by Jerry
For long minutes Bobby held tightly to the reins. They raced through sage brush, over sand hills, past little mounds of earth where prairie dogs would sit at sunset. Bobby pulled at the reins, he dug his legs deep into the pony’s sides, but the horse kept running.
“Ginger! Ginger! It’s all right, Ginger! Whoa!”
Ginger kept running.
It seemed like hours. But finally, through sheer exhaustion, the pony slowed. Foam stood out in a lather on the horse’s muzzle. His sides were heaving in tumultuous gasps. Bobby loosened his grip on the reins and ran his fingers over the tense, twitching ears of the pony.
“Easy, Ginger. There’s nothing to be frightened of now.” He looked wistfully about him. “We’ll never find it now, Ginger. That nasty old snake had to scare you. We’re way west of the trail. But it’s all right, Ginger, we’ll come back tomorrow . . .”
Bobby was staring off in the distance. Off toward a bright gleaming mass jutting out of the sand. It was the gleam of metal, a long, tapering mass of metal, lying forlorn under the desert sun.
“Look, Ginger!” Bobby shouted. “Look!”
Ginger looked. But only because Bobby pulled his head in that direction. Ginger must have seen it. But he couldn’t talk and say so. Bobby urged him forward.
“Come on, Ginger, that’s it! See how it glitters in the sun! It’s the ship Skeeter said we’d find out here! And I can have it—it will be mine! Hurry Ginger!”
Ginger couldn’t hurry. But he travelled over the sand as swiftly as his tired legs would go. Ginger wanted to lie down, to rest his tired body. He was thirsty. The foam fell in tiny driplets from his muzzle. But he trotted on.
Bobby stared at it. He stared and stared. He looked at it from one end to the other. And a sigh escaped his lips.
“Gosh. Gee—”
IT was all silver and half buried in the sand. It was long and tapered with strange fin-like tubes jutting from its rear. A soft desert breeze whispered around it, sent small flurries of sand scudding along its sides.
Bobby jumped to the ground. He forgot about Ginger, but Ginger didn’t mind. He was too tired to care. Bobby walked forward, his eyes round with wonder. He was almost afraid to approach it.
“It’s big . . . just like Skeeter said,” he breathed. “It’s beautiful. And I can have it—all for myself. Gee . . .”
He walked up to it and thrust out a small trembling hand. It was warm, almost hot under the steady burn of the sun. Bobby ran his hand along the smooth metal surface. The touch brought a thrill to him, of something beyond his understanding, of something new, different . . .
He walked around the front of the ship. It was all metal, smooth, glittering metal. He came to the other side. He stopped, staring.
There was a small dark crack in the side of the metal. For a moment Bobby thought it was a hole. He walked up to it slowly.
“It’s a door!” he breathed. “A door!”
It wasn’t a door. But it was the nearest thing to it. Bobby put his hand in the opening and pushed with all his might. A section of the metal slid open soundlessly. It was dark inside.
Bobby suddenly felt fear. It was dark in there. Anything might be inside, Maybe the door would close after him. Maybe he would be trapped, locked inside. On the other side of the ship he heard Ginger neigh.
“Skeeter said it was all right,” he said to himself. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”
Bobby walked into the opening.
It wasn’t so dark inside. The desert sun lanced in through the opening and sent golden lances of light along the walls. Bobby walked forward.
It was a long hall. It was lined with metal on both walls, and it was silent. Not even the whisper of the desert breeze stirred inside. Bobby walked on.
There was a door. It stood tall and lonely at the end of the hall. Bobby knew it was at the end of the ship, the front end. He looked at the door. There was no handle.
His eyes followed the long seam that ran from floor to ceiling along the door. He knew it was a door. It had to open. Then he saw the button alongside it. Bobby reached out and pressed.
It slid aside. Swiftly, soundlessly. Bobby followed the sunlight into the room.
It was large and oblong. It was all gleaming metal. The faint rays of sunlight, filtering down the hall, gleamed from the metal.
At the far end of the room there was a long banked panel. A row of strangely shaped chairs ran along the front of the panel. The panel itself was a maze of buttons, switches, and dials.
“Gee.” Bobby whispered, and his voice sounded small and hollow in the room. “Gosh.”
Bobby walked up to the panel.
He saw the bones.
They were slumped over, a tangled heap, leaning against the panel. Two little piles. Arms that were no longer arms, legs that were no longer legs, and grinning spectral skulls.
“Gosh!” Bobby murmured. “Wonder who put them here? Maybe they got locked inside . . .” Bobby looked fearfully back down the corridor, but the outside door was open, the desert sun streaming in.
There was a small square screen over the panel. “Movies.” Bobby decided. He walked past the strange chairs with the slumped over bones. He looked at the myriad dials and rows of buttons. He scratched his head perplexedly. “Gosh, I’ll bet it would take a long time to learn how to fly this ship!”
He stood looking, staring around him. And gradually he felt it, an intangible urge, an astral desire. Bobby knew suddenly what he wanted.
“It’s mine now,” he breathed. “And I’m going to learn about it. I must!”
THE sun was slipping, a huge red ball in the sky, down over the western horizon. It sent streaks of flame darting across the desert sands, and a cool evening breeze swept in over the heat.
Bobby rode away, his eyes glistening. He hardly saw the desert as Ginger trotted home. He saw only the gleaming silver of the ship that was his. The ship that Skeeter had said he could have.
He reached the ranch just as the sun faded from view.
“Bobby! Bobby Kincaid, where ever have you been!”
Bobby heard his mother’s voice calling from the house even as he led his pony to the stable. A caretaker relieved Bobby of the horse and winked knowingly.
“Your mother’s been worried about you, Bobby. Better get along inside.”
Bobby nodded absently. He ran across the yard, already filling with cars.
“Another party!” he said disgustedly.
“Bobby!”
Myra Kincaid stood on the veranda waiting for him. She was a tall beautiful woman, and wore her shoulderless evening dress with the knowledge that she wore it well. Bobby trotted up.
“Yes, mom?”
“Bobby! You’ve been gone all afternoon. I thought you were only taking a short ride—where have you been?”
“In the desert, mom.”
“The desert! Bobby I won’t have you riding off like this. Can’t you play around the ranch? Now get along inside and have your supper.”
Henry Kincaid strode out onto the porch. He was a well built man in his forties. He had sleek black hair and the faintest suggestion of a moustache. His eyes were twinkling.
“Well young man! I drive in all the way from Los Angeles to find you gone! What have you been doing?”
Bobby stared from his mother to his father. He ran to his dad.
“I was out to see Skeeter—”
“Skeeter!” Myra Kincaid interrupted. “That dirty old hermit—Bobby I told you to stay away from him!”
“Now Myra, let the boy alone. What about Skeeter, Bobby?” Henry Kincaid gazed down at his son. Bobby smiled.
“Skeeter is a nice old man, dad. I like to talk to him. He’s so lonely out there on the desert . . . Besides, he showed me where the ship was!”
“Ship?” Henry Kincaid frowned. “What ship?”
Bobby spread his arms suggestively. “It’s a big ship—all silver and metal. Skeeter said I could have it, that nobody owns it anymore. Gee it’s bi
g.” His father gazed thoughtfully for a moment. Then he smiled. “Oh, that ship. I see. Well you better get inside and have your supper, Bobby. Mom and I have a party tonight.”
Bobby lowered his eyes. “Party?” he said. Then he looked up at his dad. “Can’t we play tonight, dad? Just for a little while?”
Henry Kincaid shook his head. “Maybe next week, Bobby, and maybe I’ll have a surprise for you. Now get inside.”
Bobby walked slowly into the house. Behind him, his mother was frowning.
“What was that business about a ship, Henry?”
He lit up a cigarette and laughed. “Oh, that! Funny, but I had almost forgotten about it. A couple of years ago we shot some interplanetary scenes for a Martian picture that was later scrapped. We had a special prop spaceship built for the scene. After they were shot we left the hulk out there in the desert. There’s nothing in it that could hurt the boy. And he always has been interested in ships. I’m going to bring him that airplane I promised. Come on, let’s get back to our guests.”
BOBBY hurried with his breakfast.
Ginger was waiting at the stable. Bobby rode out from the ranch, his small face eager.
“Come on, Ginger, mom said I could play all day. I’ve got enough lunch for both of us!”
Distance sped under the pony. Down the winding road to the edge of the desert, and Skeeter’s shanty. Bobby reined in beside the shack.
“Hey, Skeeter! It’s me, Bobby!”
There was no smoke coming from the chimney. Bobby called again. Still no answer. He patted the pony’s head. “Guess Skeeter isn’t home, Ginger. Let’s go.”
Down the trail. Past the spot where the rattler had struck. Bobby followed Ginger’s hoof marks in the sand.
It lay there, still and quiet in the morning sun. Bobby’s eyes were bright with pleasure as he looked at it, long and silver and tapering.
“It’s still there, Ginger!” he said softly. But Ginger didn’t care very much. The pony trotted slowly up to the ship and Bobby jumped to the ground.
His feet made mottled patterns in the sand as he walked around the gleaming hull. The door in the side of the ship was open.
The room hadn’t changed any. The panel was still there, the strange dials and buttons. And the bones. Bobby looked at them for long moments. Then he walked past them and ran his fingers over the small square screen over the panel.
“Just like a movie screen,” he said. “Wonder where the movies are?”
There were no movies, but Bobby wasn’t sure. He looked at a row of buttons beneath the screen. His fingers moved toward them. He pressed.
From somewhere came a sound. A buzzing hum of sound. Bobby jumped back from the panel fearfully. The buzzing faded.
He looked at the screen. It was shimmering. Little streaks of flame danced across it, a miniature rainbow. And with it came a buzzing hum. The same hum that had faded seconds before. Only this time it was louder—closer it seemed.
And the colors faded.
And there was a face.
SHE was a pretty little girl. She was the prettiest little girl Bobby had ever seen. She was smiling at him with small white flashing teeth. She was laughing with her strange greenish-gold eyes—eyes that seemed to have little sparks dancing in them. And there was sunlight gleaming in her hair—hair that fell softly around small white shoulders.
“Gosh!” Bobby murmured. “Gee, she’s pretty—I haven’t seen her in the movies before.”
The little girl was laughing, Bobby thought. No, she was just smiling—as if she was glad he was looking at her. Bobby looked at her clothes.
“Gosh, she’s dressed funny, just a little silver dress. Not much of that either. Wonder what picture she’s playing in?”
She was waving now. A small tender hand, a small eager wave. Bobby turned around, almost expecting to see somebody behind him. Then he laughed.
“There’s nobody here but me. She isn’t waving at anybody, it’s just a movie and . . .”
Suddenly Bobby frowned. He looked anxiously around the room. There was the panel, the bones, and the chairs. There were the switches and dials and buttons. But on camera, no projector of any kind.
“Gee—I can’t find any movie machine! Maybe—”
Bobby looked back at the screen. The little girl was still there. But she wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t laughing anymore. There were tears rolling down her cheeks.
“She’s crying!” Bobby said softly. He looked closely at her. But her eyes weren’t on him. They were looking past him. Bobby followed her gaze.
She was looking at the bones.
“She is looking at them!” Bobby said softly. “She really sees them!”
And then she was looking back at him, almost it seemed, as if she knew what he was thinking. Her head bobbed in a wistful nod, and Bobby watched the tears roll down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, little girl.” Bobby pleaded. “Is it because of the bones? Do you know what they are?”
The little girl didn’t answer. Only the faint buzzing hum disturbed the quiet. But again her head nodded as the tears fell.
Bobby turned grimly and walked over to the chairs beside the panel. He reached out and gathered the bones together in his hands. Then he shoved them under the panel, out of sight. He turned back to the screen smiling.
“Now you don’t have to cry anymore,” he said. “You are too pretty to cry . . .”
She looked at him from the screen.
And then suddenly she was smiling again, and there was a longing in her eyes that made Bobby happy inside.
“Where do you live?” he asked. Then he laughed. “I forgot, you can’t answer me!” He pointed to her, spread his arms wide, and raised his eyes questioningly.
She seemed to understand.
She faded from the screen.
“Don’t go away!” Bobby called anxiously. “Please come back!”
LIGHTS flickered again across the screen. It shimmered, the buzzing grew, a loud crackling hum. And the screen cleared.
The little girl was gone. Bobby was looking at a maze of glistening spires reaching high toward a hazy blue sky. He saw long winding ramps connecting the spires, high in the air. And he saw tiny dots moving along the ramps far below.
“Gosh!” he breathed. “A city! A beautiful city!”
The scene sped on. He saw strange wonderful mountains with snow glistening on peaks that stretched far toward the heavens. He saw green verdant valleys with limpid brooks gurgling through them. He saw endless tracts of flowers waving delicately in a soft breeze. He saw lakes of bright blue water dotting the horizon.
“Gosh!” Bobby whispered.
And he saw the children.
They were playing in the flowers, along the brooks, and by the lakes. There were hundreds of them, boys and girls, in strange costumes of silver and gold. They were laughing and running, playing with strange toys, and—
The scene faded.
“Wait!” Bobby called out. “I want to see more—please!”
She was there again. The little girl. And there were no tears now. Only gladness and a smile. Bobby smiled back eagerly. He pointed to the screen.
“Gee, that was pretty. All those boys and girls . . . Where is it at?”
She kept smiling and watching him. Bobby scratched his chin. Then suddenly he bobbed his head. He pointed to himself and then to the screen. “Could I go there and play too?” he asked as he pointed.
The little girl looked wistfully at him. The little sparks danced in her eyes. And she was gone.
For long moments the screen was blank. Bobby peered at it, longingly, hopefully. Why had she gone? Had he frightened her? Where—
She was there. But she wasn’t alone. Bobby could see a large white room with strange machines looming in the background. She was standing in the middle of the room talking to a tall man in a white garment. The man was smiling down at her and nodding his head. Then she was looking at Bobby.
Bobby frowned. He didn’t underst
and. Was she trying to show him something else? He watched.
The tall man pulled a gleaming metal panel on rollers to the center of the room. The little girl stood by the panel and pointed to it. Bobby looked.
It had dials and switches and buttons. It—Bobby suddenly looked down at the panel beneath the screen. It was the same kind of panel as the one in the picture!
The little girl pointed to the panel beside her and then to the one beside Bobby. Bobby nodded eagerly. He knew. He knew.
“You’re going to show me how it works!” he said.
MYRA KINCAID was worried. It had been nice to get Bobby interested in something so she could put her attention to the parties she had planned. But Bobby was too interested. He didn’t bother her anymore. He was up at dawn, ate a hurried breakfast, had the cook prepare him a lunch, and was gone for the day. She didn’t like it.
“Henry,” she spoke to her husband over the phone. “Are you sure it was a good idea to let Bobby go running off into the desert like this? He seems to be all wrapped up in that silly old prop ship of yours. I don’t like it having him gone all day like this—anything might happen why, just the other day he told of coming on a rattler out there!”
Henry Kincaid thought for a moment over the wire. “Tell you what, Myra. I’ve finished work on the new picture and have a couple of weeks off. What say we run up to Arrowhead. I’d like to spend a little more time with the boy myself. And I’ve bought that airplane I promised him. I’ll be in tonight, and we’ll make plans. See you.”
* * *
“Hi, Skeeter!”
Bobby reined his pinto pony in beside the shack. Skeeter sat in the doorway, slowly drawing on a discolored corncob.
“Why, hello there, son. Haven’t seen you around for the last few days.”
Bobby shook his head. “I been here a couple of times, Skeeter, but you weren’t home.”
The hermit sighed. “Had to make one of my trips to town. Nearly ran out of coffee and vittles. By the way, son, did you find that there ship like I told you?”