Читать книгу Jackson Gregory: Collected Works - Jackson Gregory - Страница 18

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PASSING with Yahoya through I the curtained doorway into the larger room, Northrup saw that at the wider entrance there were two young men standing, their backs turned toward him.

"Two of Muyingwa's men," said Yahoya. "He sent them to stand guard here."

Northrup stopped to offer his hand to each.

"If there is a fight," he said, "we fight together? That is good."

Their eyes upon his were hard and expressionless.

"We are Muyingwa's men," said one bluntly. "We obey our orders." Again there were many men upon the ledge, all looking out toward the desert where their eyes had found the forms of the racers. Before Northrup and Yahoya had come to where they too could see, Strang had moved out of a knot of men and had come swiftly to meet them. A good deal of the bluster of a few hours ago had oozed out of him; he was looking anxious.

"Look here, Northrup," he said hurriedly, "it strikes me that there's going to be an almighty row in no time. You and I have had our troubles and there's no denying it. But at a time like this I guess we've got to remember we're white men stacked up against a bunch of damned Indians. You chip in on my side, and I'll see you through if we come out of this alive."

Strang was armed like the Indians; now Northrup was certain that the man had either lost his gun out in the desert or had had it taken away from him here.

"I'll chip in on your side," returned Northrup coldly, "not because I am fool enough to believe a man like you, Strang, but just because I see my one chance with your crowd."

He saw in Strang's eyes a quick light of eagerness. Then the light died down, the eyes grew anxious again. Plainly Strang was afraid. He sought to speak further, but Northrup and Yahoya passed on.

Everywhere were black looks turned upon them, many men sneering openly at Yahoya, who was no longer goddess, but mere maid; many of them speaking of him in ugly voices, which they did not seek to keep from his ears. Northrup looked at Yahoya swiftly; it was if she had neither seen nor heard.

But again men forgot them for the moment. Tiyo and Muyingwa from being mere slow, drifting dots grew into two men, striving mightily. From afar it was clear that they had fought their way, mile after mile, with skill and cunning and muscle. They were now two staggering, dust-covered forms, and no man yet could tell which was Muyingwa, which Tiyo.

On they came, plunging across the loose sand which caught at the feet that no longer might spurn it lightly, their lean bodies crouching, their arms dangling, their knees rising and falling only because stubborn wills drove them. On they staggered, neither man looking up, their hearts near bursting, their dry, dusty tongues lolling, their bodies rocking as in agony. On through a reeling world, with only a scant two or three yards between them.

And only silence greeting them, as men strove to see which of those dark, tortured forms grasping a wilted flower in a dangling hand, was Tiyo, which Muyingwa. Then, at last, they had come so close to the base of the cliffs that they were recognizable human beings, no longer merely exhausted machines. A great crowd rumbled out to greet them then, many voices shouting together—

"Tiyo!"

For it was Tiyo in the lead. Even Northrup saw that now, and realized swiftly that Tiyo's winning would strengthen Tiyo's hand, so that there would be little hope for Muyingwa and those whom he stood ready to befriend.

At the shout the two men jerked up their heads. Their faces were twisted and haggard; their mouths dropped open; their eyes were wild, telling mutely of the anguish-racked bodies upon which so terrible a tax had been levied.

Then the heads dropped, the gaunt forms staggered on, feet sinking deep into the sand, being caught there, dragged out with effort more and more obvious. And still, no great distance between them and the end of the long run, Tiyo held his place in the lead.

Now many voices called out, "Muyingwa! Muyingwa!" but they called half-heartedly. Through the bedlam rose the shrill cry of a woman, a wail of grief; Nayangap, hurrying down the stairway to meet her defeated lover, carried to him a face scarcely less tortured than his own. Yahoya slipped her hand into Northrup's.

"Look," she whispered. "If to-day you fall, my husband, Yahoya will fall with you!"

The sun flashed a moment upon the keen blade she had slipped from her gown. Then, as quickly as it had come, the knife was gone, and she was pressing his hand hard.

On came Tiyo, staggering more drunkenly than ever, fighting for every step. On came Muyingwa just behind him, head down and dogged. Cheer after cheer broke out to greet the victor; cheer after cheer drummed into the ears of the man who had challenged and who was losing.

Inaa, his eyes seeming on fire, was drawing with a sacred baho a small circle at the head of the slope. Already were Tiyo's feet upon the harder ground, already was he plunging, reeling up the first of the hundred yards of incline. He swung up one arm with a visible effort, showing the fingers gripping the stem of the red flower. Inaa's voice, until now stilled, called out triumphantly:

"On, Tiyo, my son! The victor's circle, wherein is room for one man only, awaits you! On, Tiyo!"

Then Tiyo turned a little for the first time and saw Muyingwa's bowed, reeling form behind him. Tiyo's staring eyes and panting mouth grew into a twisted smile. Then Tiyo did not turn again.

As they ran the two men stumbled now, their numb feet striking against the stones in their path, each seeming ever upon the verge of falling. If Tiyo should indeed fall—if Muyingwa fell—then before either man could get upon his feet the race would be lost.

It seemed to Northrup that Muyingwa was driving some last ounce of reserve strength into his lagging limbs. It seemed while a man could not be certain, that he had shaved off a fraction of the half-dozen feet stretching between him and Tiyo. But if he had cut off an inch, what of it? There were but seventy-five yards now, and Tiyo was a man's height in advance.

Northrup caught a glimpse of a face thrust close up to his own, Strang's face. The blood had drawn out of it, leaving a strange pallor over the sunburned skin.

"The —— quitter!" groaned Strang. "He said he could beat Tiyo!"

"You talk about a quitter!" snapped Northrup. "Shut up!"

It seemed now that nothing less than miracle could save the day for Muyingwa, unless Tiyo should fall. And why should one fall rather than the other?

There was a flutter of white close by Inaa's side. Nayangap stood there, her arms thrown out toward the men racing so slowly up the broken slope.

"Muyingwa!" she called. "Muyingwa!"

He did not lift his head as he struggled on; he gave no sign that he had heard. And yet, in the silence which had fallen, a silence of breathless, intense eagerness, he could not but have heard.

"Tiyo!" thundered Inaa. "Tiyo! Ti-yo!"

"Muyingwa!" cried Nayangap. "Muyingwa!"

The eyes of those who watched, drawn for an instant to the forms of the old man and the young mana, came back quickly to the runners. Was it in the seeming only, or had Muyingwa crept a little closer? With hard ground underfoot, with Nayangap's voice ringing in his ears, had he added a little swiftness to his slow plodding? Had he, in fact, held a little reserve force for the final dash? Was Tiyo, already so close to the victor's circle, and with his rival in his rear, already the victor?

It was ending as a distance run so rarely ends, with the end in doubt until the very close of endeavor. Muyingwa was gaining. Tiyo was driving his muscles harder and harder at every lagging step to make them bend to his will. But they were only twenty-five yards from the goal, and Tiyo still led the way.

"Tiyo!" shouted Inaa.

"Muyingwa!" cried the girl, her voice throbbing in its appeal.

Then all were still, their bodies tense, their breathing hushed, their hearts beating thickly. Northrup's hand, gripping Yahoya's, grew into a vise, which at another time would have hurt her cruelly. Yahoya did not feel it.

There was no sound now save the rattle of stones set rolling, the thud, thud, thud of bare bleeding feet dropping heavily, the gasping breathing of Tiyo and Muyingwa. One might fancy that he heard the hammering of their hearts, despair in one not untinged with wild hope, victory in the other touched with dread. For Tiyo could hear Muyingwa's whistling breath close upon his right, a step behind.

So they came to the worst of the broken ground not a dozen yards from the circle Inaa had drawn. Here an exhausted man might fall if he were not wary. In each of the bursting hearts was the same thought: if a man fall now he sees his rival win.

Tiyo, having everything to lose, feeling himself already crowned with green leaves and yellow flowers, swerved a step to the left. Muyingwa, feeling the game all but lost already, kept straight ahead. His thudding feet struck among the jagged stones, which cut at them and tore them with cruel knife-edges. Muyingwa felt nothing, but flung himself forward, staggering, falling, catching himself, staggering on.

Tiyo saw him from the corner of his eye, abreast now, and, gathering his last strength, reeled on, gaining a little. Muyingwa saw a white, fluttering gown just there in front of him, saw Tiyo at his side, and made the supreme call upon his quivering muscles. He struck a stone in his way, pitching over it, close to falling for the hundredth time.

"Muyingwa!" Hardly more than a maid's whisper, but many men heard it. "My man!"

Tiyo had run his race, and was tottering almost at the rim of the circle his dizzy eyes could not see. Muyingwa was like a spent ball, plowing on with its own momentum. Tiyo's foot struck a little mound of loose dirt and he fell. As he went down he threw out his hand, and Muyingwa, striking it, fell with him. Both men down, and the goal just there, where it seemed either man might reach it!

Then men shouted as they had not shouted until now, so that Inaa's voice and Nayangap's were lost in the thunderous roar. The cañon echoes went mad with the word, "Tiyo, Tiyo, Tiyo!"

The cañon walls themselves seemed to have awakened, moved at last from their cold slumber, and to be shouting, "Muyingwa!" Northrup heard men yelling about him, and did not know that his own voice was lending its volume to theirs.

Would the men never get to their feet? Did they not know what hung upon them? Were they loitering now at the very end?

But they were up now. They were going on, both of them. It seemed as if they were seeking to drive men mad, lifting their feet so slowly, holding them so long suspended in air, taking such puny, baby steps ahead. Even their faces were drawn into grotesque grins, as if they were mocking those who clamored for them, jeering at the world. Who was ahead now? Their elbows struck.

But now men saw that at each slow step it was Tiyo who held longest balanced upon his spreading toes; it was Tiyo's leg which held longest suspended in air.

Muyingwa threw high up above his head the hand gripping the broken flower. Swaying terribly, Muyingwa set his foot over the circle.

Muyingwa stood first in the narrow circle wherein there is room for only one man. Then, staring stupidly at Nayangap he half turned, seeing through a blur another man coming on falteringly. Then Muyingwa, not hearing the roar of voices, dropped his arm, stooped a little, a little more, sought to lift his hand and could not, rocked blindly back and forth, and then, strength and consciousness going out of him, fell heavily. And as he fell, Tiyo's body pitched forward and fell across him.