The Horror Stories of Robert E. Howard by Robert E. Howard Page B
Authors: Robert E. Howard
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drove it through a native, leaping over his body to get among the others.
They could not face the fiend-driven white man. With shrieks they fled, and de Montour, bounding upon the back of one, brought him down.
Then he rose, staggered and sprang to the river bank. An instant he paused there and then vanished in the shadows.
“Name of the devil!” gasped Dom Vincente at my shoulder. “What manner of man is that? Was that de Montour?”
I nodded. The wild yells of the natives rose above the crackle of the arquebus fire. They were massed thick about the great warehouse across the river.
“They plan a great rush,” said Dom Vincente. “They will swarm clear over the palisade, methinks. Ha!”
A crash that seemed to rip the skies apart! A burst of flame that mounted to the stars! The castle rocked with the explosion. Then silence, as the smoke, drifting away, showed only a great crater where the warehouse had stood.
I could tell of how Dom Vincente led a charge, crippled as he was, out of the castle gate and down the slope, to fall upon the terrified blacks who had escaped the explosion. I could tell of the slaughter, of the victory and the pursuit of the fleeing natives.
I could tell, too, Messieurs , of how I became separated from the band and of how I wandered far into the jungle, unable to find my way back to the coast.
I could tell how I was captured by a wandering band of slave raiders, and of how I escaped. But such is not my intention. In itself it would make a long tale; and it is of de Montour that I am speaking.
I thought much of the things that had passed and wondered if indeed de Montour reached the storehouse to blow it to the skies or whether it was but the deed of chance.
That a man could swim that reptile-swarming river, fiend-driven though he was, seemed impossible. And if he blew up the storehouse, he must have gone up with it.
So one night I pushed my way wearily through the jungle and sighted the coast, and close to the shore a small, tumble-down hut of thatch. To it I went, thinking to sleep therein if insects and reptiles would allow.
I entered the doorway and then stopped short. Upon a makeshift stool sat a man. He looked up as I entered and the rays of the moon fell across his face.
I started back with a ghastly thrill of horror. It was de Montour, and the moon was full!
Then as I stood, unable to flee, he rose and came toward me. And his face, though haggard as of a man who has looked into hell, was the face of a sane man.
“Come in, my friend,” he said, and there was a great peace in his voice. “Come in and fear me not. The fiend has left me forever.”
“But tell me, how conquered you?” I exclaimed as I grasped his hand.
“I fought a frightful battle, as I ran to the river,” he answered, “for the fiend had me in its grasp and drove me to fall upon the natives. But for the first time my soul and mind gained ascendancy for an instant, an instant just long enough to hold me to my purpose. And I believe the good saints came to my aid, for I was giving my life to save life.
“I leaped into the river and swam, and in an instant the crocodiles were swarming about me.
“Again in the clutch of the fiend I fought them, there in the river. Then suddenly the thing left me.
“I climbed from the river and fired the warehouse. The explosion hurled me hundreds of feet, and for days I wandered witless through the jungle.
“But the full moon came, and came again, and I felt not the influence of the fiend.
“I am free, free!” And a wondrous note of exultation, nay, exaltation , thrilled his words:
“My soul is free. Incredible as it seems, the demon lies drowned upon the bed of the river, or else inhabits the body of one of the savage reptiles that swim the ways of the Niger.”
Up, John Kane!
Up, John Kane, the grey night’s falling;
The sun’s sunk in blood and the fog comes crawling;
From hillside to hill the grey wolves are calling;
Will ye come, will ye
They could not face the fiend-driven white man. With shrieks they fled, and de Montour, bounding upon the back of one, brought him down.
Then he rose, staggered and sprang to the river bank. An instant he paused there and then vanished in the shadows.
“Name of the devil!” gasped Dom Vincente at my shoulder. “What manner of man is that? Was that de Montour?”
I nodded. The wild yells of the natives rose above the crackle of the arquebus fire. They were massed thick about the great warehouse across the river.
“They plan a great rush,” said Dom Vincente. “They will swarm clear over the palisade, methinks. Ha!”
A crash that seemed to rip the skies apart! A burst of flame that mounted to the stars! The castle rocked with the explosion. Then silence, as the smoke, drifting away, showed only a great crater where the warehouse had stood.
I could tell of how Dom Vincente led a charge, crippled as he was, out of the castle gate and down the slope, to fall upon the terrified blacks who had escaped the explosion. I could tell of the slaughter, of the victory and the pursuit of the fleeing natives.
I could tell, too, Messieurs , of how I became separated from the band and of how I wandered far into the jungle, unable to find my way back to the coast.
I could tell how I was captured by a wandering band of slave raiders, and of how I escaped. But such is not my intention. In itself it would make a long tale; and it is of de Montour that I am speaking.
I thought much of the things that had passed and wondered if indeed de Montour reached the storehouse to blow it to the skies or whether it was but the deed of chance.
That a man could swim that reptile-swarming river, fiend-driven though he was, seemed impossible. And if he blew up the storehouse, he must have gone up with it.
So one night I pushed my way wearily through the jungle and sighted the coast, and close to the shore a small, tumble-down hut of thatch. To it I went, thinking to sleep therein if insects and reptiles would allow.
I entered the doorway and then stopped short. Upon a makeshift stool sat a man. He looked up as I entered and the rays of the moon fell across his face.
I started back with a ghastly thrill of horror. It was de Montour, and the moon was full!
Then as I stood, unable to flee, he rose and came toward me. And his face, though haggard as of a man who has looked into hell, was the face of a sane man.
“Come in, my friend,” he said, and there was a great peace in his voice. “Come in and fear me not. The fiend has left me forever.”
“But tell me, how conquered you?” I exclaimed as I grasped his hand.
“I fought a frightful battle, as I ran to the river,” he answered, “for the fiend had me in its grasp and drove me to fall upon the natives. But for the first time my soul and mind gained ascendancy for an instant, an instant just long enough to hold me to my purpose. And I believe the good saints came to my aid, for I was giving my life to save life.
“I leaped into the river and swam, and in an instant the crocodiles were swarming about me.
“Again in the clutch of the fiend I fought them, there in the river. Then suddenly the thing left me.
“I climbed from the river and fired the warehouse. The explosion hurled me hundreds of feet, and for days I wandered witless through the jungle.
“But the full moon came, and came again, and I felt not the influence of the fiend.
“I am free, free!” And a wondrous note of exultation, nay, exaltation , thrilled his words:
“My soul is free. Incredible as it seems, the demon lies drowned upon the bed of the river, or else inhabits the body of one of the savage reptiles that swim the ways of the Niger.”
Up, John Kane!
Up, John Kane, the grey night’s falling;
The sun’s sunk in blood and the fog comes crawling;
From hillside to hill the grey wolves are calling;
Will ye come, will ye
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