Classic Short Stories
The Valley of Spiders
by H. G. Wells
the three pursuers came abruptly round a bend in the torrent bed upon the sight
of a very broad and spacious valley. The difficult and winding trench of pebbles
along which they had tracked the fugitives for so long, expanded to a broad
slope, and with a common impulse the three men left the trail, and rode to a
little eminence set with olive-dun trees, and there halted, the two others, as
became them, a little behind the man with the silver-studded bridle.
For a space they scanned the great expanse
below them with eager eyes. It spread remoter and remoter, with only a few
clusters of sere thorn bushes here and there, and the dim suggestions of some
now waterless ravine, to break its desolation of yellow grass. Its purple
distances melted at last into the bluish slopes of the further hills-- hills it
might be of a greener kind--and above them invisibly supported, and seeming
indeed to hang in the blue, were the snowclad summits of mountains that grew
larger and bolder to the north-westward as the sides of the valley drew together.
And westward the valley opened until a distant darkness under the sky told where
the forests began. But the three men looked neither east nor west, but only
steadfastly across the valley.
The gaunt man
with the scarred lip was the first to speak. "Nowhere," he said, with
a sigh of disappointment in his voice. "But after all, they had a full
know we are after them," said the little man on the white horse.
would know," said the leader bitterly, as if speaking to himself.
they can't go fast. They've got no beast but the mule, and all to-day the girl's
foot has been bleeding---"
The man with the
silver bridle flashed a quick intensity of rage on him. "Do you think I
haven't seen that?" he snarled.
anyhow," whispered the little man to himself.
The gaunt man
with the scarred lip stared impassively. "They can't be over the valley,"
he said. "If we ride hard--"
He glanced at
the white horse and paused.
white horses!" said the man with the silver bridle, and turned to scan the
beast his curse included.
The little man
looked down between the mclancholy ears of his steed.
"I did my
best," he said.
The two others
stared again across the valley for a space. The gaunt man passed the back of his
hand across the scarred lip.
said the man who owned the silver bridle, suddenly. The little man started and
jerked his rein, and the horse hoofs of the three made a multitudinous faint
pattering upon the withered grass as they turned back towards the trail. . . .
cautiously down the long slope before them, and so came through a waste of
prickly, twisted bushes and strange dry shapes of horny branches that grew
amongst the rocks, into the levels below. And there the trail grew faint, for
the soil was scanty, and the only herbage was this scorched dead straw that lay
upon the ground. Still, by hard scanning, by leaning beside the horses' necks
and pausing ever and again, even these white men could contrive to follow after
trodden places, bent and broken blades of the coarse grass, and ever and again
the sufficient intimation of a footmark. And once the leader saw a brown smear
of blood where the half-caste girl may have trod. And at that under his breath
he cursed her for a fool.
The gaunt man
checked his leader's tracking, and the little man on the white horse rode behind,
a man lost in a dream. They rode one after another, the man with the silver
bridle led the way, and they spoke never a word. After a time it came to the
little man on the white horse that the world was very still. He started out of
his dream. Besides the little noises of their horses and equipment, the whole
great valley kept the brooding quiet of a painted scene.
Before him went
his master and his fellow, each intently leaning forward to the left, each
impassively moving with the paces of his horse; their shadows went before
them--still, noiseless, tapering attendants; and nearer a crouched cool shape
was his own. He looked about him. What was it had gone? Then he remembered the
reverberation from the banks of the gorge and the perpetual accompaniment of
shifting, jostling pebbles. And, moreover--? There was no breeze. That was it!
What a vast, still place it was, a monotonous afternoon slumber. And the sky
open and blank, except for a sombre veil of haze that had gathered in the upper
his back, fretted with his bridle, puckered his lips to whistle, and simply
sighed. He turned in his saddle for a time, and stared at the throat of the
mountain gorge out of which they had come. Blank! Blank slopes on either side,
with never a sign of a decent beast or tree--much less a man. What a land it
was! What a wilderness! He dropped again into his former pose.
It filled him
with a momentary pleasure to see a wry stick of purple black flash out into the
form of a snake, and vanish amidst the brown. After all, the infernal valley WAS
alive. And then, to rejoice him still more, came a little breath across his face,
a whisper that came and went, the faintest inclination of a stiff black-antlered
bush upon a little crest, the first intimations of a possible breeze. Idly he
wetted his finger, and held it up.
He pulled up
sharply to avoid a collision with the gaunt man, who had stopped at fault upon
the trail. Just at that guilty moment he caught his master's eye looking towards
For a time he
forced an interest in the tracking. Then, as they rode on again, he studied his
master's shadow and hat and shoulder, appearing and disappearing behind the
gaunt man's nearer contours. They had ridden four days out of the very limits of
the world into this desolate place, short of water, with nothing but a strip of
dried meat under their saddles, over rocks and mountains, where surely none but
these fugitives had ever been before--for that!
And all this
was for a girl, a mere wilful child! And the man had whole cityfuls of people to
do his basest bidding--girls, women! Why in the name of passionate folly this
one in particular? asked the little man, and scowled at the world, and licked
his parched lips with a blackened tongue. It was the way of the master, and that
was all he knew. Just because she sought to evade him. . . .
His eye caught
a whole row of high plumed canes bending in unison, and then the tails of silk
that hung before his neck flapped and fell. The breeze was growing stronger.
Somehow it took the stiff stillness out of things--and that was well.
said the gaunt man.
asked the master. "What?"
there," said the gaunt man, pointing up the valley.
coming towards us."
And as he spoke
a yellow animal crested a rise and came bearing down upon them. It was a big
wild dog, coming before the wind, tongue out, at a steady pace, and running with
such an intensity of purpose that he did not seem to see the horsemen he
approached. He ran with his nose up, following, it was plain, neither scent nor
quarry. As he drew nearer the little man felt for his sword. "He's
mad," said the gaunt rider.
said the little man, and shouted.
The dog came
on. Then when the little man's blade was already out, it swerved aside and went
panting by them and past. The eyes of the little man followed its flight. "There
was no foam," he said. For a space the man with the silver-studded bridle
stared up the valley. "Oh, come on!" he cried at last. "What does
it matter?" and jerked his horse into movement again.
The little man
left the insoluble mystery of a dog that fled from nothing but the wind, and
lapsed into profound musings on human character. "Come on!" he
whispered to himself. "Why should it be given to one man to say 'Come on!'
with that stupendous violence of effect. Always, all his life, the man with the
silver bridle has been saying that. If I said it--!" thought the
little man. But people marvelled when the master was disobeyed even in the
wildest things. This half-caste girl seemed to him, seemed to every one,
mad--blasphemous almost. The little man, by way of comparison, reflected on the
gaunt rider with the scarred lip, as stalwart as his master, as brave and,
indeed, perhaps braver, and yet for him there was obedience, nothing but to give
obedience duly and stoutly. . .
sensations of the hands and knees called the little man back to more immediate
things. He became aware of something. He rode up beside his gaunt fellow.
"Do you notice the horses?" he said in an undertone.
The gaunt face
don't like this wind," said the little man, and dropped behind as the man
with the silver bridle turned upon him.
right," said the gaunt-faced man.
They rode on
again for a space in silence. The foremost two rode downcast upon the trail, the
hindmost man watched the haze that crept down the vastness of the valley, nearer
and nearer, and noted how the wind grew in strength moment by moment. Far away
on the left he saw a line of dark bulks--wild hog perhaps, galloping down the
valley, but of that he said nothing, nor did he remark again upon the uneasiness
of the horses.
And then he saw
first one and then a second great white ball, a great shining white ball like a
gigantic head of thistle-down, that drove before the wind athwart the path.
These balls soared high in the air, and dropped and rose again and caught for a
moment, and hurried on and passed, but at the sight of them the restlessness of
the horses increased.
he saw that more of these drifting globes--and then soon very many more--were
hurrying towards him down the valley.
aware of a squealing. Athwart the path a huge boar rushed, turning his head but
for one instant to glance at them, and then hurling on down the valley again.
And at that, all three stopped and sat in their saddles, staring into the
thickening haze that was coming upon them.
were not for this thistle-down--" began the leader.
But now a big
globe came drifting past within a score of yards of them. It was really not an
even sphere at all, but a vast, soft, ragged, filmy thing, a sheet gathered by
the corners, an aerial jelly-fish, as it were, but rolling over and over as it
advanced, and trailing long, cobwebby threads and streamers that floated in its
thistle-down," said the little man.
like the stuff," said the gaunt man.
And they looked
at one another.
cried the leader. "The air's full of it up there. If it keeps on at this
pace long, it will stop us altogether."
feeling, such as lines out a herd of deer at the approach of some ambiguous
thing, prompted them to turn their horses to the wind, ride forward for a few
paces, and stare at that advancing multitude of floating masses. They came on
before the wind with a sort of smooth swiftness, rising and falling noiselessly,
sinking to earth, rebounding high, soaring--all with a perfect unanimity, with a
still, deliberate assurance.
Right and left
of the horsemen the pioneers of this strange army passed. At one that rolled
along the ground, breaking shapelessly and trailing out reluctantly into long
grappling ribbons and bands, all three horses began to shy and dance. The master
was seized with a sudden unreasonable impatience. He cursed the drifting globes
roundly. "Get on!" he cried; "get on! What do these things matter?
How can they matter? Back to the trail!" He fell swearing at his
horse and sawed the bit across its mouth.
aloud with rage. "I will follow that trail, I tell you!" he cried.
"Where is the trail?"
He gripped the
bridle of his prancing horse and searched amidst the grass. A long and clinging
thread fell across his face, a grey streamer dropped about his bridle-arm, some
big, active thing with many legs ran down the back of his head. He looked up to
discover one of those grey masses anchored as it were above him by these things
and flapping out ends as a sail flaps when a boat comes, about-- but noiselessly.
He had an
impression of many eyes, of a dense crew of squat bodies, of long, many-jointed
limbs hauling at their mooring ropes to bring the thing down upon him. For a
space he stared up, reining in his prancing horse with the instinct born of
years of horsemanship. Then the flat of a sword smote his back, and a blade
flashed overhead and cut the drifting balloon of spider-web free, and the whole
mass lifted softly and drove clear and away.
cried the voice of the gaunt man. "The things are full of big spiders! Look,
The man with
the silver bridle still followed the mass that drove away.
found himself staring down at a red, smashed thing on the ground that, in spite
of partial obliteration, could still wriggle unavailing legs. Then when the
gaunt man pointed to another mass that bore down upon them, he drew his sword
hastily. Up the valley now it was like a fog bank torn to rags. He tried to
grasp the situation.
it!" the little man was shouting. "Ride for it down the valley."
then was like the confusion of a battle. The man with the silver bridle saw the
little man go past him slashing furiously at imaginary cobwebs, saw him cannon
into the horse of the gaunt man and hurl it and its rider to earth. His own
horse went a dozen paces before he could rein it in. Then he looked up to avoid
imaginary dangers, and then back again to see a horse rolling on the ground, the
gaunt man standing and slashing over it at a rent and fluttering mass of grey
that streamed and wrapped about them both. And thick and fast as thistle-down on
waste land on a windy day in July, the cobweb masses were coming on.
The little man
had dismounted, but he dared not release his horse. He was endeavouring to lug
the struggling brute back with the strength of one arm, while with the other he
slashed aimlessly, The tentacles of a second grey mass had entangled themselves
with the struggle, and this second grey mass came to its moorings, and slowly
The master set
his teeth, gripped his bridle, lowered his head, and spurred his horse forward.
The horse on the ground rolled over, there were blood and moving shapes upon the
flanks, and the gaunt man, suddenly leaving it, ran forward towards his master,
perhaps ten paces. His legs were swathed and encumbered with grey; he made
ineffectual movements with his sword. Grey streamers waved from him; there was a
thin veil of grey across his face. With his left hand he beat at something on
his body, and suddenly he stumbled and fell. He struggled to rise, and fell
again, and suddenly, horribly, began to howl, "Oh--ohoo, ohooh!"
could see the great spiders upon him, and others upon the ground.
As he strove to
force his horse nearer to this gesticulating, screaming grey object that
struggled up and down, there came a clatter of hoofs, and the little man, in act
of mounting, swordless, balanced on his belly athwart the white horse, and
clutching its mane, whirled past. And again a clinging thread of grey gossamer
swept across the master's face. All about him, and over him, it seemed this
drifting, noiseless cobweb circled and drew nearer him. . . .
To the day of
his death he never knew just how the event of that moment happened. Did he,
indeed, turn his horse, or did it really of its own accord stampede after its
fellow? Suffice it that in another second he was galloping full tilt down the
valley with his sword whirling furiously overhead. And all about him on the
quickening breeze, the spiders' airships, their air bundles and air sheets,
seemed to him to hurry in a conscious pursuit.
clatter, thud, thud--the man with the silver bridle rode, heedless of his
direction, with his fearful face looking up now right, now left, and his sword
arm ready to slash. And a few hundred yards ahead of him, with a tail of torn
cobweb trailing behind him, rode the little man on the white horse, still but
imperfectly in the saddle. The reeds bent before them, the wind blew fresh and
strong, over his shoulder the master could see the webs hurrying to overtake. .
He was so
intent to escape the spiders' webs that only as his horse gathered together for
a leap did he realise the ravine ahead. And then he reaIised it only to
misunderstand and interfere. He was leaning forward on his horse's neck and sat
up and back all too late.
But if in his
excitement he had failed to leap, at any rate he had not forgotten how to fall.
He was horseman again in mid-air. He came off clear with a mere bruise upon his
shoulder, and his horse rolled, kicking spasmodic legs, and lay still. But the
master's sword drove its point into the hard soil, and snapped clean across, as
though Chance refused him any longer as her Knight, and the splintered end
missed his face by an inch or so.
He was on his
feet in a moment, breathlessly scanning the onrushing spider-webs. For a moment
he was minded to run, and then thought of the ravine, and turned back. He ran
aside once to dodge one drifting terror, and then he was swiftly clambering down
the precipitous sides, and out of the touch of the gale.
There under the
lee of the dry torrent's steeper banks he might crouch, and watch these strange,
grey masses pass and pass in safety till the wind fell, and it became possible
to escape. And there for a long time he crouched, watching the strange, grey,
ragged masses trail their streamers across his narrowed sky.
Once a stray
spider fell into the ravine close beside him--a full foot it measured from leg
to leg, and its body was half a man's hand-- and after he had watched its
monstrous alacrity of search and escape for a little while, and tempted it to
bite his broken sword, he lifted up his iron-heeled boot and smashed it into a
pulp. He swore as he did so, and for a time sought up and down for another.
when he was surer these spider swarms could not drop into the ravine, he found a
place where he could sit down, and sat and fell into deep thought and began
after his manner to gnaw his knuckles and bite his nails. And from this he was
moved by the coming of the man with the white horse.
He heard him
long before he saw him, as a clattering of hoofs, stumbling footsteps, and a
reassuring voice. Then the little man appeared, a rueful figure, still with a
tail of white cobweb trailing behind him. They approached each other without
speaking, without a salutation. The little man was fatigued and shamed to the
pitch of hopeless bitterness, and came to a stop at last, face to face with his
seated master. The latter winced a little under his dependant's eye. "Well?"
he said at last, with no pretence of authority.
So did mine."
He laughed at
his master mirthlessly.
"I say my
horse bolted," said the man who once had a silver-studded bridle.
both," said the little man.
gnawed his knuckle through some meditative moments, with his eye on his inferior.
call me a coward," he said at length.
"You are a
coward like myself."
possibly. There is a limit beyond which every man must fear. That I have learnt
at last. But not like yourself. That is where the difference comes in."
could have dreamt you would have left him. He saved your life two minutes before.
. . . Why are you our lord?"
gnawed his knuckles again, and his countenance was dark.
calls me a coward," he said. "No. A broken sword is better than none.
. . . One spavined white horse cannot be expected to carry two men a four days'
journey. I hate white horses, but this time it cannot be helped. You begin to
understand me? . . . I perceive that you are minded, on the strength of what you
have seen and fancy, to taint my reputation. It is men of your sort who unmake
kings. Besides which--I never liked you."
lord!" said the little man.
said the master. "No!"
He stood up
sharply as the little man moved. For a minute perhaps they faced one another.
Overhead the spiders' balls went driving. There was a quick movement among the
pebbles; a running of feet, a cry of despair, a gasp and a blow. . . .
nightfall the wind fell. The sun set in a calm serenity, and the man who had
once possessed the silver bridle came at last very cautiously and by an easy
slope out of the ravine again; but now he led the white horse that once belonged
to the little man. He would have gone back to his horse to get his
silver-mounted bridle again, but he feared night and a quickening breeze might
still find him in the valley, and besides he disliked greatly to think he might
discover his horse all swathed in cobwebs and perhaps unpleasantly eaten.
And as he
thought of those cobwebs and of all the dangers he had been through, and the
manner in which he had been preserved that day, his hand sought a little
reliquary that hung about his neck, and he clasped it for a moment with
heartfelt gratitude. As he did so his eyes went across the valley.
"I was hot with passion," he said,
"and now she has met her reward. They also, no doubt--"
And behold! Far
away out of the wooded slopes across the valley, but in the clearness of the
sunset distinct and unmistakable, he saw a little spire of smoke.
At that his
expression of serene resignation changed to an amazed anger. Smoke? He turned
the head of the white horse about, and hesitated. And as he did so a little
rustle of air went through the grass about him. Far away upon some reeds swayed
a tattered sheet of grey. He looked at the cobwebs; he looked at the smoke.
after all, it is not them," he said at last.
But he knew
After he had
stared at the smoke for some time, he mounted the white horse.
As he rode, he
picked his way amidst stranded masses of web. For some reason there were many
dead spiders on the ground, and those that lived feasted guiltily on their
fellows. At the sound of his horse's hoofs they fled.
Their time had
passed. From the ground without either a wind to carry them or a winding sheet
ready, these things, for all their poison, could do him little evil. He flicked
with his belt at those he fancied came too near. Once, where a number ran
together over a bare place, he was minded to dismount and trample them with his
boots, but this impulse he overcame. Ever and again he turned in his saddle, and
looked back at the smoke.
he muttered over and over again. "Spiders! Well, well. . . . The next time
I must spin a web."