by Earl
In the center of the glade, Boro had turned bravely, to at least die facing the deadly killer. None of the Little Folk were cowards. He fumbled with his bow, in the hopeless attempt to speed an arrow at one of the fox’s gleaming eyes.
Aldic flung his spear on the run, yet knowing the fox’s thick fur would protect it from vital harm. The spear pricked flesh and stuck, but the great beast hardly noticed. Aldic’s thoughts flew faster than his twinkling feet, as he neared. An arrow might strike a vital spot. But he would have to stop and aim. There were only seconds left, before those terrible jaws would crunch with Boro between them.
Aldic used the seconds to reach Boro and leap in front of him. And now the ferocious teeth snapped for Aldic.
Aldic did a strange thing. He jumped straight into those gaping jaws! A moan went up from the watchers at the glade edges. Aldic had sacrificed himself to save Boro! Yet Boro stood stupidly, too amazed to run.
A still more amazing thing happened. Aldic had not jumped blindly. His quick little feet had planted themselves solidly just back of the lower jaw’s teeth. Bending double, he placed his two hands against the bone-ridge of the upper jaw, under the snout. One mighty heave Aldic gave, with all his muscles cracking, breath tearing from his throat.
And then—a muffled crack as the tortured jaws of the fox gave way.
Aldic was thrown head over heels as the fox jerked convulsively. Then with a bark of agony, the red-furred killer loped away, his lower jaw hanging limp and broken.
Aldic picked himself up and threw back his mane of red hair in laughter. “Eyoooo!” he roared. “Reynard will chew only air for a time!”
AND now the others scrambled forward and filled the glade with clarion cheers. They held hands and formed a ring around Aldic and the still stunned Boro, dancing. A chant rose into the night air.
“The Big Ones are clumsy and witless,
We are so clever and spry,
They never will, never will catch us,
Not to the day we die!”
“What is all this commotion among you young people?”
The new voice was the querulous one of venerable Zutho, the Elder, who had just entered the glade from their village. He hobbled up, his long beard like silken moss. Behind him came all the villagers, the children and mothers and the old, to join the Festival which would now swing into full tide.
The merrymakers stopped and parted to let Zutho through. At the same time they babbled out the story of the fox, confusedly.
“Broke the fox’s jaw?” Zutho cried, almost incredulously. “Indeed that is a mighty feat, Boro!”
Zutho and the villagers crowding up gazed at Boro admiringly. The young people hushed one another, forcing Boro to make his own admission.
“No, Father, not I. Though if Aldic hadn’t stepped in front of me, I would have. It was Aldic.”
“Aldic? Who is Aldic?” For the first time Zutho caught sight of the stranger, with his berry-red locks.
Aldic stepped before him, inclining his head deferentially.
“I am of the Little Folk of Ireland, Father.”
“Ireland?” Old Zutho’s eyes sprung wide. “You are from across the Great Sea!”
The audience gasped. To most of them, in their restricted little world, the Great Sea extended limitlessly to wash the shores finally of half-mythical lands that seemed utterly beyond reach. Only the Elders and the wise knew the other lands were real. It was as though Aldic had come from Mars.
Aldic nodded.
“I am a wanderer. I slipped aboard one of the Big People’s sailing vessels, hiding in its hold. At times, I was spied, but taken for a rat-creature. At times, I fought with the rats, down below.”
He displayed a scar on his left arm, marking the bite of sharp teeth, then resumed.
“The great boat docked and at night I crept to shore. Many Big People and lights were about, but I escaped detection easily, for the Big Ones are clumsy and witless. And blind to the unbelievable. I traversed the city—New York City, it is called.”
“New York City!” breathed Zutho, reminiscently. “I was there once, in my youth. It is choked and crammed with Big Ones. Aldic, I hope you took care—”
“Yes, Father. I am well aware of the First Law of our people—never to be seen by or have traffic with the Big People. I gained the countryside. I knew of your tribe here in the hills to the north, and sought you. But I wasn’t sure I would find you. It has been a century and more since either of our tribes has had a visitor from the other.”
“YES.” Old Zutho shook his head sadly. “We Little Folk dare not carry on much communication, because of the dangers of crossing the Big People’s territory. Our sole hope of continued existence and liberty has been to keep out of their knowledge. At times, in the far past, we had traffic with the Big Ones, to our sorrow. But for a thousand years the First Law has been engraven into our policy. Only by chance have the Big Ones seen or heard of us, as their legends state. It must continue so—forever.”
He took a deep breath.
“But this is not the time to talk of sad things, on Full Moon Festival night. Tell me, Aldic of Ireland, how are your people? Do you live as we do—dance, sing and be happy despite the shadow that hangs over us?”
Aldic nodded. “We are celebrated in the Irish legends particularly for our Dance of the Fairies, glimpsed at rare times by a Big One, but never believed by the rest.”
Zutho chuckled. “Superstition among the Big Ones has been our best cloak. They see us more seldom than any woodland creature, even the clever shrew. Therefore, we do not exist. Are all your people red-haired like you? And”—he looked up and down—“why, you are almost as tall and strong as our Boro!”
“Taller and stronger, Father!” It was the silver-haired girl who had spoken, Teena. She told briefly the episode preceding the fox. The newly-arrived villagers grinned at Boro’s hanging head.
“And now tell us, Boro,” insisted Teena relentlessly, “who saved you from the bear?”
Boro looked around and saw no escape. “It was a red-haired one—”
“Aldic! Aldic!” shouted the young people.
“No.” Boro shook his head, along with Aldic. “One of the Big People. He who lives in the cabin nearest us.” He told the rest of the story quickly, eager to have his humiliation over with.
A startled hush came over the glade.
“One of the Big Ones saved you?” Zutho murmured. He raised his eyes. “As rarely as the blue moon has that happened in our history!”
“And the Big One must be rewarded!” rang out a voice. Instantly, a whole-hearted acclaim arose through the glade.
Zutho hesitated, then nodded.
“That is as much a part of our tradition as the First Law. The First Law states no traffic with the Big Ones. The Second Law states no killing among ourselves. And the Third Law says any act of kindness toward us, unwitting or otherwise, by a Big One, must be rewarded—so long as it does not violate the First Law.”
LUSTY cheers rang out. The Big Ones, masters of Earth, were feared and dreaded with a great fear and dread. But an act of kindness from them was, by contrast, an occasion for wild joy in reciprocation. A cruel god’s smiles are a blinding light.
“Now, how shall it be done?” Zutho queried.
Aldic raised his hand for attention. “After the Big One chased the bear and went to his home, I followed. Perhaps”—he grinned—“because he has red-hair, like mine. I overheard their speech, which I understand well. They have a garden that needs weeding.”
“Good,” Zutho acceded. “But we must not risk too much. Ten of the young men will go, tonight, the quickest and strongest. Who shall lead them?”
“Aldic! Aldic!” drowned out a few sporadic calls for “Boro!”
Boro turned away angrily, but Teena taunted: “You must go, too, Boro.
After all, it was your life that was saved!”
In a short time, Aldic stood at the head of ten young men. They danced up and down spiritedl
y, eager for the adventure ahead.
Zutho had a last word. “Take care, you young ones. This is not a lark. Work quietly and do not be seen. Do you hear?”
He tried to look stern, but the wrinkles around his old eyes smiled. “Ah, if I were only young myself,” he mumbled. “Go. Aldic, I trust you to bring them back safely.”
The party pranced off, through the moonlit glade, knowing all eyes were on them. But beyond, at Aldic’s signal, they crept single-file into the forest dark. Nocturnal killers roamed the woods. The party went on cautiously, their tiny eyes peering around warily. Their little hands gripped their weapons, ready for instant action.
Nothing of note happened. When the moon was high at zenith, the cabin loomed before them like a gigantic castle. Quietly, efficiently, their Lilliputian forms went up and down the rows of the garden, tugging out weeds with both hands, as though uprooting young trees. It was hard work. Their little backs ached and their little hands blistered, but outdoor life had inured them to such hardships.
On through the night they worked, and when the moon sank, they crept away as silently and unobtrusively as they had come.
CHAPTER IV
Aldic Returns a Favor
SUNRISE spread its red glory over the Catskills, and reflected in added brilliance from Jim Harvey’s thatch of hair, as he brushed it and then sat down at the breakfast table.
“In the city we never saw the sunrise,” he mused. “Out here I wouldn’t miss it for the world . . .” His voice trailed away as he buried his nose in the newspaper Mary had brought back from Albany the evening before, like any city-dweller.
“The eggs are getting cold, dear,” Mary reminded. “I want to get an early start today. I’m going to place some of your pictures if it takes all day.”
“You look pretty even with your chin out,” Harvey teased. His eyes went back to the paper—and widened. “Mary, listen to this! What a coincidence!”
He read the small item tucked away opposite the comic page.
“New York. Do the legendary Little People exist, as Dr. Asa Bolton claims, or is it a hoax? Dr. Bolton returned from the Catskills recently with an unproved story of seeing the Dance of the Fairies, and even capturing tiny six-inch high people. They escaped, he says, and the body of one he still had was spirited away—by the Little Folk, he claims. Dr. Bolton stated that he had already enlisted the aid of naturalists of the Anthropological Institute in his quest on the Catskills. It is sometimes to be wondered whether so-called scientists are not more gullible than laymen.”
“Exactly,” Mary said quickly. “Now, Jim, you aren’t trying to convince yourself you saw one of them yesterday?”
The glow in Harvey’s face faded. “Guess you’re right. Ready, dear? I’ll pack you into the car and then get right at weeding the garden. You see I remembered!”
Mary smiled and glanced out of the window at the garden. The saucer in her hand dropped and shattered on the floor.
“Mary, what’s the matter?”
“You shouldn’t frighten me so, Jim! You foolish boy, getting up in the middle of the night and weeding the garden.”
Harvey took one look and bounded out of the door. He stared down at the cleanly plucked rows of greens, thunderstruck. Not a single weed had escaped.
“You didn’t do it, Jim?” Mary gasped, seeing his face. “Then who did? Who in the wide world—” She stopped, utterly bewildered.
“Elves!” Harvey murmured dazedly. “Like in the fairy tales, returning a good deed. I saved one yesterday. Mary, this proves it—”
“It doesn’t!” Mary cried, in relief. “Thank Heaven I just remembered. I gave the Wilkins boy some candy yesterday, passing their farm. He’s a serious boy, and must have come all the way here last night just to show his thanks.”
Harvey had to grin. “You’d rather believe that?” He became serious, pointing down to soft dirt which showed the light impress of what might be tiny feet, a half-inch long—or animal tracks. “What about those—”
He was interrupted.
“Hello, there!”
HARVEY turned. Out on the road stood three men, dressed in shorts and light mackinaws against the morning chill. They carried a camera, food-pack and butterfly net among them.
“I’m Dr. Pertie of the Anthropological Institute of New York,” the elder of the three introduced himself. “Wilson and Zeller, my assistants. We have a camp about ten miles north. We’ve been up here a month. We’re looking for evidences of the Little People.”
The younger men grinned rather sheepishly, but Dr. Petrie went on firmly. “That is, in the scientific sense. Small manlike beings about six inches high. Have you seen any signs of them? Or do you have the slightest suspicion, no matter how faint, that such little creatures may exist around here?”
Taking a long look at the butterfly net they carried, obviously for the purpose of snapping up little beings like prize insects, Harvey checked the eager words on his lips.
“No, of course not,” he said. He smiled derisively. “You mean actual little men six inches high?”
The men shrugged, as though about ready to give up their quest, and left, striking off through the woods. Harvey could not resist whistling a soft tune after them, whose words ran:
“Last night I saw upon the stair,
A Little man who wasn’t there—”
“I’m glad you said that, Jim,” Mary remarked as they packed pictures in the car. “I’m going to Albany now, and you have all day to paint. I’ll bring the Wilkins boy some more candy, on my way back. Jim, please say it?”
“All right,” he acceded. “There aren’t any elves. And we have a mortgage payment to meet. And the art dealers in Albany say I’ve lost my touch. Those are the real things.”
A few minutes later, painting paraphernalia under his arm, he was heading for the woods. His red head vanished among the trees.
Another red head, a far tinier one, emerged from the rose bushes at the side of the house.
Aldic pondered what he had heard. He had not left with the others, after the weeding, leaving Boro to lead them back. He had stayed partly to see that nothing went amiss. Mostly, to see the reaction of the Big Ones when they noticed their garden weeded. It had thrilled his little soul to see the glad surprise in their eyes. Especially that of the man. Aldic felt a peculiar affinity toward him. Though one was a giant and one a midge, there was the bond between them of common geographical origin. And red hair.
Aldic pondered. Yesterday this Big One had unwittingly saved a life. Today, perhaps not so unwittingly, he had declined to set human bloodhounds on the trail of the Little Folk. Had withheld a clue to their existence.
The Big One should be rewarded again, according to the Third Law. But how? Aldic smiled suddenly and scampered around to where a vine grew against the cabin wall, acrobatically swinging himself up hand over hand. A partly ajar window let him in. He jumped to the floor. Against one wall leaned three of yesterday’s paintings, drying.
Aldic nodded happily as he saw paint-pots nearby, and several brushes in a box. Needing water, he roamed about till he found a thimble in a sewing-basket, and filled this from a bucket by the sink.
With two-handed strokes of a brush, Aldic labored for the following hours. He added a touch of silver to a brook meandering through a glen. A delicate stroke of brown to suggest a rabbit nibbling among herbs. He stood on tiptoe to put a dash of vivid green where it belonged, high in a tree. And now a tinge of purple where the shadow of a mountain fell. Here and there the brush touched.
Little exquisite touches they were, that Aldic’s rustic soul transferred to canvas with a supremely artistic instinct.
Squinting his eyes, Aldic was satisfied. The scenes, twice as high as he was, looked real enough to step into. And an aura of mystery hung in them, too. Aldic was almost tempted to paint himself in, peeping from behind a toadstool. But no, there was the First Law. As it was, the paintings would appeal to those among the Big Ones who liked to dream of things unseen.
“Eyoo, my big red-headed friend,” Aldic exulted aloud. “That is the way it should be done.”
He put the brushes back carefully, and left. With him he carried the thimble, perched over his red thatch, as self-given remuneration. Surely the Big Ones could get another.
OUT in the forest, finding a rabbit warren, Aldic nudged a sleepy buck aside and curled up next to its soft fur. Mannikin and rabbit slept through the heat of the day.
In the late afternoon, approaching the village of Little Folk, Aldic heard the blast of a snail-horn, used only as an emergency alarm. He broke into a run and saw the glint of brown fur ahead. A bear! By its size, the same one who had yesterday chased Boro, and today evidently nosed out their village’s site. But there was no Big One near this time to chase it away.
Aldic heard the splitting of wood as the great monster ripped open one of their tree-stump homes. He beard the screams of a child—screams that clipped short. Then he was close enough to see the bear’s claws scrabbling within the hollow for another delectable tidbit. Half the awakened community had emerged from its camouflaged variety of homes, rubbing sleepy eyes that filled with horror.
The men were paralyzed, not knowing what to do. The bear was seldom a menace unless he blundered into their village, sniffing out their homes. It hadn’t happened for a generation. How could this towering behemoth, ten times bigger and heavier than the frightful fox, be killed or even driven away? Within the hollow stump, three children and their parents were trapped. The bear would claw them out, one by one.
Aldic took the situation in at a glance. Without pausing in his stride, he ran up the bear’s back like a nimble mouse, using its hair for hand-holds. It ignored him completely, intent on ripping the tree-stump wider. Aldic reached one shoulder, spear in hand. Balancing on his feet against the bear’s movement, he clutched the spear in his two hands, high over his head.
He thrust then, with all the impetus of his powerful little shoulders, straight into one ear of the bear. The sharp metal point buried itself in tender flesh. The bear screamed and hunched, throwing Aldic through the air like a chip of wood. The animal rolled over and over, clawing at its ear. The haft sticking out broke off and the bear ambled away awkwardly, uttering painful grunts.