The spell of the Shang Kambu : and other stories

Contents

The Spring on Blistered Bock 71

THE SPELL OF THE “SHANG KAMBU”

Chapter One

H EY, Bush!” sang Glen Morton, in cheery salutation, when the two chums met on the street, “I’ve good news.”

‘ 6 Good news, eh?” Bush Adams answered. “Sure! I know what it is: School begins in exactly ten days from date. Which means more fun wrestling with geometry, square roots, physics, civil government — ”

“ Break it off! Quit and begin over!” Glen interjected, “or 111 shy a brick at you! School will begin all right — and soon enough to suit me; but that isn't particularly good news. Anyhow, it isn't the news I wanted to tell you.”

“Then tell me the good news you wanted to tell me,” begged Bush.

THE SPELL OF THE “SHANG KAMBU”

‘ ‘ Major Willard has returned!”

“You don’t mean it!” Bush Adams manifested a quick and genuine interest. “When did he get in?”

“Last night’s train. I met him early this morning. Said he wanted to meet you and me right away. Has some wonderful discovery he intends to let us in on. Something he picked up in Tibet, or Timbuctoo, or some other of those foreign ports.”

“Say, let’s go down at once. I’ve nothing particular in the way just now.” Bush took his chum by the arm and started; but it required little urging.

The return home of Major Willard, retired soldier, scientist, traveler, was ever an event of importance in the little Western town; but especially was his homecoming a big event for Bush and Glen. From as far back as they could remember, the two boys had shared the wonders and listened to the marvelous tales of adventure the major had to tell. And they had gazed with wide-open eyes, and often with bated breath, at the strange creatures, relics and rich ornaments the traveler gathered from all corners of the globe.

This September morning, when the two chums entered the little, two-room building which set back a distance from the street, and which served as a combined library and laboratory for the traveler-scientist, they found the major sitting at ease in a big chair, his hands idly folded, and his eyes half closed, as if in meditative thought. The boys halted abruptly on the threshold, and started to turn back quietly, not wishing to disturb the thinker.

But Major Willard, hearing the footsteps at his door, raised his head and looked around. His deep-lined features brightened in quick recognition. “Come in, my lads — come right in!” he heartily invited. He half rose from his chair, and grasped the hands of the youthful callers in cheerful greeting. “Take seats! Take seats! I have something I want to show you, and tell you about.”

Spread on a stand at the major’s right hand were a number of sheets of faded and much- worn manuscript. Near the manuscript was a vial of green-colored liquid. Sitting down again, the major reached over and gathered up the sheets of manuscript in one hand, and with the other lifted the vial of green-colored liquid. “As you boys know,” he explained as a beginning, “I have been away for over two years, and in that time have done considerable traveling, and much research work. On account of the war, and of conditions that grew out of the war, I was not able to go into the Holy Land and make the investigations in Bible topography or Scriptural study that I intended. But I did go to Tibet, and spent a year and longer in Lhassa, the capital. Lhassa is a city of mystery and of hidden wonders in what the world first accepted as the ‘ black art,’ or the evolution of chemistry. ’ ’

The veteran traveler and scientist leaned back in his easy chair and poised the vial of green-colored liquid before his keen, critical eyes. The two callers listened eagerly for the coming revelation.

The veteran traveler and scientist leaned back in his easy chair and poised the vial of green-colored liquid before his keen, critical eyes

“While in the close-looked, jealously guarded city of Lhassa, I came upon something, or was led into a series of tests and experiments by which I evolved what I believe to be one of the world’s most marvelous mysteries.” The major shook the vial, and the boys noted that the liquid it contained passed through a rapid succession of shades, tints and colors. “This mystery has puzzled scientists and chemists for a long time. Possibly I should better say it has puzzled those men who have followed a particular line of study and research.”

The boys were getting anxiously uneasy. They wanted the major to get at once into a revelation of the “mystery.” What they desired was more definite information, and less abstract introduction. “What is this mystery?” Glen asked bluntly.

Major Willard looked up and smiled. After a silence, he answered: “It is the ‘Shang Kambu.’ ”

Sometimes the old traveler had his fun by playing a practical joke. He seemed to 12 be having so much fun out of this that the callers became suspicious. Evidently he divined their fears, for his features sobered, and he hastened to assure: “I’m not joking this time. I really have made a wonderful discovery, and I have my reason for wishing to disclose it to you boys — these reasons being mainly in the fact that I need your help in demonstrating, or verifying, the worth and the virtue of the discovery.”

The major was holding the vial near his eyes again. “It is possible, through the medium of this discovery, for one to go back and back, through the subconscious mind, into the dim and distant past. By swallowing a few drops of this liquid, the subject enters a condition of seeming unconsciousness — ”

“Then, it is a new method of hypnotism, or mesmerism?” guessed Bush.

“No, it is not hypnotism, mesmerism, or any other ‘ism,’ ” the major denied emphatically. “I hope you boys may understand at the start that the matters I am about to reveal to you are of a purely scientific nature. To get on the trail of this secret, I spent many weeks — yes, several months — in studying the Pitikas, or the ‘sacred books’ of the Dalai Llamas, in Lhassa. To accomplish this, I had first to win the confidence of the Grand Llama. I had first to prove to him that I was a profound student, one who had a genuine and sincere purpose, rather than a mere curiosity. Fortunately, I knew much of the Sanskrit, and my ability to read the books intelligently, as well as the proof I could give of my acquaintance with ancient history, assured the Llamas, and I was allowed to proceed.”

Major Willard laid the vial on the table, and the boys noted that even this slight agitation caused its contents to change from one bright color to another, settling finally into that peculiar shade of green. “My hobby has been the study of chemistry, and the ancient Llamas were remarkable chemists. They discovered, or evolved, many of the formulas now employed in our laboratories. But chem-

THE SPELL OF THE “SHANG KAMBU”

istry, in ancient times, was a 'black art.’ It had to be practiced secretly. For that reason a great number of the experiments and tests, or the formulas developed, were lost. By a fortunate circumstance, a goodly number of the formulas were set down in the so-called 'sacred books’ of the Pitikas. It was these that I wanted ' — and was determined to get.”

Once more the deep-lined features of the traveler broke into a smile. "I got some of them,” he informed in a tone of modest triumph, "even though the Llamas, with jealous oversight, would not allow me to copy a single word from the books. Everything I took from the Pitikas I carried away in my memory. As the names of solutions and chemicals known and employed in ancient times were vastly different from analogous drugs and solutions of to-day, you may guess I had some difficulty deriving anything of a tangible nature from those musty volumes. Yet I did get this — the ‘Shang Kambu’ — so known and named by the ancient chemists.”

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Major Willard raised the vial from the table with a brighter gleam of triumph twinkling in his eyes.

Keenly interesting as was all this, both Glen and Bush were at a loss to understand the meaning and the purpose of the revelation. Indeed, they as yet knew little of the real value, or nature, of the “Shang Kambu.” Moreover, they could not guess the part they were to play in what the major had termed the “ demonstrating or verifying of the discovery/ ’ But they exchanged quick, hopeful glances when the major remarked casually: “I am glad you boys have come in this morning, for I want you to get more out of your call than merely to listen to my tales/ *

Could it be possible the aged scientist intended for them to “ swallow a few drops” of the mysterious liquid, and be taken back and back in their “subconscious minds to the dim and distant past”*? They were soon to know.

“Certain as I am of the effectiveness, as well as the virtue, of the ‘Shang 16

Kambu,’ ” spoke the major, “I am yet to see it actually demonstrated. I can not do this myself. I must have the help of another. So I want one of you to take some of this liquid. I promise — yes, I actually know by repeated tests I made, first upon animals, then with a native youth in Tibet — that not the least physical injury will result. The ‘Shang Kambu’ induces sleep, quite different from that brought on by ether or other anesthetics. In its passing it causes no headache, nausea or dizziness. The subject dreams, and it is the dream itself, through the subconscious mind, that reveals a picture of the past. It is, in truth, as if the subject actually lived, or had a part in some activity, the date or time of this depending upon the amount of liquid taken.”

Again a glance of eager anticipation passed between the chums. Both had all manner of faith in Major Willard, and either of them would have swallowed the whole bottle of “Shang Kambu” at a mere word from him. They were plainly disappointed when he added, in a tone of unnecessary precaution: “Before entering this experiment, I would rather you boys think it over. Anxious as I am to see it practically demonstrated, there is plenty of time. Talk it over just between yourselves, or with your parents, if you will. But keep in mind that it is a secret. I have no desire to make money out of it, but wish to place it in the hands of brother scientists, that it may be made of practical value in research work.”

Major Willard turned to other subjects then, and kept the youthful callers interested with other tales of his extensive travels. Yet it must be said that, interesting as were these stories, the eyes of Glen and Bush turned time and again to the vial of pale-green liquid.

The mysterious “Shang Kambu” was the first thing the two talked about when their visit ended and they were out on the street. “That Pitikas and Grand Llama stuff has me going strong!” Bush declared.

“Same here!” Glen added. “I didn’t like to rush matters, for I know it’s not 18 an easy matter to hurry the major. Just the same, I would gladly have taken a few drops of that back-to-the-ancients liquid, just to revel in a dream of bygone ages.”

“That’s the way I felt about it,” Bush confessed. “It would be a lot easier, and much more interesting, than a lesson in ancient history. But I suppose it is just as well that we wait awhile. Evidently the major has many other things on hand just now, and wants plenty of time to work this thing out properly.”

“Yes, he will be busy for several days,” Glen informed knowingly. “He told me this morning he expected to have a call — a sort of secret conference, in fact — with a couple of Government agents this morning. This may be in connection with the ‘Shang Kambu.’ He has an appointment with them at his office — Hello! Here they are now!”

Just then a motor-car, bringing two dust-covered travelers, rolled up swiftly and came to a halt at the curbing. The man at the wheel pulled off a gauntlet, and, raising his goggles, glanced toward the youths on the walk. “Is Major Willard’s office near here?” he inquired.

“Right here, sir,” Glen answered, indicating the little building in the shade of the poplars. “The major is in his library now.”

“Thanks!” the traveler responded. In a moment the two were out of the car, and, after shaking some of the road dust from their khaki uniforms, hurried through the gate and down the walk.

“They must be the Government agents Major Willard is expecting,” Glen said. Bush Adams watched the visitors curiously. His gaze was directed especially to the smaller of the two. “I’ve seen that dark-skinned gent before,” he remarked in a low voice. “He wore a khaki suit then — but not a uniform. I can’t place him just now — but I’m wondering what sort of business he would have with the major.”

Bush and Glen remained for awhile near the gate, considering how they could best employ the remainder of the day.

They were surprised at seeing the late callers emerge from the office of Major Willard within five minutes — and with the strangers came the major himself. In that brief time the visitors had made known their business, impressed its urgency upon the scientist, got him into his hat and traveling-coat, and induced him to come along. Evidently they were in a hurry to get somewhere, for they walked with rapid strides. The smaller one, who took the lead, would not give the staring Bush as much as a single glance.

“I am called away unexpectedly, and must make a trip that will keep me away from home several days,” Major Willard explained to the pair of wondering youths on the walk. “I wish you would put my office in order for me, please. Here is the key. Make such use of my books, or of my laboratory equipment, as you wish being careful to lock the door each time on leaving.”

The big brass key was thrust into Glen’s hand, and, before either he or Bush could ask a question, the travel-stained 21 car boomed out of town, carrying the khaki-clad strangers and the old scientist.

“This is the first time I ever knew Major Willard to move as if he were actually in a hurry/’ Bush remarked. “I hope he knows what he’s doing — ”

“Those two gents in uniform evidently did some fast talking in order to hurry him off like this,” Glen smiled. Then he flipped up the big brass key. “Well, we will obey orders and put his office in order.”

As the pair started down the gravel walk toward the little building, Bush offered the query: “Do you s’pose the major rushed away and left that bottle of ‘Shang Kambu’ stuff on the table*?”

“Not likely,” Glen answered in a tone of doubt. “My guess is that it was the ‘Shang Kambu’ stuff, or something connected with it, those uniformed gents wanted to see.”

THE SPELL OF THE “SHANG K AMBIT

Chapter Two

V ERY shortly the two boys entered the library of Major Willard. There was considerable disorder of books and papers, but no more than they had previously observed. In the laboratory a number of beakers and test-tubes, giving evidence of late use, were on the bench. But these, too, no doubt had been taken from the shelves early that morning or the evening before.

But when Glen and Bush turned to the little stand near the window, they gave their first exclamation of surprise. The plentiful folds of the stand-cover, which was itself a piece of rare linen, hand-embroidered, which the aged traveler brought from Ireland, had been hastily turned back, with the evident purpose of concealing something. Glen lifted a corner of the cover, and peered under it.

“Here they are, Bush — both of ’em!” he remarked.

When the cloth was raised, the faded manuscript and the vial of pale-green liquid were revealed.

“It’s a bit queer the major should have left this stuff here,” Bush observed curiously, as he picked up the vial and examined it meticulously.

“He had no chance to put it away before the callers entered, and they rushed him away without giving him the opportunity,” answered Glen. “He probably thought of it as he left, and depended on our taking care of it for him.”

The interest of the boys in the vial and its mysterious content was more than mere curiosity. The major had revealed enough of its nature to keenly whet their desire to know more. The fingers of Bush trembled a little as he held the flask in the sunlight. He shook it, ever so lightly, and the magic fluid began at once to pass through a variety of changing tints and colors — from pale green to bright vermilion, then to purple, and from this to lavender, returning finally to its normal shade of green when it quieted.

“I wonder what it smells like — or if it has any odor at all,” quizzed Bush, as he found the courage to carefully pull the glass stopper.

He had no need of putting the vial to his nose. As soon as the stopper was pulled, there came a pungent, spicy smell that quickly permeated every part of the laboratory.

“Not at all bad,” mused Bush, smiling. “It has the smell of peppermint, wintergreen and cloves, all combined. They say that most things taste as they smell, and, if that is so, this stuff ought to have a familiar savor — ” He raised the open vial, and touched it with the tip of his tongue.

“Careful, Bush — careful!” Glen cautioned. “That stuff may be mighty strong. Just a drop of it may put you to sleep for a long time.”

Bush Adams had no other intention than to be careful — extremely careful. But sometimes unexpected things happen even to the most careful. Thus did it happen that, when Bush raised that open vial to his tongue, a stack of books which Major Willard had left in a disordered pile fell to the floor with a crash. Bush, startled by the racket, jerked the vial too quickly, and an unknown quantity of the liquid — more than a drop, he knew — went down his throat!

Sputtering, terrified, Bush lowered the bottle and replaced the stopper, setting the vial on the table.

“Did you get any of it, Bush? Tell me — did you swallow some of the stuff ?” Glen asked in an excited voice, as he jerked at his companion’s arm.

“Yes— I did, Glen! I did!” Bush answered, leaning heavily against the table, and trembling, more from fear of consequences than from any effect of the mysterious liquid.

For a moment the two boys stood looking at each other, uncertain what to do. Their faces turned pale. Bush finally smiled. “Don’t be scared on my account,” he assured. “I’m all right. We 26

Sputtering and terrified, Bush lowered the "bottle, replaced the stopper, setting the vial on the table know the stuff can’t do me any harm. The major told us that. But I must say, Glen, I do begin already to feel a bit queer. It wasn’t bad — that stuff — it’s taste, I mean. Much like water with all manner of spices in it — only more sharp and pungent. And it’s making me sleepy sure enough — sleepy. Take hold of me, Glen — I’m getting unsteady. Hold me quick — ” Bush was tottering on his feet, and grasping the table as if to keep from falling.

Glen took him by the arm and guided him toward the big chair. He was filled with anxiety and grave uncertainty, in spite of Major Willard’s absolute assurance that no physical harm would result from taking a portion of the mysterious “Shang Kambu.” But Glen had no idea how much of it his companion swallowed, and it was this uncertainty that made him fearful. Glen’s fears increased when Bush sank limp and helpless into the big chair. He was exactly like one who had been suddenly stricken with a deep slumber. His eyes closed, his hands rested on 28 the arms of the chair, his head lay at ease on the cushioned back.

“Bush — oh, Bush! Wake up! Wake up!” Glen called and shouted and shook his companion; but Bush went deeper and deeper into slumber with every passing second. “Wake up, Bush! Don’t go to sleep!” Glen yelled again, close into the ear of his chum.

But Bush did not wake up. In truth, Bush, in his last conscious moments, before the “Shang Kambu” gripped him in its anesthetizing influence, did his utmost to keep awake. But he could not keep his eyes open, nor drive off the feeling of extreme drowsiness that seemed to take him in its soothing, overpowering embrace. Even after he had sunk into the easy chair, he could hear his companion shouting and calling his name; but it was like some feeble, far-away voice that he tried in vain to answer. Then the rose-colored walls of the major’s office, the brass chandelier, the curtains at the broad window — and Glen — all faded away as Bush seemed to be carried out into space, where all manner of colors and tints and shades flashed and floated.

It was as if he came out of this with a start. He heard the loud shouting and the heavy trampling of many feet, of cushioned feet on hard ground. And Bush found himself among a vast assemblage of men who were dressed in the skins of wild beasts, and who were armed with the rude weapons of ancient warfare. These men were stockily built, knotty-muscled, swarthy, thick-necked, with long, straight hair and close-set, narrow eyes.

It was an immense room in which these warriors were assembled. A great cavern it was, cut from the solid rock, with walls of stone, and a natural roof, or ceiling, of stone. There were numerous oblong openings on one side and a broad door admitted light.

The big chief was in command. He was far bigger, more powerful, more fierce in his looks than any of his fellows. At a sign from him, the warriors formed in grotesque battle array. Bush was one of the motley company. He trembled when the chief came toward him and beckoned a hairy hand. Bush followed out through the open door to the edge of a high cliff. From this eminence there was afforded a magnificent survey of the wide, green valley below. Above this valley lifted the bluffs, sheer, but cut with benches and shelves. Beyond the valley spread desert country, barren and arid. The valley and the lower bluff benches were watered from irrigating-ditches that ribboned the bluffs. Up here, on a higher shelf, broader than any of the shelves beneath, were rows of stone-hewn buildings, most of them squatty of structure, with here and there a taller one rising like a watch tower. Bush saw more than the green valley and the cliffs, more than the vast, arid desert as he followed the pointing hand of the chief and looked below. There was an army down there, in camp near the base of the bluff — or on the farther bank of the stream, not far from the bluff. There appeared to be a vast horde of men in this army, for the cone-shaped teepees fairly dotted the plain.

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“They have come again — our enemies! The men of copper skin!” spoke the chief in a peculiar guttural tongue. “They have come to destroy us — as they have come before — and as they will keep coming. They will make no peace ! They are our eternal, never-tiring enemies! Already they have routed our toilers from the fields. Our copper-workers have been driven from the mines. Our people have sought the safety of the cliffs. We must drive them back! Drive them back to the land beyond the desert, whence they came!”

Courage, determination, brute strength and purpose were in the booming voice and the gestures of the chief. “You will help me, my brave comrade!” he told Bush. “From this hour I place you in second command. We must plan our order — and strike at once, with all our might and power!”

Bush proposed a division of their forces, one division to descend the cliffs at some convenient point out of view of the enemy, this division to attack the in- 32 vaders from the rear, and thus cut off retreat, while the other division engaged them from the front.

This plan met the chief’s approval. The two leaders returned to the assemblyroom, and the division was made. Bush led his horde of fighters through a secret door, where the movement could not be observed by the enemy. Then, silently, the cliff warriors crept in ragged double file along the base of the upper shelf. They were armed with spiked clubs, slings and spears.

The line halted when it came to the end of a long, narrow crevasse. Then, after a brief reconnoiter, they clambered in barefooted silence up this narrow slit, finally reaching the mouth of a tunnel that opened into the face of the mountain. Entering this black tunnel, the warriors crawled along through the damp, dark passage till there came a peep of light ahead. Along the bluff, up the crevasse and through the tunnel Bush had led the long line. And he was the first to emerge from the end of the tunnel.

Just below was the smooth, sandy beach of a river. The warriors came out of the tunnel and assembled on the riverbeach, where Bush instructed them by low-spoken words and signs. A short distance downstream the river made a sharp bend, curving round the base of the high bluff. From the beach there was given a narrow glimpse of the green valley. At the border of that green valley the enemy had its camp.

Bush ordered two of his swiftest runners to return over the route they had come to inform the chief that one division had reached the valley in safety and was ready for the attack. Meanwhile, the company, with Bush leading, waded the shallow river. Reaching the other shore, the barefooted warriors resumed their silent march, making a wide detour through the concealing growth to reach the valley unobserved.

Finally all dropped to hands and knees, crawling like silent, determined beasts through the growth. There was a look of fierce determination in the gleaming

THE SPELL OF THE “SHANG KAMBLT eyes of the cliff fighters as they made ready to strike. Creeping on, like silent, stealthy beasts, they came out to. the edge of the valley. Peering through the interlaced boughs of bushes and trees that had screened their silent approach, the warriors looked down upon the enemy *s camp — scarcely more than a spear ’s-throw below.

Chapter Three

S CREENED by the growth of sage and juniper that bordered the vale, the cliff warriors waited till a smoke cloud, like a thin, blue veil, rose and spread above the upper shelf of the bluff. This was the signal that the chief and his men were ready.

Then all rose as one man, rushing like maddened beasts upon the enemy camp. The trampling of thousands of feet on the dry earth was like muffled thunder. The copper-skinned savages were taken by surprise. Still, there was no confusion — no retreat. The chiefs brought quick order, and held their horde of braves to face the foe.

Followed a hand-to-hand combat; a bedlam of yells, shouts, cries; the wild clatter of spear against shield, of trampling feet. Teepees were overturned, camp stuff scattered. Ponies, released from their tethers, went squealing across the plain, fleeing in wild terror from the scene of carnage.

Back and forth fought the coppercolored savages and the squatty warriors from the cliffs. It was a battle royal, even though barbarous. It was a contest for supremacy between the knotty-muscled men of the cliffs and the wiry, sinewy, fleet-footed savages of the plains. The men of the cliffs, though lacking nothing in courage, were far outnumbered. Slowly, but surely, they were driven back. Their chief was slain, as were most of his men. It seemed to Bush, second in command, that only a handful of his own company remained. Still, they kept fighting, yielding each inch of ground stubbornly. Battered and bleeding, the remnant of cliff warriors were forced back across the river and into the tunnel entrance.

With their backs to the cliff wall, they stood at bay, fighting dauntlessly on — holding the enemy horde at the point of the spear till the treasures of the terraced

With their hacks to the wall, they stood at hay city — the copper and the metal — could be hidden in the caves. Then the remaining fragment of the cliff fighters, Bush among them, backed into the tunnel and closed the ponderous stone door.

The savages swarmed up the cliffs, thousands of them. Though hundreds were beaten back, other hundreds came on, and kept coming, till the stronghold of the terraced city was doomed.