An hour passed, and the gigantic form still rolled and writhed in agony upon the open space about the fire. Once my eyes came on a level with the two slaves sitting over their fire some paces beyond the makutued man. They were fixed like statues in the position in which I had last seen them. When next he tossed and rolled past Grey on the other side of the fire I saw that the latter was fast asleep.
“ANOTHER TWIST AND HE ROLLED RIGHT ACROSS IT, HIS HAIR AND BEARD FRIZZLING IN THE FLAME.”
As time passed, my brain began to wander. I saw places that I had seen long ago; I heard the voices of those long since dead. Clear visions held my attention for a moment, then vanished. At length one vision came and displaced all the rest. It was the wall of the abyss, on which glistened the clear light of the moon, which, flooding through the giants’ window, seemed to illumine the whole of the interior of the mountain. I saw, as if behind me, the granite statues smiling up with disdain at the great luminary; I saw Ngaraki lying face downwards upon the floor of the world; but what absorbed all my attention was the wall of the abyss before me. There—oh horror! who or what were those gigantic shadows contending in a deathly struggle? I looked up at the great window to see what cast them. There was nothing there; the bright moonlight flooded in uninterrupted, and yet, upon the wall before me, the two giant figures rocked to and fro in a grim, tremendous battle. The air grew thick and heavy, as if surcharged with some dread power. An awful silence settled down, broken only by a roaring sound as of a mighty wind through the great stone bars. The fury of the combat rose to a pitch of terror. Then from the stifling air went forth a flash of light between the shadowy combatants. A distant cry came out of the gloomy reaches of the abyss—a ghostly voice, like an echo from a bygone age, and one of the shadows reeled and staggered for a moment. Then the fight went on again, and I awoke to find myself following the form of Cazotl with eyes and hand round the edge of the fire.
The moon was now overhead, and I saw the Vile One’s face as he still writhed in agony, unable to rise. His brow was twisted with torment, and great drops rolled from it, but nothing could distort the leering, bloodstained lips from their original expression: they still sneered at all that was good and pure and beautiful. As I watched, his head nearly touched the fire. Another twist and he rolled right across it, his hair and beard frizzling in the flame. When he emerged on the other side his face appeared more than ever like the grey, granite face of the Vile Tohunga.
I cannot quite account for the hours that passed between that and the first light of dawn, but I know that the whole of that time I must have followed the writhing form of the doomed man with my eyes and revolver—the full tether of my muscular ability—for when my mind again cast off its visions I found myself still acting in obedience to his words. Cazotl’s cries were now growing faint, but his quick, hoarse breath, and his still desperate struggles, told that he was wrestling in the throes of a long and agonising death. The full moon, growing pale against the approach of dawn, was just sinking behind the hills. Crystal had sunk upon the ground, where she lay still—a vague outline of white upon the moss to the left of me. These things I saw indirectly, for my eyes were fastened upon Cazotl.
The moon passed down and daylight came, revealing to my horrified gaze a face with eyes that glared and rolled in unspeakable agony, teeth that gnashed in unremitting pain, while the limbs, their force now almost spent, still quivered in merciless torture. The rising sun tipped the hills above. I was aware the light was creeping down towards us. And now there was a brief respite, almost silence, made still more clear by the harsh, monotonous cry of a kiwi in the gloom of the gully behind. The Vile One raised himself upon his hands and knees, and his glaring eyes were fixed upon the form of Crystal sleeping on the moss five paces from him. He seemed to be able to think and act. Struggling to his feet, he stood for a moment, his fingers crooked nervously; his teeth made a grinding sound, and there was hate, revenge, and murder in his eyes. I saw his purpose. He would spring upon that fair form and strangle the life out of it. He staggered towards her, and I felt that even now my bullet would save her—but alas! my body was like dry wood, and all my nerves were non-conductors. I could not press the trigger.
Cazotl stood still as if to steady himself for a spring. But only for a moment. The pallor of death overspread his now hideous face. He raised his hand to his brow as if struck, then reeled, and with a last grating shriek of pain and rage, fell heavily backwards, where he lay extended and motionless. At that moment, even as he was falling, my finger pressed the trigger, and the bullet sped. At that moment, too, as the sunlight flooded down over glistening birch and pine, my body relaxed, and I fell unconscious to the ground.
CHAPTER XX.
CRYSTAL LOVES KAHIKATEA, WHO LOVES HINAURI.
It was early dawn when I awoke. By the light of the fire, which had evidently been freshly made up, I cast my eyes round the camp scene. Everything was as it should have been. Grey was asleep on the other side of the fire; Crystal was sitting up against a fallen tree trunk, not far from me, in the attitude of one who had dropped asleep while watching, for her cheek was resting on her arm, which was laid along the rough support. Near the other fire I could discern the forms of Te Makawawa and Tiki, while at a little distance the slaves lay huddled up. Was it possible that nothing unusual had happened—that I had merely dreamed a frightful dream? The chief and Tiki had evidently returned in the night, but why was not Crystal rolled in her blanket? I swept my eyes round the open space of the camp, and asked myself what had become of the body of Cazotl, which, in my mind’s eye, I could see so distinctly lying face upwards on the other side of the fire.