And there it was: the remains of a huge ceratopsian lying in a little hollow on the edge of a copse. Must have weighed six or eight ton alive; a three-horned variety, perhaps the penultimate species of Triceratops. It was hard to tell, because most of the hide on the upper surface had been ripped off, and many bones had been pulled loose and lay scattered about.
Holtzinger said: “Oh, shucks! Why couldn’t I have gotten to him before he died? That would have been a darned fine head.”
I said: “On your toes, chaps. A theropod’s been at this carcass and is probably nearby.”
“How d’you know?” said James, with sweat running off his round red face. He spoke in what was for him a low voice, because a nearby theropod is a sobering thought to the flightiest.
I sniffed again and thought I could detect the distinctive rank odor of theropod. I couldn’t be sure, though, because the carcass stank so strongly. My sahibs were turning green at the sight and smell of the cadaver. I told James:
“It’s seldom that even the biggest theropod will attack a full-grown ceratopsian.
Those horns are too much for them. But they love a dead or dying one. They’ll hang round a dead ceratopsian for weeks, gorging and then sleeping off their meals for days at a time. They usually take cover in the heat of the day anyhow, because they can’t stand much direct hot sunlight. You’ll find them lying in copses like this or in hollows, wherever there’s shade.”
“What’ll we do?” asked Holtzinger.
“We’ll make our first cast through this copse, in two pairs as usual. Whatever you do, don’t get impulsive or panicky.”
I looked at Courtney James, but he looked right back and merely checked his gun.
“Should I still carry this broken?” he asked.
“No, close it, but keep the safety on till you’re ready to shoot,” I said. “We’ll keep closer than usual, so we shall be in sight of each other. Start off at that angle, Raja; go slowly, and stop to listen between steps.”
We pushed through the edge of the copse, leaving the carcass but not its stench behind us. For a few feet, you couldn’t see a thing.
It opened out as we got in under the trees, which shaded out some of the brush. The sun slanted down through the trees. I could hear nothing but the hum of insects and the scuttle of lizards and the squawks of toothed birds in the treetops. I thought I could be sure of the theropod smell, but told myself that might be imagination. The theropod might be any of several species large or small, and the beast itself might be anywhere within a half-mile’s radius.
“Go on,” I whispered to Holtzinger. I could hear James and the Raja pushing ahead on my right and see the palm fronds and ferns lashing about as they disturbed them. I suppose they were trying to move quietly, but to me they sounded like an earthquake in a crockery shop.
“A little closer!” I called.
Presently, they appeared slanting in toward me. We dropped into a gully filled with ferns and scrambled up the other side. Then we found our way blocked by a big clump of palmetto.
“You go round that side; we’ll go round this,” I said. We started off, stopping to listen and smell. Our positions were the same as on that first day, when James killed the bonehead.
We’d gone two-thirds of the way round our half of the palmetto when I heard a noise ahead on our left. Holtzinger heard it too, and pushed off his safety. I put my thumb on mine and stepped to one side to have a clear field of fire.
The clatter grew louder. I raised my gun to aim at about the height of a big theropod’s heart. There was a movement in the foliage—and a six-foot-high bonehead stepped into view, walking solemnly across our front and jerking its head with each step like a giant pigeon.
I heard Holtzinger let out a breath and had to keep myself from laughing. Holtzinger said: “Uh—”
Then that damned gun of James’s went off, bang! bang! I had a glimpse of the bonehead knocked arsy-varsy with its tail and hindlegs flying.
“Got him!” yelled James. “I drilled him clean!” I heard him run forward.
“Good God, if he hasn’t done it again!” I said.
Then there was a great swishing of foliage and a wild yell from James. Something heaved up out of the shrubbery, and I saw the head of the biggest of the local flesh eaters, Tyrannosaurus trionyches himself.
The scientists can insist that rex is the bigger species, but I’ll swear this blighter was bigger than any rex ever hatched. It must have stood twenty feet high and been fifty feet long. I could see its big bright eye and six-inch teeth and the big dewlap that hangs down from its chin to its chest.
The second of the nullahs that cut through the copse ran athwart our path on the far side of the palmetto clump. Perhaps it was six feet deep. The tyrannosaur had been lying in this, sleeping off its last meal. Where its back stuck up above the ground level, the ferns on the edge of the nullah masked it. James had fired both barrels over the theropod’s head and woke it up. Then the silly ass ran forward without reloading.
Another twenty feet and he’d have stepped on the tyrannosaur.
James, naturally, stopped when this thing popped up in front of him. He remembered that he’d fired both barrels and that he’d left the Raja too far behind for a clear shot.
At first, James kept his nerve. He broke open his gun, took two rounds from his belt, and plugged them into the barrels. But, in his haste to snap the gun shut, he caught his hand between the barrels and the action. The painful pinch so startled James that he dropped his gun. Then he went to pieces and bolted.
The Raja was running up with his gun at high port, ready to snap it to his shoulder the instant he got a clear view. When he saw James running headlong toward him, he hesitated, not wishing to shoot James by accident. The latter plunged ahead, blundered into the Raja, and sent them both sprawling among the ferns. The tyrannosaur collected what little wits it had and stepped forward to snap them up.
And how about Holtzinger and me on the other side of the palmettos? Well, the instant James yelled and the tyrannosaur’s head appeared, Holtzinger darted forward like a rabbit. I’d brought my gun up for a shot at the tyrannosaur’s head, in hope of getting at least an eye; but, before I could find it in my sights, the head was out of sight behind the palmettos. Perhaps I should have fired at hazard, but all my experience is against wild shots.
When I looked back in front of me, Holtzinger had already disappeared round the curve of the palmetto clump. I’d started after him when I heard his rifle and the click of the bolt between shots: bang—click-click— bang—click-click, like that.
He’d come up on the tyrannosaur’s quarter as the brute started to stoop for James and the Raja. With his muzzle twenty feet from the tyrannosaur’s hide, Holtzinger began pumping .375s into the beast’s body. He got off three shots when the tyrannosaur gave a tremendous booming grunt and wheeled round to see what was stinging it. The jaws came open, and the head swung round and down again.
Holtzinger got off one more shot and tried to leap to one side. As he was standing on a narrow place between the palmetto clump and the nullah, he fell into the nullah. The tyrannosaur continued its lunge and caught him. The jaws went chomp, and up came the head with poor Holtzinger in them, screaming like a damned soul.
I came up just then and aimed at the brute’s face, but then realized that its jaws were full of my sahib and I should be shooting him, too. As the head went on up like the business end of a big power shovel, I fired a shot at the heart. The tyrannosaur was already turning away, and I suspect the ball just glanced along the ribs. The beast took a couple of steps when I gave it the other barrel in the back. It staggered on its next step but kept on. Another step, and it was nearly out of sight among the trees, when the Raja fired twice. The stout fellow had untangled himself from James, got up, picked up his gun, and let the tyrannosaur have it.
The double wallop knocked the brute over with a tremendous crash. It fell into a dwarf magnolia, and I saw one of its huge birdlike hindlegs waving
in the midst of a shower of pink-and-white petals. But the tyrannosaur got up again and blundered off without even dropping its victim. The last I saw of it was Holtzinger’s legs dangling out one side of its jaws (he’d stopped screaming) and its big tail banging against the tree trunks as it swung from side to side.
The Raja and I reloaded and ran after the brute for all we were worth. I tripped and fell once, but jumped up again and didn’t notice my skinned elbow till later. When we burst out of the copse, the tyrannosaur was already at the far end of the glade. We each took a quick shot but probably missed, and it was out of sight before we could fire again.
We ran on, following the tracks and spatters of blood, until we had to stop from exhaustion. Never again did we see that tyrannosaur. Their movements look slow and ponderous, but with those tremendous legs they don’t have to step very fast to work up considerable speed.
When we’d got our breath, we got up and tried to track the tyrannosaur, on the theory that it might be dying and we should come up to it. But, though we found more spoor, it faded out and left us at a loss. We circled round, hoping to pick it up, but no luck.
Hours later, we gave up and went back to the glade.
Courtney James was sitting with his back against a tree, holding his rifle and Holtzinger’s. His right hand was swollen and blue where he’d pinched it, but still usable.
His first words were:
“Where the hell have you two been?”
I said: “We’ve been occupied. The late Mr. Holtzinger. Remember?”
“You shouldn’t have gone off and left me; another of those things might have come along. Isn’t it bad enough to lose one hunter through your stupidity without risking another one?”
I’d been preparing a warm wigging for James, but his attack so astonished me that I could only bleat: “What? We lost…?”
“Sure,” he said. “You put us in front of you, so if anybody gets eaten it’s us. You send a guy up against these animals undergunned. You—”
“You Goddamn’ stinking little swine!” I said. “If you hadn’t been a blithering idiot and blown those two barrels, and then run like the yellow coward you are, this never would have happened. Holtzinger died trying to save your worthless life. By God, I wish he’d failed! He was worth six of a stupid, spoiled, muttonheaded bastard like you—”
I went on from there. The Raja tried to keep up with me, but ran out of English and was reduced to cursing James in Hindustani.
I could see by the purple color on James’s face that I was getting home. He said:
“Why, you—” and stepped forward and sloshed me one in the face with his left fist.
It rocked me a bit, but I said: “Now then, my lad, I’m glad you did that! It gives me a chance I’ve been waiting for….”
So I waded into him. He was a good-sized bod, but between my sixteen stone and his sore right hand he had no chance. I got a few good ones home, and down he went.
“Now get up!” I said. “And I’ll be glad to finish off!”
James raised himself to his elbows. I got set for more fisticuffs, though my knuckles were skinned and bleeding already. James rolled over, snatched his gun, and scrambled up, swinging the muzzle from one to the other of us.
“You won’t finish anybody off!” he panted through swollen lips. “All right, put your hands up! Both of you!”
“Do not be an idiot,” said the Raja. “Put that gun away!”
“Nobody treats me like that and gets away with it!”
“There’s no use murdering us,” I said. “You’d never get away with it.”
“Why not? There won’t be much left of you after one of these hits you. I’ll just say the tyrannosaur ate you, too. Nobody could prove anything. They can’t hold you for a murder eighty-five million years old. The statute of limitations, you know.”
“You fool, you’d never make it back to the camp alive!” I shouted.
“I’ll take a chance—” began James, setting the butt of his .500 against his shoulder, with the barrels pointed at my face. Looked like a pair of bleeding vehicular tunnels.
He was watching me so closely that he lost track of the Raja for a second. My partner had been resting on one knee, and now his right arm came up in a quick bowling motion with a three-pound rock. The rock bounced off James’s head. The .500 went off. The ball must have parted my hair, and the explosion jolly well near broke my eardrums.
Down went James again.
“Good work, old chap!” I said, gathering up James’s gun.
“Yes,” said the Raja thoughtfully, as he picked up the rock he’d thrown and tossed it.
“Doesn’t quite have the balance of a cricket ball, but it is just as hard.”
“What shall we do now?” I said. “I’m inclined to leave the beggar here unarmed and let him fend for himself.”
The Raja gave a little sigh. “It’s a tempting thought, Reggie, but we really cannot, you know. Not done.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “Well, let’s tie him up and take him back to camp.”
We agreed there was no safety for us unless we kept James under guard every minute until we got home. Once a man has tried to kill you, you’re a fool if you give him another chance.
We marched James back to camp and told the crew what we were up against. James cursed everybody.
We spent three dismal days combing the country for that tyrannosaur, but no luck. We felt it wouldn’t have been cricket not to make a good try at recovering Holtzinger’s remains. Back at our main camp, when it wasn’t raining, we collected small reptiles and things for our scientific friends. The Raja and I discussed the question of legal proceedings against Courtney James, but decided there was nothing we could do in that direction.
When the transition chamber materialized, we fell over one another getting into it. We dumped James, still tied, in a corner, and told the chamber operator to throw the switches.
While we were in transition, James said: “You two should have killed me back there.”
“Why?” I said. “You don’t have a particularly good head.”
The Raja added: “Wouldn’t look at all well over a mantel.”
“You can laugh,” said James, “but I’ll get you some day. I’ll find a way and get off scot-free.”
“My dear chap!” I said. “If there were some way to do it, I’d have you charged with Holtzinger’s death. Look, you’d best leave well enough alone.”
When we came out in the present, we handed him his empty gun and his other gear, and off he went without a word. As he left, Holtzinger’s girl, that Claire, rushed up crying:
“Where is he? Where’s August?”
There was a bloody heartrending scene, despite the Raja’s skill at handling such situations.
We took our men and beasts down to the old laboratory building that the university has fitted up as a serai for such expeditions. We paid everybody off and found we were broke. The advance payments from Holtzinger and James didn’t cover our expenses, and we should have precious little chance of collecting the rest of our fees either from James or from Holtzinger’s estate.
And speaking of James, d’you know what that blighter was doing? He went home, got more ammunition, and came back to the university. He hunted up Professor Prochaska and asked him:
“Professor, I’d like you to send me back to the Cretaceous for a quick trip. If you can work me into your schedule right now, you can just about name your own price. I’ll offer five thousand to begin with. I want to go to April twenty-third, eighty-five million B.C.”
Prochaska answered: “Why do you wish to go back again so soon?”
“I lost my wallet in the Cretaceous,” said James. “I figure if I go back to the day before I arrived in that era on my last trip, I’ll watch myself when I arrived on that trip and follow myself around till I see myself lose the wallet.”
“Five thousand is a lot for a wallet,” said the professor.
“It’s got some things
in it I can’t replace,” said James.
“Well,” said Prochaska, thinking. “The party that was supposed to go out this morning has telephoned that they would be late, so perhaps I can work you in. I have always wondered what would happen when the same man occupied the same stretch of time twice.”
So James wrote out a check, and Prochaska took him to the chamber and saw him off.
James’s idea, it seems, was to sit behind a bush a few yards from where the transition chamber would appear and pot the Raja and me as we emerged.
Hours later, we’d changed into our street clothes and phoned our wives to come and get us. We were standing on Forsythe Boulevard waiting for them when there was a loud crack, like an explosion, and a flash of light not fifty feet from us. The shock wave staggered us and broke windows.
We ran toward the place and got there just as bobby and several citizens came up. On the boulevard, just off the kerb, lay a human body. At least, it had been that, but it looked as if every bone in it had been pulverized and every blood vessel burst, so it was hardly more than a slimy mass of pink protoplasm. The clothes it had been wearing were shredded, but I recognized an H. & H. .500 double-barreled express rifle. The wood was scorched and the metal pitted, but it was Courtney James’s gun. No doubt whatever.
Skipping the investigations and the milling about that ensued, what had happened was this: nobody had shot at us as we emerged on the twenty-fourth, and that couldn’t be changed. For that matter, the instant James started to do anything that would make a visible change in the world of eighty-five million B.C., such as making a footprint in the earth, the space-time forces snapped him forward to the present to prevent a paradox.
And the violence of the passage practically tore him to bits.
Now that this is better understood, the professor won’t send anybody to a period less than five thousand years prior to the time that some time traveler has already explored, because it would be too easy to do some act, like chopping down a tree or losing some durable artifact, that would affect the later world. Over longer periods, he tells me, such changes average out and are lost in the stream of time.
Time Travelers Page 16