its agony beat frantically against the surface, and the water shot right and left in angry ripples as the breath of the Monster’s scream burst upon it.
The revolver dropped from my hand. I snatched Gwen to me, and dived into the hot, turbid flood—down beneath the struggling head, down beneath the ship’s keel, out into the warm stillness of the cleft beyond.
Gasping and choking from our sudden immersion I dragged my darling over the edge, and half-led, half-carried her up the rocky slope, leaving a long wet drip upon the granite. The enraged and baffled yelling of the captured Beast rang out piercingly among the cliff echoes; the lashings of his great tail smote upon the empty hold of the ship as upon a drum. In his vain attempts to draw his neck from the trap he drove and spurred at the boulders frantically, and the clatter of his long nails upon the pebbles sounded like the scratchings of some monstrous cat.
Our clothes were sodden and heavy, and our nerves unstrung from terror and excitement. We were in no condition for a swift escape. My own state of mind I can in nowise describe, such a confusion of fright and ecstasy raged therein. Firstly, the horrors of a hideous death still hung over us, though for the moment passed by. My pulses still tingled with the sick despair of that last terrible moment. Death had been my betrothal gift to my love—death to save her from agony. Another second, and she would have received it at my hand. Thank God that there are few who can realize the æons of torture that swelled into those few instants of good-bye. Death was still at our backs, and might follow hard upon our footsteps, but I was so uplifted in the knowledge of my darling’s love, and in learning that no point of honor stood between us, that I scarce gave a thought to remembering that we might yet stand together in the Valley of the Shadow.
Up the slope we toiled, and very like one of those terrible hills that we climb in dreams did it appear. Gwen clung to me desperately, her dear eyes hunted and shining with affright. Her knees trembled—she strove to run, but her dripping skirts caught her limbs and made her stumble.
Still up we reeled, the pebbles spinning from our unsteady feet, the smooth rock silt churning to mud upon our shoes. From above came cries of encouragement, and from the heights I seemed to see dark forms speed down toward us. Another crash echoed from behind. I threw a quick glance across my shoulder. The Racoon was slanting back from the cave mouth, and the Monster was free. I saw him turn and crawl slowly from the pool in which the ship was beginning to right herself and sit swan-like.
He lifted his head, and I saw the blood flow in streams from his gashed throat. It steamed as it made puddles upon the cold rocks. He sniffed the breeze. Then his evil eyes settled their stare in our direction. The huge body began to waddle and slide toward us.
I caught Gwen up in my arms and fled upward, terror thrusting me on. She gave one gasp of protest; then she settled into my embrace with a little sigh of relief as she nestled to me. So the race for life began.
I ran almost unseeingly, the great pulses throbbing and thrumming in my bosom. Now and again I stumbled; once I nearly fell. Gwen’s arm came with a jolt against a boulder top. I cursed my awkwardness, hurrying on and trying to pick my way amongst the great, loose lumps more carefully. Some rubble gave beneath my feet. I rolled over sideways; somehow—though how I can’t say myself—I managed to fall upon my elbows and save my burden from harm. I rocked up to my feet, and saw as in a dream the cliff-foot two hundred yards away, and upon it the forms of men who ran toward me.
I turned my face over my shoulder again. The Brute was a short half-furlong away—his tongue lolling from his wide expectant jaws. He strained his neck toward us, his eyes aglint; he seemed almost to trot rather than waddle in his greedy haste. Determination and despair drove me forward as with a goad; I panted with the horror of his oncoming.