Time Travel Omnibus Volume 1

by Anthology

  Clive felt embarrassed the moment he had made this rude speech. “After all,” he thought, “they are probably members of one of the motion picture companies that film many of their scenes in this country.” This embarrassment lasted only a moment, however, quickly changing to a feeling of concern, for as soon as the strangers had recovered from the first surprise their swords flashed menacingly in their hands, and “d’Artagnan” cried:

  “It’s an English dog, let me have the pleasure, Messieurs, of spitting him on my sword.”

  Clive would not have been surprised if they had vanished in thin air, but events had taken an unsuspected turn with rather startling effects. He turned and fled toward the cab of the tanker. The motor roared obligingly at a flick of the starter button, and the truck moved out upon the highway. He stopped the truck again on the top of a small knoll about one hundred yards distant, for a glance at the rear-view mirror had assured him he was no longer in danger of being perforated by this maniac’s sword—Clive was sure now that the strangers were escaped inmates of an asylum, or almost sure—the noble bearing of “Athos” made him wonder.

  Climbing to the top of the tank in order to get a better view, Clive looked back upon a scene of confusion. The horses, evidently startled by the roar of the truck motor were streaking across a nearby ridge, while the strangers who had tried in vain to stop them were watching them disappear in apparent dismay. When finally convinced that the horses would neither stop nor return, the four again turned their attention to the tanker, and after a hasty conference started walking up the hill to where Clive was now seated cross-legged on top of the tank. Clive had by this time overcome his momentary fear, and felt only amusement as he saw his would-be persecutors approach slowly-panting and perspiring under the weight of the heavy, warm clothes they were wearing. When they arrived within hailing distance, Clive called out to them, this time in French:

  “Stay where you are, Messieurs, or leave your arms there, otherwise you shall have a twenty-mile walk to the next town.”

  The strangers held another hasty conference, and Clive saw Athos hand his sword to d’Artagnan, and approach alone.

  “Monsieur, I am afraid you have bested us on our first encounter; bested by your noise, if not by your remarkable display of courage.”

  Clive flushed crimson, but then thought of the cause of his awkward retreat.

  “It does take a brave man to draw a sword on an unarmed man, and since there are four of you I’d say your courage was almost foolhardy.”

  Now Athos flushed. Clive climbed down to the ground, and stood before this aristocratic figure. “If your friends will promise to behave themselves I’ll take you all on to St. George, where you can put up at a hotel for the night. Your horses will turn up at some ranch by morning, and we can get the sheriff to keep us posted.”

  By this time Athos had regained his composure, he said: “Accept my sincere apologies, I see that I am dealing with a gentleman, although you are clothed as a peasant. Your speech tells me that you are an Englishman, therefore a spy. We can not ride with you since you obviously have no horses for your strange carriage. Amiens is scarcely over a league from here, and since we are in a hurry we shall walk back there and buy new horses.”

  “Amiens? I have never heard of that town around here,” said Clive. “Of course I may be wrong, and you’re not kidding about wanting to buy horses; if so you’ll have a better chance of getting them in St. George than out here in the hills. Your best bet is to climb in with me and let me take you on in to town.” Clive was beginning to wonder how long these fellows were going to keep up the bluff. Amiens, anyone would know that was a French city, six thousand miles away.

  Athos considered for a moment, he gazed at the cloudless sky and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a lace handkerchief which he produced from somewhere. He gave most of his attention to the truck, however, and seemed very much perplexed with this strange vehicle.

  “It did start, and carry itself to the top of this hill,” he said, as though to himself. “We are not expected in Paris for two days, and perhaps the adventure will be worth the delay.” Turning, he signaled for the others to approach, and when they came within speaking distance he said, “Put down your arms Messieurs, we are dealing with a gentleman from whom we are about to receive a favor.”

  The three exchanged knowing glances, and sheathed their swords. Porthos dragged his hat off and mopped industriously at the copious stream of perspiration, that was welling forth from his brow, with a handkerchief that greatly resembled a lace curtain. Aramis patted lightly with a much more dainty piece of lace, while d’Artagnan walked coolly ahead, as though there were no such thing as temperature discomfort.

  “A gentleman indeed,” grumbled Porthos; “he would make a much better companion for our lackeys.”

  “Ah yes,” replied d’Artagnan; “but he has a very interesting sort of carriage, it’s noisier than the fishmonger’s market, and it will go uphill without horses.”

  “I would say it is possessed of the devil, if he is not the devil himself. What say you, Monsieur l’Abbe?” asked Porthos, turning to Aramis.

  “Perhaps,” answered Aramis. “If so, we should cultivate him, for who would be better to deal with Monsieur le Cardinal!”

  “Bravo!” cried Porthos and d’Artagnan. Athos smiled in his noble manner, while Clive although smiling was rather annoyed by their continued pretense.

  “All kidding aside, fellows, where is your location?” Clive asked this question in English. The four looked questioningly at each other, and Athos spoke with ill disguised impatience:

  “Monsieur, we do not understand the English tongue, and since you do speak our language, after a fashion, you will please do us the courtesy of addressing us in French.” This was somewhat of a set-back, but Clive was determined to get to the bottom of what he decided was a first-rate mystery, and so proceeded to humor them. He repeated his question, this time in French.

  The strangers showed immediate signs of anger, reaching for their swords again. Athos restrained them, and Porthos, whose face had become a deep crimson from the heat of the sun, fairly exploded.

  “Mordieu!” he exclaimed, “this fellow is indeed a fool to even suggest that we betray military information to an Englishman.”

  “I have no reference to the French army, I am speaking of motion pictures.” This statement fell like a blow upon the four men. They stood transfixed. The color streamed from Porthos’ face until it faded to a rosy pink color. Finally d’Artagnan spoke.

  “Monsieur, you say ‘pictures’. Are we to understand then that there are more than one?”

  “You have them, perhaps?” asked Aramis.

  “It is plain that he has them, or he would not have mentioned them,” said Athos; “it is, therefore, our duty to see that he arrives safely in Paris.”

  To say that Clive was surprised at the turn events had taken would be a gross understatement. He made a feeble attempt to correct the misunderstanding, but was rewarded only by bland smiles from the four.

  “You need not fear, Monsieur, you are among friends,” said Aramis.

  Clive tried another approach. “You said that Amiens is scarcely over a league from here, what road do you take to get there?”

  “Road indeed! The trail is scarcely more than a dry stream bed—that one,” Porthos said, pointing down the road to the point where the truck had first stopped. Clive could see a small gully with a fairly wide, dry stream bed, that quickly lost itself in the surrounding hills. Dry washes were very common in this country, but Clive was very much surprised when he saw this one dry for it had been the one stream that had consistently been “wet” in all his experience in this country. In fact, Clive had fished in that stream not more than two weeks before.

  “Yes it is very odd,” said d’Artagnan, “since on the other side of the cavern the trail is well marked, while on this side we appear to have been the only travelers. And now we come to this road, the like of which I have
never seen in France.”

  “There is one more question I would like to ask you,” said Clive. “What was the date when you left Amiens?”

  “Why it was this morning,” d’Artagnan answered, “the sixth of July, 1628!”

  “Look!” cried Porthos. “Water!” The others followed his gaze, and saw that a stream of water was now flowing down the gully that a few minutes before had been a dry wash.

  “Messieurs,” said Clive. The others turned toward the speaker. “Prepare yourselves for a shock. Since you left Amiens ‘this morning’ you have come over five thousand miles, and covered a period of three hundred and twelve years!”

  The four strangers looked at him first in amazement, then they burst into laughter.

  “Monsieur is either mad, or is trying to be very clever,” said Athos.

  “I don’t blame you for thinking so,” said Clive; “but frankly, I had the same impression of you gentlemen until just now. I can’t explain how you did it, but I can prove to you that this is not the year 1628. If you will follow me I’ll show you that what I say is the truth.” He led them to the front of the truck and showed them the license plate. “You see, this is Utah, 1940. Utah is in the Rocky Mountains in the United States of America. Did you ever see a truck like this before? You just said you had never seen a road like this in France—it would be very impractical to drive horses over such a surface. And did you ever see such mountains as these in northern France?” The-four men were thunder-stricken. “You had better come with me now,” Clive continued. “If there is a way back we will find it in the morning.”

  “We must find it now,” said Athos; “the reputation of the Queen, as well as the fate of France, is at stake.” He turned and started back down the road, the others swung in alongside, and all four marched toward the stream. As Clive watched them depart a sudden longing for adventure swept over him—story book adventure, as this obviously was.

  “Wait!” he cried. “Let me go with you.” The four men stopped momentarily, and in that moment a motorcycle roared over the knoll, and straight toward them. The appearance of this “monster” was so sudden that the musketeers had barely drawn their swords when it dodged between them and passed on up the road at full speed. They had seen a man astride the vehicle, and they now stood staring after it as it disappeared over the next hill.

  “This is truly a land of devils,” said Porthos.

  “What manner of contraption was that which just passed down the road?” d’Artagnan asked Clive, who had by this time caught up with the others.

  “That was a motorcycle,” he answered. “It has the same kind of power as that which runs my truck. These machines are quite handy for getting around the country with one man,”

  “Indeed!”

  “If you gentlemen will wait until I pull my truck off the road, I would like to tag along with you, at least as far as the cavern you spoke about.” They waited, and when Clive returned they continued toward the stream.

  They followed along the banks of the stream until the banks became so precipitous that they had to take to the water and continue their journey wading up stream. This was not such a great difficulty since the stream was fairly shallow, and unlike most mountain streams the bed was covered with coarse gravel rather than large rocks and boulders. Rounding a bend in the stream the five men found themselves in a box canyon, the sides of which were formed by perpendicular ledges, while a twenty-foot high waterfall closed the opposite end. Clive recognized the spot, for he had fished many times at the foot of that water-fall.

  “Excuse me for asking,” he remarked, “but could we by any chance be up the wrong gulch?” Clive was again being troubled with doubts as to the mental stability of his companions. He was even beginning to feel ashamed of himself for his gullibility.

  The musketeers, on the other hand, showed genuine consternation at the absence of the cavern.

  “There is still one possibility,” said d’Artagnan; “the cavern may lie behind the waterfall—although the appearance of the place has changed entirely.” He strode forward and as he neared the falls the water became deeper so that he had to turn back when within 30 feet of his destination. The water here was up to his shoulders, and to attempt to swim, attired as he was would have been an impossibility. He gained the bank and by climbing precariously over large, moss-covered boulders he found a spot where he could peer behind the wall of water. His face registered only disappointment to the four men who had followed him with their eyes.

  “There is a recess back here that appears to extend backward only about ten feet, although I can not see where it meets the water,” he said.

  “Well there is one way of finding out,” said Clive. He quickly shed the few clothes he was wearing, and plunged into the pool at the base of the falls. Swimming under water he passed behind the falls, and then came to the surface to inspect his surroundings. By means of the subdued light that filtered through the cascade behind him Clive saw the recess that d’Artagnan had mentioned, but to his own surprise he also saw at a slight angle of the grotto wall the entrance to a cavern, the top of which extended about six inches above the surface of the water. He peered into this hole, but could see nothing but darkness. By diving to the bottom he found the water to be about ten feet deep at this point, and under water he could see the hazy outline of the cavern. He came to the surface long enough to get his breath, and then recklessly dove into the mouth of the cavern. He swam under water, coming to the surface every few seconds to assure himself that there was still an air space above the water, and he soon discovered that the ceiling of the cavern was getting higher and higher above the surface of the water. Soon he was able to swim on the surface, although it was now getting so dark that he had difficulty in keeping clear of the somewhat jagged walls. Behind him the water still had a greenish translucence from the sunlight, and as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the cavern he was aware of a strange bluish light that seemed to cling to the walls.

  “Phosphorescence,” he thought, but as he swam on farther into the cavern the light became brighter until he was able to distinguish details of the walls. He was soon able to touch the bottom of the tunnel with his feet, and he welcomed the opportunity to rest after what he calculated was a one hundred yard swim. The cavern had become wider, and a short distance further on the water had become so shallow that swimming was no longer possible, and Clive waded through water knee deep.

  Since he had first noticed the blue light an oppressive weight seemed to have settled upon Clive’s mind. At first he was merely unable to correlate his thoughts, but as the light grew brighter all thoughts left him except the knowledge that he must forge onward.

  It was now nearly as light as day in the cavern, and as Clive stumbled on through the water a strange vertigo seized him. He seemed to be in the center of a gigantic balloon that was being inflated with every step he took. Ahead of him he was aware of two tunnels. He tried to reason which he should take, but finding this impossible he stumbled on, trusting in luck that he would find the right one. The water was again becoming deeper, so that when he reached the junction of the three caverns he was swimming. The walls were still ballooning away from him when he plunged into the nearest tunnel, but as soon as he had passed the portal the blue light vanished, and the weight was lifted from his mind, as though the balloon had suddenly burst. Ahead of him he could see the light from outdoors, although this light had a strange red cast. The air seemed very thin and he experienced great difficulty in breathing. He soon had to swim under water again, and this last dash brought him put into the open.

  “Great guns!” He exclaimed, as he viewed the landscape before him. He was looking upon a dead world. Directly before him moldered the ruins of what appeared to have been a mighty city, and beyond these stretched an endless ocean. The sky above was nearly black, stars were visible, and a somewhat faded, orange moon could be seen descending beyond the horizon. The sun appeared as a reddish orb, suspended almost directly overhead. No s
ign of life was to be seen anywhere.

  Clive knew he must get back to the main cavern, and take the other tunnel. He was about to dive back into the cavern when the figures of D’Artagnan and Porthos appeared at his side.

  “Mordieu!” the latter exclaimed as he gazed upon the dismal landscape before him. “This is not France, either.” His voice had a strange high pitch in the thin atmosphere.

  “Indeed not,” said d’Artagnan; “so we must rejoin Athos and Aramis who evidently took the other tunnel.”

  “But that cursed blue light,” said Porthos. “It makes you want to tear your hair out when you try to think what you are doing.”

  “Tell me,” said Clive, “when you rode through the cavern this morning, was there any water?”

  “No, nor that blue light,” said d’Artagnan. “When we entered the cavern we could see the light from the other end. It took us about three minutes to ride through.”

  “Let us get back,” gasped Porthos. “I’m having the devil’s own time trying to breathe.”

  “Good idea, I was just about to start back when you came.” Taking a deep breath Clive plunged into the entrance to the cavern, the others followed.

  Knowing what to expect the three men were able to find their way into the “other” tunnel, and soon they were with Athos and Aramis on the bank of the stream, although still within the cavern. Ahead of them, framed by the entrance to the cave they looked out upon a beautiful green landscape.