"Don't see why not."
"Like to try?"
"Aye. I've kilt b'ars an' catamounts, but I've never even seen a tiger."
"Then you're going with me to see Darus tomorrow."
21
DARUS' moon face, so good-natured when Scott last beheld it, betrayed neither fear nor hatred nor any other emotion when he received the captain and Hurst in his house an hour after daylight; but the atmosphere of the strongly guarded palace was electric with danger. Wryly grateful that the rajah himself was not the kinsman of the late pirate chief Suran, Scott walked lightly, knowing that in obtaining the audience he was trading on the ruler's carefully hidden superstitious terror. When he began talking, he wished more than ever that he had an adequate command of the tongue.
"You have been told that I sent the Lame One into the village to seize your son," he began abruptly. "That is a lie."
The blunt reference to the tragedy jarred Darus visibly, but he said nothing.
"Osman, the kinsman of the pirate Suran, told you this lie," Scott continued after a long silence.
The rajah spoke then, his voice tight with hatred held in leash by fear. "Osman is a holy man. He does not lie."
Hurst broke in. "Osman speaks with a forked tongue—I mean, he does lie. Suran was kilt in a fair fight an' in protection of our lives an' ship. Was that wrong, Darus?"
The ruler made no reply. His small, dark eyes glittered now and his chest heaved with sudden emotion.
Scott spoke again. "Your friend Hurst, this man here with me, is a mighty hunter. He and I will seek out the Lame One and destroy him."
Darus' face showed keen interest. "You will kill your own magic creature?" he demanded unbelievingly.
"He is not my creature," Scott said flatly. "He is not magic. Help us find him and we will slay him."
Darus obviously struggled with himself. Finally he spoke again. "I must think about it."
"Don't wait," Hurst pleaded. "Let us kill him."
"Come back after the noon prayer," Darus said. "We will decide then."
"He's goin' to talk with th' muezzin, sure as hell," Hurst said gloomily when he and Scott were outside.
"I'm sure you're right," Scott agreed with a matter-of-factness he was far from feeling. "Still, we've jolted Darus a little, I think. Maybe you can persuade your friend Hamzah to put his oar in for us. I've an idea he's no friend of Osman."
"You know, cap'n," Hurst said slowly, "I was thinkin' along that very line myself. I'll go look for him now."
Scott watched the former Indian trader stride away, carrying the long rifle which he had kept in his hands even during the talk with the rajah. He was glad he had such a man with him. Then he turned and walked briskly back to their quarters, observing wryly that the women and children he encountered gave him a wide berth. They must think I'm the devil himself, he thought.
Hurst went directly to Hamzah's house, but the man wasn't there. He then began seeking him at other houses. He felt much as he had when once he, a stranger, had arrived in a Cherokee town hard on the heels of an unscrupulous trader who had driven an exceptionally hard bargain by liberal use of cheap rum. Their deerskins and beaver pelts sold for a hundredth part of their value, the headachy braves were edgily dangerous, anxious to vent their rage on any white man. Outwardly serene, but acutely aware he was under constant surveillance, he went from place to place, neither finding Hamzah nor learning anything of his whereabouts. Finally he decided to return to the man's residence and wait there.
He was making his way past a house near the rajah's palace when he saw a fat, naked boy of toddling age playing in the shaded dust under the stilted structure. The sight was not unusual and his first glance was casual. Then from the corner of his eye he saw the slithering snake . . . saw the youngster weave unsteadily in eager pursuit of the reptile. The hair on the back of his neck rose when the snake halted, coiled and reared its head some two feet from the ground. Its neck was dilated in the form of a painted hood.
The child halted wonderingly at the sight, standing still in front of the hamadryad. It was obvious to the horrified Hurst that the deadly king cobra would strike if the little boy made another move, even in retreat. Quickly he lifted his rifle and cocked it. To hit the gently swaying target presented by the hood, which he mistook for part of the head, he would have to send the bullet dangerously close to the child's own head.
Like many an expert marksman, Hurst shot with both eyes open, aiming the gun with the casualness that a man would use in pointing with his finger. His eyes narrowed slightly... his finger crooked about the trigger, squeezed gently.
The cobra, its head partially severed, thrashed wildly, flinging blood on the child, even as the sound of the exploding gunpowder blasted the morning quiet. Hurst bounded toward the suddenly terrified youngster and with one powerful hand yanked him out of danger. Then he picked up a stick and flailed the reptile ferociously, beating its head into a pulp. As the child opened his mouth in a wail of mingled terror and hurt, Hurst caught the six-foot-long snake by the tail and cracked its bloody head against one of the pilings supporting the house.
Not until he dropped the still writhing hamadryad in the dust did he become aware that a score of armed Malays were within a few feet of him. One was trying to soothe the screaming boy, but all the others were staring at him in amazement.
"Why, damnation," Hurst said in English, feeling the sweat of reaction in his palms, "ain't any of you ever seen a man kill a snake afore?"
The little boy was still howling when Darus himself burst through his followers and took him from the man who had picked him up. He held the child close and crooned softly for a moment after the fashion of a doting father. Then, just as Scott and all his men arrived, drawn by the crack of the rifle, the rajah went to Hurst and took his hand in gratitude and friendship.
"You are my brother," he said simply. "You have saved the life of my son."
Taller than Darus, Hurst looked over his head at Scott, who gripped a naked cutlass in his hand. With a slight motion of his head he indicated the snake, which a couple of Malays were methodically hacking into small, quivering bits. The captain looked at the cobra, then at Hurst and finally at Darus, who still held the rifleman's hand. The boy, quiet now, clung with chubby arms to his father's neck.
"You ..." Scott began wonderingly.
Hurst nodded, taking his hand from the grip of the rajah. Calmly he began reloading the long rifle.
22
HURST'S feat broke Osman's grip on Darus. The rajah was penitently grateful to Hurst and his gratitude reached out to embrace all the men from the Caroline. They, who had lived apart with weapons within easy reach, now had the freedom of the village, and unattached brown girls vied for opportunities to bestow amorous favors on them. Scott found himself suddenly treated as an honored rajah, with a house to himself, while Hurst was moved into Darus' large residence. In the evening the rajah gave a great feast, killing a couple of young water buffaloes for meat; and in the light and shadows of great fires lithe young dancers postured and swayed gracefully to the orchestrated music of bamboo flutes, gongs, cymbals, drums and tinkly xylophone-hke instruments played with one hand. Toward the end of the celebration he turned to Scott and promised to carry out his original bargain. Apologetically he explained that Osman had misled him.
One thing Darus asked the elated captain in Hurst's presence: that they not forget the offer to rid the area of the striped terror that struck by night, the Lame One. Scott repeated it immediately and Hurst nodded quick, silent approval. The ruler, who had disregarded the Prophet's advice to the extent of drinking a great deal of potent arrack, beamed on them drunkenly.