Later, after what had been to him a terrible journey of miles, when he collapsed in front of the devil-devil house in the shadow of the breadfruit tree, she had shown very lively ideas on the matter of retaining possession of him.Ngurn, whom Bassett was to know afterward as the devil-devil doctor, priest, or medicine man of the village, had wanted his head.Others of the grinning and chattering monkey-men, all as stark of clothes and bestial of appearance as Balatta, had wanted his body for the roasting oven.At that time he had not understood their language, if by LANGUAGE might be dignified the uncouth sounds they made to represent ideas.But Bassett had thoroughly understood the matter of debate, especially when the men pressed and prodded and felt of the flesh of him as if he were so much commodity in a butcher's stall.
Balatta had been losing the debate rapidly, when the accident happened.One of the men, curiously examining Bassett's shot-gun, managed to cock and pull a trigger.The recoil of the butt into the pit of the man's stomach had not been the most sanguinary result, for the charge of shot, at a distance of a yard, had blown the head of one of the debaters into nothingness.
Even Balatta joined the others in flight, and, ere they returned, his senses already reeling from the oncoming fever-attack, Bassett had regained possession of the gun.Whereupon, although his teeth chattered with the ague and his swimming eyes could scarcely see, he held on to his fading consciousness until he could intimidate the bushmen with the simple magics of compass, watch, burning glass, and matches.At thelast, with due emphasis, of solemnity and awfulness, he had killed a young pig with his shot-gun and promptly fainted.
Bassett flexed his arm-muscles in quest of what possible strength might reside in such weakness, and dragged himself slowly and totteringly to his feet.He was shockingly emaciated; yet, during the various convalescences of the many months of his long sickness, he had never regained quite the same degree of strength as this time.What he feared was another relapse such as he had already frequently experienced.Without drugs, without even quinine, he had managed so far to live through a combination of the most pernicious and most malignant of malarial and black-water fevers.But could he continue to endure? Such was his everlasting query.For, like the genuine scientist he was, he would not be content to die until he had solved the secret of the sound.
Supported by a staff, he staggered the few steps to the devil-devil house where death and Ngurn reigned in gloom.Almost as infamously dark and evil-stinking as the jungle was the devil-devil house - in Bassett's opinion.Yet therein was usually to be found his favourite crony and gossip, Ngurn, always willing for a yarn or a discussion, the while he sat in the ashes of death and in a slow smoke shrewdly revolved curing human heads suspended from the rafters.For, through the months' interval of consciousness of his long sickness, Bassett had mastered the psychological simplicities and lingual difficulties of the language of the tribe of Ngurn and Balatta and Vngngn - the latter the addle-headed young chief who was ruled by Ngurn, and who, whispered intrigue had it, was the son of Ngurn.
"Will the Red One speak to-day?" Bassett asked, by this time so accustomed to the old man's gruesome occupation as to take even an interest in the progress of the smoke-curing.
With the eye of an expert Ngurn examined the particular head he was at work upon.
"It will be ten days before I can say 'finish,'" he said."Never has any man fixed heads like these."Bassett smiled inwardly at the old fellow's reluctance to talk with him of the Red One.It had always been so.Never, by any chance, hadNgurn or any other member of the weird tribe divulged the slightest hint of any physical characteristic of the Red One.Physical the Red One must be, to emit the wonderful sound, and though it was called the Red One, Bassett could not be sure that red represented the colour of it.Red enough were the deeds and powers of it, from what abstract clues he had gleaned.Not alone, had Ngurn informed him, was the Red One more bestial powerful than the neighbour tribal gods, ever athirst for the red blood of living human sacrifices, but the neighbour gods themselves were sacrificed and tormented before him.He was the god of a dozen allied villages similar to this one, which was the central and commanding village of the federation.By virtue of the Red One many alien villages had been devastated and even wiped out, the prisoners sacrificed to the Red One.This was true to-day, and it extended back into old history carried down by word of mouth through the generations.When he, Ngurn, had been a young man, the tribes beyond the grass lands had made a war raid.In the counter raid, Ngurn and his fighting folk had made many prisoners.Of children alone over five score living had been bled white before the Red One, and many, many more men and women.
The Thunderer was another of Ngurn's names for the mysterious deity.Also at times was he called The Loud Shouter, The God- Voiced, The Bird-Throated, The One with the Throat Sweet as the Throat of the Honey-Bird, The Sun Singer, and The Star-Born.
