The Black Phantom

by Leo E. Miller

The youth entered the forest and continued on his way. He walked mile after mile without turning to look back and then gradually altered his course so that it took him to the river. Emerging from the wall of trees he made a wide semi-circle in the sand and returned to the heavy growth. But now he did not continue his journey; instead, he hurried back, keeping just inside the fringe of trees until he reached a point halfway between the tips of the semi-circle. He now crept to the very border of the jungle where, though hidden from view he could nevertheless have a clear sweep of his trail across the sand.

Oomah carefully removed the protecting cap from the poisoned arrow and grasped the missile in his right hand while in his left he held the bow, ready for instant use, and awaited the appearance of the Black Phantom. He was trembling with emotion, for the great moment had arrived.

But the black form that he so confidently expected did not appear. The hours slipped by and just as darkness spread its pall over river and jungle alike a thunderous roar burst upon the still air from nearby. The hunter turned quickly in the direction from which the sound came and his eyes sought to penetrate the undergrowth; but while he gazed at the mass of stems and leaves the roar was repeated in back of him, exactly opposite to the direction from which it had come at first.

Oomah, reared in the wilderness though he had been and knowing the traits of most wild things, for once knew not what to do; it was clear that the pursued had divined his plan, had sensed his trap, and was openly defying him. Would he charge next in an overwhelming rush too swift to be stopped by the arrow’s venomous thrust? Or wait until the darkest hour of night for a silent stalk and lightning spring! The latter seemed more probable so Oomah lost no time in seeking the protection of a great tree-trunk to forestall attack from the rear, and in building a fire to ward off the onslaught from in front. Between the two, he felt reasonably secure.

After that it was impossible to tell which was pursuer and which was pursued. If the man turned back on his trail he always found evidences that the crafty foe had been shadowing his every move. And the roars that reverberated through the forest both by day and by night reminded him of the proximity of the elusive one. When the rumbling voice was hushed for any length of time Oomah knew that the Black Phantom was on the hunt for food, or was out to slay, and redoubled his vigilance. Like his brethren of the more earthy, spotted color, the black monster never roared while in quest of victims. To do so would be extremely foolish for it would apprise the prey of his whereabouts and would give them time to escape to the security of their hiding-places. So the youth was on his guard during the periods of silence and slept when the roars were most frequent, for then the danger was least.

With the passing days the drought grew more terrible. If Choflo’s words were true, and Oomah was to save the earth by slaying the Black Phantom, he must act soon or Tumwah’s work would be too far advanced for remedy. He could do no more than he was doing. Yaro had even hinted, in furtive whispers, that the combat between the Phantom and the God of Drought was a fabrication of Choflo’s mind, simply another explanation of something the sorcerer did not understand added to the several he had already given. Still, he did not know whose words were to be heeded; and added to his doubt was the lack of understanding of why the Black Phantom did not attack him. It seemed always to be following him in accordance with some mysterious design, or to be luring him onward like a will-o’-the-wisp, further and further into a strange and more hostile wilderness.

The youth’s disturbed state of mind, coupled with the meager amount of food now obtainable and the fatigue of the long tramps so undermined his strength that he fell an easy victim to the dread fever to which, in his normal, robust condition he was immune.

With throbbing head and blurred eyes he moved painfully through the forest and over the sandy riverbank. On those rare occasions when he saw game his arms trembled so violently as he drew the bow that the arrow went wide and fell far short of the mark.

Choflo had guessed well. He was sure that the Black Phantom would prove too elusive or too savage for any human pursuer, and that he should never see Oomah again. In both things he was right. Oomah was destined to be robbed of his prize and the sorcerer had beheld the youth for the last time. But despite these facts, the designing purveyor of magic had been also totally mistaken in his calculations. For, while both of his hopes were realized they, at the same time, strange as it may seem, were doomed to failure.

The terrible fever fast gained on the unfortunate hunter, racking his body and adding physical torture to his mental anguish. Still he struggled to overcome the insurmountable obstacles in his way. But, while a firm resolve may do many things there is also a limit to all things, and there came a day when Oomah could go no further. He had already wandered far from the country so well known to him. Around him grew castanha trees with nuts in shells like cannon-balls that hung high over his head; palms with leaves so enormous that one could shelter an entire encampment; and birds of species he had never seen before fluttered among the branches. The air was saturated with the heavy though not unpleasant odor of vanilla beans. It was indeed a strange land but Oomah was too ill to take much heed of his surroundings.