Billings listened. An expression of incredulous joy spread over his face.
“Shots!” he cried. “That means men. We’re saved!”
“Come on!” Pearce said. Weariness now forgotten, he hurried toward the sounds ahead, Billings bringing up the rear.
THEY HAD been close to the valley wall, and shortly they reached the rocky slopes at its base. The ground here was free of larger jungle growths. Situated upon one of the slopes a short distance to the right was a group of prefabricated buildings, and from the presence of various types of machinery and equipment visible higher up on the hillside, Pearce decided that the place was a mining site.
No people were in evidence, but from the windows of the buildings protruded the muzzles of weapons. The sharp roars of explosive-pellet rifles mingled with the dull, coughing sounds of pneumatics.
And then a shrill scream rose on the humid air. Less than two-hundred feet away a gray, scaly and vaguely man-like form leaped from the concealment of a mass of tumbled rock. It clutched at its muscular chest, then fell back out of sight.
Scanning the spot intently, Pearce could now make out other gray forms among the rocks, and abruptly he knew what was taking place. Venusian natives were attacking the occupants of the cabins.
He whirled to Billings. “Get down on the ground. Keep out of sight—and stay here!” Creeping through the undergrowth at the foot of the slope, Pearce reached the rocks behind which the natives were entrenched. He hesitated, then climbed to a higher point from which he could overlook the scene. He was discovered a moment later, but his preparations had been made. He opened up with his pneumatic, shooting slowly and carefully.
Subjected to a crossfire by Pearce and the defenders of the mine, the natives were being swiftly put out of action. The yells of the wounded and dying seemed to spread panic among those who remained. They left their positions in wild flight, scattering into the jungle.
Silence fell. Pearce waited a moment longer, then climbed down from his vantage point and called to Billings. The other joined him quickly, his round face apprehensive.
“Are . . . are they gone?”
“Looks like it.” Pearce scanned the jungle, then gestured. “Now to see the people up there.”
“I hope they have something decent to eat,” Billings muttered. “I can’t stand that concentrated stuff you have.”
In a clearing among the buildings they found a group of men awaiting them. One came forward with outstretched hand, smiling. Pearce’s grin faded, and he stared in astonishment. The other was a girl. A tall, chestnut-haired girl, with a smudge of oil across the bridge of her pert nose.
“Thanks for your help,” she said. “Your flank attack put those ornery Aztols on the run.” Her hazel eyes became aware of the stares of Pearce and Billings, and glinted in amusement.
“Uh . . . oh, yeah,” Pearce said, trying to muster some semblance of formality. He introduced himself and his companion and briefly explained about the crash in the sportster.
“It’s a miracle you got through safely,” the girl said. “I’m Sandra Denham, and these are my men.” She indicated three hard-bitten oldsters and a small, fur-covered Martian. “We’re mining estrite crystals here, you see, and the Aztols made a sudden surprise attack. We never had any trouble with them before, and I don’t know why—”
She broke off, smiling quickly. “But that can come later. Right now I’m sure you’re tired and hungry.”
“That’s a mild understatement, young lady,” Billings put in. “My stomach is a vacuum.”
Sandra Denham’s white teeth gleamed. “I’ll try to fill it.” She turned to the Martian. “Ong, rattle your pots.”
“You betcha!” Ong squeaked. He hurried away.
“SO AFTER father’s disappearance, I quit college to take over the mine. I could have sold it, of course, but Randy, here”—she nodded at a short, wiry old man who was seated in the doorway with a rifle across his knees, chewing meditatively at a cud of tobacco—“advised me not to. He told me that I could mine many times the price I could get. And during the three months, Earth time, I’ve been here, we certainly have. But I’m afraid there are indications that the estrite vein is giving out.” Sandra Denham’s voice trailed off. She stared down at her hands.
It was later that day. Pearce and Billings had just eaten. They were seated at the table in the mess cabin. Sandra’s men were on guard about the mine.
Pearce found a strange, absorbing interest in the story the girl had just told him. He asked slowly:
“Haven’t you ever learned what became of your father?”
She shook her head mutely. Traces of tears glittered on her long lashes.
“He just seems to have disappeared,” she said after a moment. “According to what the men told me, he went into the hills to do some prospecting and never came back. Perhaps animals or the Venusians accounted for him. But it’s strange, just the same. The Venusians haven’t been dangerous until a short time ago, and animals that would attack a man don’t wander that far up among the hills.”
Randy drawled from the doorway. “Maybe this don’t have nothin’ to do with John Denham’s disappearing, but I remember just before he went rushin’ off into the hills he was almighty excited about somethin’. He must’ve made some kind of a find. Wouldn’t tell none of us what it was, but then he never jawed about anythin’ unless he was sure of what he was sayin’.”
Pearce shook his head reflectively, his eyes narrowed, There was something strange about conditions here at the mining camp . . . something hidden and vaguely sinister. He said:
“I understand that the tribe of Venusians you call Aztols haven’t made any trouble until just a short time ago. Why is that?”
Randy moved his shoulders in a shrug. “I’d give a lot to know myself. Before they was always peaceable enough. We even did some tradin’, giving them trinkets for fruits and things. And then they started actin’ up, howlin’ around the mine like a bunch of maniacs. Can’t figure it out.”
“Fortunately, they’ve never done much harm,” Sandra said. “All they have are spears and crude bows and arrows. Pete Horton—our nearest neighbor—helped us drive them off the last time. He’s really been a tremendous help to me, and he was kind enough to offer to buy the mine when I first came. He . . . well, he says that this is no place for a woman, and is still trying to buy the mine. This region is fairly well populated with miners, you know.”
Abruptly she stood up. “Enough of my troubles. You and Mr. Billings must be tired after what you’ve gone through today. I’ll have beds made up for you in the bunk cabin. When you’ve rested, one of my men will show you the way to Pete Horton’s camp. He has a rocket plane, and no doubt you can borrow that to get back to New Chicago.”
Feeling reluctant to leave the girl despite his weariness, Pearce got to his feet. “You’ve been mighty kind, Miss Denham.”
She smiled. “To use a time-worn phrase, don’t mention it.”
PEARCE and Billings followed Randy to the bunk cabin. Before turning in, Pearce asked the old man:
“Randy, do you know if Pete Horton tried to buy the mine from Sandra’s father before he disappeared?”
Randy emitted a stream of tobacco juice through the open door before replying. “Well, I think John Denham mentioned it once or twice. Horton’s got a pretty big mining outfit, you see, and I suppose he’d like to spread out.”
“I see,” Pearce said. He lay thinking for quite some time before he finally fell asleep.
When Pearce awoke he found that a considerable amount of time had passed. The Venusian night had come and gone, and the new day was already well started. But his rest had done him good. He felt refreshed and even cheerful, considering the ruin of his plans in the wreck of the sportster.
Shaking Billings awake, Pearce dressed and went outside. Sandra Denham and her men were working over the mining machinery further up the hill. There was the deep hum of motors and the sound of falling gravel. Rifles were conspicu
ously in evidence.
When she became aware of Pearce’s appearance, Sandra came forward, peeling gloves from her hands. She looked slim and boyish in the coveralls she was wearing. This time there were smudges of oil on her face—one across her nose, the other on her cheek. She looked fresh and vital.
“So you’re awake,” she said. “Have you slept well?”
“Never better,” Pearce said. “Guess I made a hog out of myself.”
“You can’t be blamed.” The girl looked around as Billings came up. He was stretching his arms and sniffing eagerly.
“Ah, I smell coffee,” he announced.
“Right,” Sandra said. “Ong has food waiting for you. Go and get it.”
After they had eaten, Pearce and Billings rejoined Sandra at the mine. This was a long tunnel cut into the face of the hill. At the inner end, the loosened ore containing the estrite crystals was shoveled by the men onto a revolving belt conveyor, which emptied into cars outside, drawn by a small but powerful tractor.
“We sift the ore, then dissolve it in acid vats,” Sandra explained. “We use nitric acid. Since the crystals are lighter than the residue in the vats, they float to the surface and are drawn off, washed and individually packed.” She held up a small glass tube for Pearce’s inspection.
He nodded. “I’ve heard a lot about estrite crystals, though I’ve never seen one. I understand they’re used in delicate scientific and navigation instruments, and are almost as valuable as diamonds once were.”
“I’ll show you one.” Sandra disappeared behind a group of machines for a few seconds, then returned, handing Pearce a glittering, small object.
HE EXAMINED it in interest. The estrite crystal was rhombic in shape, a clear, hard transparency, shot with vivid green flames. He was holding it up against the sky, when a call sounded behind him. He whirled, thinking that the mine was being attacked again. But it was only three men—strangers to Pearce—entering the camp.
“It’s Pete Horton and a couple of his men,” Sandra explained. Her voice was low, and her expression seemed queerly guarded.
Horton was tall and heavily built, handsome in a dark, saturnine way. He spoke a greeting to Sandra, then glanced inquiringly at Pearce and Billings. She introduced them, mentioning how they happened to be at the mine.
“Too bad,” Horton said. “It’s a lucky thing you came through with whole skins, though. As for my runabout, I’ll be glad to let you borrow it.”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” Pearce returned. He wondered if the words sounded as flat as were his feelings. Horton seemed friendly enough, but there was something aloof and cold about the man, a quality of hard, calculating purpose.
“We’ll work out the arrangements later,” Horton added. He turned back to Sandra. “I was worried about you and your men, and thought I’d drop in to see if you were all right. Have the Aztols been around lately?”
The girl nodded. “The other day. Mr. Pearce helped drive them off.”
Horton shook his head somberly. “They were at my place a short time ago, too. I wish I knew what has gotten into them.”
Horton spoke a while longer, his talk touching upon mining and various bits of news from the outside world. To Pearce it seemed that the other’s mind was not on his words. He wondered what had been Horton’s real purpose in coming to Sandra Denham’s mine. He learned a short time later.
Horton straightened. “Well, I’ll have to be returning to my camp. But before I go, I’d like to have a little talk with you, Sandra. You mind if we step into your office?”
The girl hesitated, then moved her head in a nod. Pearce watched as she and Horton disappeared from view into one of the cabins. He felt a twinge of something that he realized was jealousy, and he felt a sharp amazement. He told himself that Sandra Denham couldn’t possibly mean anything to him. She was pretty, yes, but not any more so than dozens of other girls he had known. Yet there was something about her, a quality of courage and warmth, a simplicity and directness, that appealed to him in a way he had never before experienced.
Frowning with his inner confusion, Pearce lighted a cigarette. He glanced at the two men who had accompanied Horton. They were lean, hard-featured individuals, twin pneumatics holstered at their hips. They returned his gaze woodenly, and he became certain they were not miners by profession. Gunmen—professional killers—seemed a more likely trade. Miners led a rough frontier life, and weapons were often needed. But in Horton’s case there seemed more offense than defense. The bodyguards indicated a facet of Horton’s nature that Pearce didn’t like.
Presently Sandra and Horton reap appeared. Pearce looked sharply at the man. Horton’s dark face was strangely flushed and his lips were set in a thin line. He was angry about something, Pearce decided—furiously angry.
Horton nodded curtly at Pearce and Billings. “Come along,” he growled. Without a backward glance, he started off.
Pearce did not follow at once. He turned to Sandra and took her hand.
“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for us. I wish I could have stayed a little longer, but—” Pearce gestured helplessly and forced a grin. “Well, good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” Sandra returned in a low voice. Her hazel eyes were troubled. She seemed about to speak, then looked away.
On a sudden impulse, Pearce squeezed her hand. He whispered, “I’ll be back. I’m going to get to the bottom of this!”
Then he turned, gesturing to Billings, and hurried after Horton. At the edge of camp, he turned to wave at Sandra. She waved back quickly, as though she had been waiting for him to make some gesture, and there seemed to be a happiness in her face that he hadn’t noticed before.
ALL DURING the trip to his camp, Horton said nothing. His eyes were fixed broodingly on the rocky path that wound through a pass among the hills and over to the slopes on the other side.
Pearce was wrapped in his own thoughts. What was the apparently important discovery Sandra’s father had made? Was this discovery related to his mysterious disappearance? What had become of him? And the Aztols—what was the answer behind their sudden hostile behavior? How did Horton enter into all of this?
Pearce could find no satisfactory answers to these questions. He fell to studying Horton. The other’s face was set in sullen lines. He strode along with angry vigor, occasionally lashing out with a foot at small rocks in his path. Pearce wondered what had happened between him and Sandra.
At last the hum of motors and the clank of machinery announced their approach to Horton’s mining camp. As they entered it, several men came forward, staring at Pearce and Billings. Pearce noted that the hands of the men slid down to their holstered weapons.
“It’s all right,” Horton growled quickly. “These two were wrecked back in the jungle. They want to borrow my runabout. Merk, you and Olsen get it ready.”
The two designated, hard-eyed, unshaven men with the curious yellow tint to their skins which came of drinking too much Venusian kelek wine, nodded and hurried away.
Horton turned to Pearce. “I suppose you want to leave at once?”
Pearce nodded. “Billings, here, has a business to attend to. As for me, I have a job—or did have one.”
Inwardly Pearce was tense. There was something shifty and unfriendly about Horton and his men. Somehow he sensed that a wrong word or look would bring instant trouble.
Billings stepped forward. “I haven’t mentioned this before, but the sooner I leave here, the better I’ll like it. There’s something strange going on.”
Horton’s dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
Pearce felt a chill strike through him. He drew closer to Billings and tried to warn the man by nudging him with a foot. But Billings seemed not to notice. He was determined to speak his mind.
“Well, there’s the natives attacking Miss Denham’s mine,” he said crisply. “And there’s the disappearance of her father. I think this is a matter for the Interplanetary Rangers.”
“You
do, eh?” Horton murmured. He put his hands on his hips and regarded Billings thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward, his dark eyes hard and bright. His voice became sharp and cold.
“So you’re going to have the Interplanetary Rangers sent here to look around? You think there’s something funny going on?”
“Why, of course,” Billings said. He opened his mouth to continue, then for the first time he became aware of the effect of his words. He moistened his lips and seemed to shrink into himself.
“I thought you two might turn out to be a couple of meddlers—and I was right,” Horton said grimly. “You’ve seen and heard too much. And that means you can forget about borrowing my runabout. You two aren’t going anywhere!”
HORTON MADE an abrupt movement. His pneumatic gleamed in his hand. His lips were pulled back from his teeth.
Behind Pearce and Billings the two men who had accompanied Horton to Sandra’s mine came closing in, their own weapons gripped in their fists.
Pearce glanced about the camp in desperation. Less than a hundred feet away, the two men called Merk and Olsen were wheeling a stubby rocket runabout from its shed. He and Billings had to reach that plane! Horton intended to silence them—and he would do it in only one way. Dead men told no tales!
“The runabout!” Pearce hissed at Billings. “Run!” Even as he said this, he was leaping at Horton. He hit the other below the waist, just as Horton fired his pneumatic. The shot went wild, and then Pearce and the miner went crashing to the ground.
Pearce rolled clear, fumbling at the pneumatic at his hip. He came up on one knee and triggered the weapon at one of Horton’s two gunmen. The tough spun around and clutched at his shoulder. His companion triggered a hasty shot at Pearce, then whirled and ran for cover.
Darting erect, Pearce ran toward the runabout. He saw that Billings had already started toward the craft. The fight had been noticed, and Horton’s men were running forward from all directions. Horton himself had struggled erect and was shouting angry commands.
In the next moment a rock turned under Pearce’s foot. The scene whirled crazily as he plunged to the ground. He hit hard, lay dazedly an instant, then frantically began to climb back to his feet.
The 47th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 2