The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"I had been told by my friends that the leader of the other section was an Englishman like myself. He was supposed to have married one of the women of the tribe, and adopted their manners and customs. Of course, I needed no one to tell me that only such a powerful incentive as gold could have persuaded an educated Englishman to remain permanently with a tribe. This other section was far the more powerful of the two, and they gave us fair warning that any of us that were caught in the gold belt would be likely to suffer for it. This was quite good enough for me. Picking out a score of the most daring adventurers, we made up our minds to put in some exploring without delay. I may mention the fact that some of these adventurers were Europeans also. Anyway, we set out one evening, and morning found us lighting our camp-fire right in the heart of the gold belt.

"On that occasion I had been left behind to look after the cooking whilst the others pushed on to a likely spot where indications of the precious metal might be found. My companions had hardly disappeared from sight before a man came riding up to me and demanded my business. It was quite easy to see that he was an Englishman, despite the fact that he was arrayed in the full war paint of the tribe. He was a fine, powerful man, and his face denoted great intellectual gifts. Come, Mr. Masefield, you are a clever man yourself, and therefore will have no difficulty in guessing who the stranger was."

"Anstruther for a hundred," Masefield cried.

"You have guessed it exactly, as I thought you would," Lord Barmouth went on gravely. "It was Anstruther, and no other. He wasted no time in demanding to know what I was doing there. He warned me of the dreadful pains and penalties likely to occur if I remained where I was, but I laughed him to scorn. By way of reply he gave a shrill whistle, and there emerged from the scrubby brush a small misshapen man with the most hideous face that it has ever been my lot to look upon. Need I describe that face, Mr. Masefield?"

"No," Jack said, in an awed voice. "It was another Nostalgo."

"Once more you have guessed it," Barmouth went on in the same grave way. "Anstruther pointed to the shrinking figure by his side, and told me that I must either go back at once, or that I must suffer the same fate as the man by his side. My blood was hot then; I cared for no man. I do not exactly know how it commenced, but presently we were exchanging revolver shots, each determined to do for the other. I suppose somebody crept up behind me, for I was just conscious of a terrible blow on the back of the head, and then I remembered no more.

"When I came to myself I was lying in a deserted hut, absolutely alone, and with a feeling upon me that I had just recovered from a long and painful illness. There was food beside me, a little native spirit in a bottle; my clothes were neatly laid at the foot of my bed. When I reached the open I recognized the fact that I was in a spot some fifty miles on the far side of the gold belt. From the length of my beard I calculated that I must have been lying there for some three weeks. My horse I found outside, and, feeling strong enough to proceed on my journey, I rode off in the direction of the tribe to which I was attached. I was feeling fairly well, and conscious only of a strange tightening sensation in the muscles of the face.

"At that moment I had no conception of the awful misfortune which had overtaken me. I was glad enough at length to come in contact with one or two members of my tribe. Judge of my astonishment when they fled as if in terror at my approach. It was the same in the village. I might have been afflicted with some loathsome disease, seeing how everybody ran at my approach. I reached my hut at length, tired, and hot, and angry, my first idea being to shave and make myself respectable. A glance at my looking-glass revealed the whole hideous truth. I was as I am at this moment: a ghastly caricature of a man, who dared not look his fellow creatures in the face."

It was some time before Lord Barmouth spoke again. It was not for Jack to interrupt the tenor of his painful thoughts. But the silence was so long that he felt bound to speak at length.

"But how does this give Anstruther such a hold on you?" he asked.