Chapter XXIII: The Battling Giant

Having completed his detour, Johnny at last entered the cave by the secret door. He found the confusion within the cave almost as great as that without. Bronze natives were darting here and there. Some were shouting, some chanting weird witch songs and some dancing about as if mere action suited the occasion.

The little doctor was nowhere to be seen. Among them all there was one calm figure--Curlie Carson. And he of all things! Johnny stood and stared in blank astonishment. Curlie sat cross-legged on the floor blowing on a tin whistle, or rather several tin whistles, one at a time. On his knees rested a telephone instrument. Each time he blew a whistle he inclined his head toward the receiver of this instrument. His eyes, for the most part, were fixed on the broad back of the grotesque, gigantic mechanical figure who, for the moment at least, blocked the threatening horde of blacks.

"A telephone instrument!" Johnny said to himself, as his astonishment grew by leaps and bounds. "There is not a wire strung within twenty miles."

He thought of a radio sending set. But no. That was impossible. There had not been time for installing one. "Besides," he assured himself, "one does not send a radio S. O. S. by means of tin whistles. It's a mad place," he told himself. "This cave is full of mad people and Curlie has gone mad with the rest of them."

Even as he arrived at this conclusion, it struck him that there was some connection between the peep-peeping of those whistles and the actions of the mechanical giant. Curlie blew the shortest whistle several times and the giant began a wild, frenzied dance; a longer whistle and he swung his arms and cracked his iron knuckles together; still another and he began snapping his clanking jaws.

Slowly it dawned upon Johnny that here was something quite marvelous; well worth watching to its very end; a battle between the brains of a boy and the brawn of a black rabble.

At that moment someone touched his arm. He turned about quite suddenly. It was the little doctor.

"Get it?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Johnny answered.

"Good! You made a marvelous trip. We shan't need it though. I'm sorry. He's gone. It's all for the best."

"Dead?"

"Dead."

There was a moment of silence during which the giant once more blinked his eyes and cracked his knuckles together. Also from afar, but much nearer than before, came the rumble and growl of thunder.

"You win," said the little doctor. "I am glad for that."

"I--I win?" Johnny did not understand.

"You get the 'Rope of Gold'. Explain later. That is, unless those rascals win. They are after Curlie. They were staging a revolution. Curlie blew up their ship. Good thing. Nothing better ever happened. We'll stand by him. But what's there to do? We haven't weapons--just a few machetes, that's all. Besides, these bronze people are no fighters; never were."

He turned and was gone.

Mechanically Johnny moved to a place where he was quite hidden by darkness but where he could witness the action of the mob without and the giant within.

The natives were afraid, that was certain; afraid of this giant.

"Probably think he is the ghost of Christophe. Singing, dancing and drumming to drive him away. Well, if I'm any judge, he won't drive. But will they grow bolder? That's the question."

All the while the giant continued to dance and grimace, swing his arms and crack his knuckles while the angry mob, thirsting for revenge, pressed closer, ever closer to their goal.

At last, as Johnny stood there in the shadows breathless, watching, he saw a short, broad black man with a full neck and an exceedingly evil face dart suddenly forward.

At once Johnny's brain was in a whirl. These men were superstitious, he knew that. All blacks are. Would this man dare attack this mysterious monster?

"If he dares," he said aloud, "we are lost."

Curlie nodded, but at once the sound of his whistles grew louder, more insistent, and the antics of the giant more frantic.

"He will not dare," Johnny told himself. Yet even as he said it, he knew that he was wrong. What had come over the black man? Had despair lent him courage? Had he by some chance come to realize that the thing before him was made of copper, steel and wood and was no spirit at all? Be that as it may, as he paused before the threatening giant, he suddenly drew a revolver from his belt and emptied its contents into the giant's broad breast.

The giant's only answer was a redoubling of his fury. He danced. He cracked his teeth. He grimaced terribly.

For a few seconds the black leader wavered. He took one backward step. At his back sounded the shouts of his men and from far back of that came a wild crash of thunder. The storm was all but upon them.

"The battle is won," thought Johnny.

But no, with one wild cry the black man leaped at the giant. With a cutting, rending crash his machete drove into the very heart of the giant. At the same instant an iron hand came down upon his head.

The black man sank to the stone floor, to lie there motionless. The giant ceased his swinging and dancing. Only his eyes still burned a steady green. Bending slowly over he came to rest in a position that made it appear that his green eyes were fixed upon the vanquished leader.

With one wild wail the black horde turned to race madly away into the night and the storm.

"The fight," said Curlie, coming forward, "was a draw." His voice was husky. "They did one another in. It's too bad," he said bending over the still form of the black leader. "I didn't mean to do that. He threw himself into it. He was a brave, though mistaken man. Had he lived at another time or espoused another cause, he might have died a hero."

"But you, my friend," he touched the mechanical giant affectionately, "you will live to fight again. In the world there are ever wrongs to right.

"That," he said turning to Johnny, "is the advantage of not being human."

"How does he work?" Johnny asked, looking with great admiration on the stooping giant.

"That," said Curlie, "is a long story."

"And I trust will keep," said a voice behind him. He turned to find himself looking into the eyes of the little doctor.

"Johnny here has been traveling on foot for many hours," the doctor said. "He will wish to eat and sleep. I too would like to know a little concerning this mechanical marvel. But more important still--I think you will agree when it is told--is something I have to say to you. Your giant," he turned a twinkling eye on Curlie, "will be safe enough here. The blacks are gone. My men, I assure you, would not touch him for anything in the world. They will carry this unfortunate black man away. Later you may return to remove the victor in that unusual combat.

"In the meantime," he turned to lead the way, "I suggest a cup of Haitian coffee, over which I have a tale to relate, the story of the 'Rope of Gold'."

"The Rope--"

The little man held up a hand for silence. Then he lead the way back into the cave.