Carefully, Billy crawled away from the sound of Cannon's voice, and after a tune on hands and knees, rose to a standing position and moved silently through the brush. He considered going back to find Hanson, but the idea of returning without the rifle and without Cannon did not appeal to his pride.
He found a tree from which a number of vines dangled, and suddenly had an idea. He climbed the tree and found a spot where he could perch on a limb and twist the vine and unravel it. It was hard work and made his fingers bleed, but he managed it, then he did the same to another vine, and yet another, and plaited then together. The three vines made a sound lariat. He made a loop in one end, climbed down, and began to yell.
"Come get me, big man. Come get me."
A shot tore through the brush near Billy, and he knew Cannon was firing at the sound of his voice. He yelled again, and ducked low. Another shot tore through the brush. He continued to yell, and finally resorted to name-calling. It seemed to him that Cannon, having slyly outsmarted him earlier, would be aware that he was leading him into a trap; but it also occurred to him that Cannon might not care. He was an angry man who felt he had the edge. He had both the rifle and the knife, and he was larger than Billy.
Billy thought about that, and determined Cannon did have the edge. At least on those grounds. But to gain the edge over a superior opponent, one had to use his head. Billy bent low and tied a small loop in the opposite end of the vine, then, continuing to yell, he invited Cannon to come closer.
When the sound of the big man was almost on him, Billy turned and took to the tree from which be had procured the vines. He climbed out on a large limb and lay there like a great python. Billy had tried to time his retreat into the tree correctly, and had been successful. The shadowy shape of Cannon broke through the brush and advanced beneath the limb where Billy lay.
Billy almost let him pass, then regained. heart. It was now or never. He let the loop of his jungle-made lasso drop over Cannon's head just as the man made a step, therefore causing the loop to catch under his chin and tighten. Billy added to this by slipping his foot into the smaller loop, and dropping from the limb, he let his weight jerk the rope taut around Cannon's neck. Cannon let out a grunt and was yanked up. He let go of the rifle and grabbed at the vine rope with both hands. As he swirled, he saw the body of Billy glide down past him on the other end of the rope.
"Hello, big bwana," Billy said.
Cannon thrashed and spun about like a hooked fish. He continued to grab at the rope above his head, but this did nothing. The knot tightened, biting into his flesh.
Billy watched Cannon spin wildly and kick his legs Billy remembered how Cannon had cut the throat of the man Hanson called Small. He thought of how Cannon had put the coal in the palm of his hand and laughed about it. He thought about all this as Cannon spun and bucked against the rope. Then Cannon spun less fast and hardly kicked at all.
Billy, his foot still in the loop, watched and waited Even after Cannon had ceased to spin or kick, after he tongue protruded from his mouth like a black sod stuffed with cotton, he held his place. He listened to the sounds of the animals in the jungle and he looked up to see the moon through a slit in the boughs. The moon was as white as bone.
A full five minutes later, Billy took his foot from the little loop and dropped to the ground, allowing Cannon's corpse to crash into the brush. Billy recovered the dropped rifle and removed the knife from Cannon's body. Just to make sure, he carefully cut the big man's throat.
Billy climbed back into the tree and found a clutch of limbs on which he could rest. He fell into a deep sleep and when he awoke, sunlight was cutting through the boughs and vines and spraying him with heat.
Climbing down, he checked the corpse of Cannon. It was covered in insects. He left the body, and found plants with succulent roots. He dug them up with the knife shook the dirt from them, sliced them, and ate. They were pithy, but satisfying. Having eaten, Billy clutched the rifle and started back toward where he had left Hanson and the big black man.
A few hours after daybreak, Hanson's anger began to subside. His disposition was still dark, but he began to feel human again. He allowed Wilson to put on clothes from one of the packs and eat from a tin of meat. He made him sit with his feet tied, however, and he never once ceased to point the rifle at him.
He looked at where the fire had been in the trail. It had died out and there were only little wisps of smoke crawling up from it, coasting on air, climbing into the treetops. He drank from a canteen, poured some of the water into a cup, and offered it to Wilson while he held the rifle to his head. When Wilson took the cup, Hanson returned to his vigil, and this was interrupted by a voice.
"Bwana, it's me."
"Billy?" Hanson called.
Billy broke out of the jungle smiling. "I come up on you sneaky-like," he said. "But I didn't want to be too sneaky, so you shoot my head off."
"I thought I was being sneaky," Hanson said. "Camping off the trail like this."
"Not so sneaky," Billy said.
"Cannon?"
"No problem," Billy said, and drew his finger across his throat.
"Good," Hanson said, then to Wilson: " What do you think about that?"
Wilson sighed. "Well, I reckon that's all right. I didn't like the sonofabitch no how."
Chapter 19
KURVANDI BATHED IN preparation of seeing the great prisoner. He had been told of the bronze giant's exploits. He had killed many of Kurvandi's best warriors. He was glad, however, that the big man had not been slain. A man like that, he would be interesting to watch in the arena; a man like that was a perfect sacrifice to Ebopa. Ebopa would want to take the sacrifice himself.
That would be good. Kurvandi had not seen Ebopa take a sacrifice in some time. It would do the people good to see their god, to know it still stalked beneath their feet and that it was as powerful as ever.
Another good thing. This bronze giant, be would be sacrifice of great importance to Ebopa. Not like the weaklings of late that had practically died at the sight of the dancing god, The Stick That Walks.
Kurvandi determined that if the man was as strong, determined, and skilled as they said, he would be just the sort of challenge Ebopa would appreciate. The sort a challenge he and his people would enjoy watching in the arena.
Kurvandi considered all this as he lay in his metal tub and soaked in the blood of sacrifices, blood that had been brought to him warm from their veins. It was his belief that if you soaked in the fresh blood of the living, you absorbed their life and lived longer; doing this, you took part of their soul.
It was also Kurvandi's belief that if blood was spilled on the soil of Ur, it was appreciated by their god Ebopa. Some of Kurvandi's wise men, soothsayers, and sorcerers said this was not so, since so much had gone wrong in the last few years. Childbirth deaths. Diseases that ravaged the countryside. Plagues of insects. Even plant diseases that could destroy an entire crop overnight. Some had even suggested the blood sacrifices were the problem.
But Kurvandi did not believe this. How could be when Ebopa so enjoyed tearing the living apart, feasting on their flesh, blood, brains, and innards? Ebopa loved the blood and flesh of the living, so Kurvandi thought It only right he should also love it. This was the proper way to respect Ebopa, to follow in his image.
Another pitcher of warm blood was brought to his bath chamber by a trembling slave girl dressed only in a loin cloth. Kurvandi turned and looked upon her. She was young and fresh and fine to look upon. She trembled even more as she approached the great metal tub. The great black lions, fastened on short chains on either side of the tub, growled at her, narrowed their eyes to slits.