Into the Green Prism

by A. Hyatt Verrill

  Indeed, I feel rather sure that, had I been younger and had such a vision of glorious womanhood lured me on, I should not have hesitated to have risked my life on the chance of winning her. And Ramon took no chance on the latter score, he loved her madly, devotedly, with every fibre of his being, and he knew, he was as certain as he was of his own existence, that she responded and loved him as deeply as he loved her. Just how he knew, he could not exactly explain. I talked with him a great deal about the matter, and about Kora for, somehow, as the time for the test drew near, we seemed to grow closer and even more intimate than before. Moreover, it seemed to relieve Ramon to talk to me of his passion and the princess.

  "How," I once asked him. "can you be sure Kora loves you? How can you be positive that she even knows you—that she would recognize you if you were to stand before her? I know you say that you two loved ages ago, that your spirits have always loved. But is it not possible that you alone are aware of that? Is it not possible that her subconscious self, her soul or spirit, may be reincarnated in another body? Or even if that is not the case, that her spirit or subconscious-ness might fail lo retain the memory of the dim past as does yours?"

  He shook his head and smiled enigmatically. "All those contingencies have occurred to me," he declared. "But I know they are not so. I know, I feel, that she saw or heard me on that first day. That even if she did not see me with her eyes nor hear me with her ears, still she knew I was near. And her eyes and her wonderful face were aglow with joy and love. Ah, yes, amigo mio, she knows, she remembers, she loves me as of old. You will see, my dear good friend. When I have vanished, then you will look through the prism at the village and you shall see Kora and myself, and shall witness our happiness. Yes, Valgame Dios, I promise, I swear, that no sooner do I find myself among her people and beside her that I will signal to you. Although I may not be able to see you, yet will I know my great, good and tried friend—a friend larger than a mountain—is watching us, and I shall raise my hand and salute you, for you will see us. And I will tell my Kora, my Sumak Nusta of you, amigo, and will ask her also to salute you—yes, even, amigo, to throw you a kiss from her beloved lips. Then, will you know that all is well, and that I have found happiness beyond words with my Kora. That the love of ages—of ten thousand years—has endured and has met its reward at last. Will you promise to look, amigo? Will you swear that you will? And then, my friend, do me one more favor. Destroy the prism, shatter it to bits and destroy all fragments that may remain about the camp. Some day, at some time, some one might discover its secret, and some one more adventurous than yourself might follow in my steps and intrude himself—perhaps intrude a crowd upon my Kora's people. Promise me then unless"— he grinned his boyish, happy grin—"unless you decide to change your mind and join us."

  "I promise that I will destroy it." I assured him. "And of course I shall look through the prism—I could not resist that. But there's no fear of my changing my mind. Moreover, even if I did, I could not join you. You forget I cannot play the violin!"

  CHAPTER XIII

  When at last the prism was completed, and the time came to put it to the test, I was a-tingle with excitement. In fact, I had never before felt my nerves so keyed up, so tense. Upon this experiment depended so much. It was the next thing to Ramon testing it upon himself. We had, so he thought, provided for every possible contingency. We had repeatedly tested the focal distances of the prism, in order to determine just where the dog should be placed and just where we might expect to find his reduced body, alive or dead. But we had a great deal of difficulty, and many rather heated arguments, over these details.

  Although it had never occurred to us before, yet, when we came to look into the matter, we discovered that the prism did not act as a reducing glass, or in other words that we could not use it reversed as can be done with lenses in a telescope or field-glass.

  It worked perfectly as far as magnifying an object was concerned—although its power was only about two hundred diameters—but when an object was placed behind it, and we looked into the opposite end, we saw nothing but the dull, greenish, semi-translucent Manabinite.

  At this impasse, Ramon declared that the only way to determine the locations for our canine experiments and the resultant miniature dog, would be to reverse their positions when magnified. In other words, if a small object placed in front of the mirror was clearly magnified, then the spot where that object rested would be the spot where the reduced subject of the test would be found after the experiment had been made.

  "But," I argued, "how do we know that? The image, as you know, is not at any real distance behind the prism. To be sure, it appears to be in mid-air, an actual thing of impalpable wraith-like material. But we cannot touch it, and the nearer we come to the prism, the more it recedes before us, until it seems to be within the Manabinite itself. Where, in that indefinite range, are you going to place the dog?"

  "It doesn't make any difference," declared Ramon. "As long as he's in the focal plane of the thing, he'll be reduced."

  "You're merely assuming," I argued. "Think of the number of times I have stood back of a prism when you gave the note, and I have not been reduced, as I remarked once before. No. Ramon, I feel sure there is some exact and definite point at which the prism operates. That burro for example. He was at least twenty-five feet from the crystal. To my mind, the subject must be at a considerable distance. The reason I have not been affected is because I have always been close to it."

  Ramon grunted. "Then how is it that a portion of the hut—my couch for example—hasn't been reduced?"

  "Possibly the reduction process may not work on inanimate substances," I suggested. "If the magnifying process works upon inanimate things but not upon living organism, why shouldn't the reverse process work on living things and not on others?"

  "Something in that." he admitted. "But it's all guesswork. Anyhow, we can try the dog at various distances."

  "And if he vanishes, we may not find him afterwards," I reminded him. "It stands to reason that the point at which the reduced object appears must be in direct ratio to where the original object is located."

  "Well get around that difficulty," replied Ramon. "We'll build a sort of pen—an enclosure—in front of the prism, line it with white and then we'll be able to find the microscopic pup easily. But he won't be hard to find. If the prism magnifies two hundred times, it can't reduce to less than one two-hundredth of the original, and that wouldn't be an invisible dog. A little larger than a flea, that's all."

  "I wonder if the fleas will be reduced also!" I laughed.

  Everything was soon arranged. We placed a large sheet of white paper before the prism, turning up its edges to form a shallow tray within which we hoped—or at least Ramon hoped—to find the reduced dog after the test. The prism, I might explain, had been placed upon the floor of the hut in order that the dog might come within its focal plane. Then I brought out the victim. We had had him with us for several days, and never in his life had he been so well fed and cared for. Now he fawned and wagged his stump of a ragged tail in expectation of another feast. In this he was not to be disappointed. We had decided not to tie him up, for, if my theory was correct, the prism might not work upon inanimate objects, and complications might ensue if the dog were reduced and his leash remained normal. So, to insure his remaining in one spot, I placed a tin plate of food upon the floor where, as nearly as we could judge, he should be in focus of the prism. As he wolved greedily at the food, Ramon picked up his violin, while I stood well to one side, my eyes fixed upon the dog. For a moment or two Ramon tuned his instrument with care. He tried a few soft subdued notes, and, the next instant, the shivering magic note came from beneath his bow. As the weird note rang out and my ears recorded the peculiar twang from the crystal. I uttered a startled cry and involuntarily leaped back. The dog had vanished before my eyes! One moment he had been there, gulping down his food; the next instant he had gone, had dissolved, had instantaneously and completely disappeared. And with
him had gone the meat, the bones, the grease. Only the empty tin plate remained, unchanged, unmoved, but as clean as though it had been washed and scoured! It was the most astounding, the most incredible thing yet! I felt as if I were in a dream; it was so unreal, so utterly beyond reason.

  All had happened in a breath. All was over in the fraction of a second. Now Ramon had thrown aside his violin, and was stooping above the white paper examining it, searching it, for the transformed reduced dog he confidently expected to find there. I joined him, shaken, still dazed. But the white surface was bare. Not a trace of anything could be found, aside from the white powder, the remains of the prism that had fallen upon it.

  "I must have miscalculated the powers of the prism," muttered my friend, "he was probably reduced to invisible dimensions. I—"

  "It is just as I said," I declared, at heart vastly relieved that Ramon had not been successful in his search. "The poor dog was utterly destroyed—reduced to atoms—to impalpable dust. Now, Ramon, do you see what a terrible risk you would have taken had you not tested the prism on the pup?"

  "Possibly you are right," he admitted, "but I do not agree with you. I believe the dog is here somewhere."

  As he spoke, he rose, rummaged about, and produced the Manabinite lens he had made. "Now we shall see." he remarked, as he again proceeded to examine the prepared paper tray. But though we went over every inch of the surface, there was no trace of any object, alive or dead.

  "Aren't you convinced yet?" I exclaimed. "Aren't you convinced that the dog has been utterly annihilated?"

  "No, I am not," he asserted. "I may have made a mistake in my calculations regarding the prism. Even with this lens, the reduced dog might remain invisible. The only way to be certain is to expose the paper to the magnifying powers of our big prism. Come on, amigo, we'll carry it over and examine it with the prism. Then, if we cannot discover the dog, I'll admit you must be right."

  Willing to humor him, anxious to convince him, and feeling greatly elated at knowing that Ramon would now refrain from his mad design, I helped him pick up the paper tray, covering it with a second sheet of paper to prevent any draught from carrying away its contents, and with him proceeded to the prism that remained focussed upon the Indian village in the sand.

  "We will have to place it directly above the village,"

  I observed. '"I'm afraid your friends will imagine there is a terrific storm brewing. I hope they are not terrified."

  "They will never know the paper is here," declared Ramon, "the interstices between the fibres are large enough, in proportion to themselves, to permit plenty of sun to come through. It may appear like a thin high cloud to them, but nothing more. But I do not intend to place it directly above them. I could not do that without walking over them and somehow—although I know it will not affect them in the least—I cannot bring myself to tread over my beloved Kora."

  "Then how are you going to see it without moving the prism?" I enquired.

  "We will move the prism," he replied. "We will first look through it at the village, and then gradually swing it about, until the outlying huts are just visible. Then we can always swing it back again."

  This seemed a good plan, and once more we viewed the village with its people. For an instant we watched them, then, very slowly, we swung the prism about until we could barely distinguish the most outlying houses just within the sphere of vision.

  "Now," said Ramon, "we will soon see who is right and who is wrong. Look through the prism while I place the paper. In that way you can direct me so I can place it directly in focus with the prism. All ready?"

  Intently I gazed at the apparently vast expanse of terrific mountains and ravines, the deep canyons, the monstrous rock-masses, the wild chaos of boulders, stones and sand, that the prism revealed, and which, I knew, was nothing more than the immeasurably magnified sand before me. What, I wondered, would the paper look like when it came into view? Would I see the microscopic dog? Would he be dead, mutilated, or would he be unhurt, perhaps still munching a bone?

  The next second I uttered a yell as if I had stepped upon a scorpion. "Ramon!" I screamed. "Ramon! Quick! Come here! Am I going mad?"

  No wonder I was startled! No wonder I could not believe my own eyes!

  As I gazed into the prism, an animal had appeared from behind a mass of rocks. He moved slowly, sniffing suspiciously and cocking his long ears as he proceeded. There was no mistaking him. He was a donkey, a burro! And, instantly, despite my amazement, I recognized him. He was the identical burro that had so mysteriously vanished several days before! There could be no slightest doubt about it. Even our own brand upon his hip was plainly visible!

  Dropping the paper, Ramon sprang to my side. One glance was enough. ''Nombre de Dios!" he cried. "It is—it is el Burro!"

  "Then I am not mad!" I exclaimed, relieved to find that it was no figment of an overwrought brain. "You see him the same as I do?"

  "Caramba, yes!" he ejaculated. "The burro, the donkey that vanished before the eyes of the Cholo! Do I not know him? Do I not, see the brand? Gracias a Dios, amigo mio now do you believe? Now do you scoff! Now do you doubt that I, too, can become the size of my Kora's people? Santissima Madre! now I am happy! Now my life's dream is about to be realized!"

  I could no longer doubt, could no longer question. I could not even advance any valid reason why Ramon should not carry out his mad plans. If a donkey could be bodily transformed to microscopic proportions without the least injury, then there was no reason why a human being should he injured by the same process. And as realization of this came to me, I felt a sharp twinge in my heart, a pang at thought of losing Ramon forever.

  Meanwhile the donkey was proceeding slowly across the rock-strewn plain. Now and then he stopped, lowered his head, and apparently grazed upon invisible tufts of grass or weeds. Now and then he raised his head and obviously brayed, though no sound issued from his mouth. Indeed, so thoroughly natural were his actions, so familiar his appearance, that I could scarcely force myself to believe he was not still a full-sized burro on a normal stretch of earth.

  Evidently, too, be was none the worse for his remarkable experience, for he appeared fat and sleek, though a bit nervous and ill at case in such strange surroundings. So engrossed had we become in watching the donkey, that momentarily we had forgotten all about the paper and our search for the dog.

  I was just on the point of reminding Ramon of the matter, when the donkey halted abruptly, pricked up its ears, wheeled about, sniffed the air, laid back its ridiculous ears, wrinkled its lips to bare its yellow teeth, and showed every unmistakable evidence of asinine anger.

  "By Jove!" I exclaimed. "Look at the beast, Ramon! He's all ready to lash out with his hoofs! Being reduced hasn't changed his nature any. I wonder—"

  The next second I gripped Ramon's arm until he yelled, I uttered a sharp exclamation of utter amazement, and stared incredulously. My half-formed question had been answered in a most astounding way!

  Dashing towards the angry burro, leaping over the stones, was a dog? The dog! The unmistakable mongrel that, less than half an hour before, had been wagging its tail and munching its food in Ramon's hut!

  Somehow I felt faint, weak, almost ill. It was too much, too weird, too much of the supernatural. I tore my eyes from the prism and stared about. No, I was not dreaming. Everything in the vicinity was as it should be. There were the huts, there was the sheet of paper where Ramon had left it. There was he, his eyes glued to the prism. There was no burro, no dog in sight. It must be true, I could no longer doubt it, and I again turned my gaze to the magical prism.

  I was just in time to see the burro lash out viciously with his feet. But the Cholo's dog had not been brought up among burros without acquiring knowledge by experience. He dodged the flying hoofs, snapped at the donkey's flank, and, by his actions and attitudes, we knew he was yelping, barking, as he circled about, keeping well out of reach. Presently the inevitable happened. The burro gave up and sought to evade his torment
or by flight. Away he galloped, the dog at his heels. Again and again he halted, prepared to fight, but each time the dog urged him on. Then, for the first time we noticed that the cur was driving the donkey in a definite direction, and suddenly it dawned upon me. The dog was herding the burro towards the Indian village! He was following out his former instincts, was doing just as—when he had been a normal size dog—he had done hundreds of times before. He had come upon a stray burro, his duty was to drive the donkey to its proper place. He knew that Indians were near at hand and he was seeing to it that the wandering burro returned to where he belonged.

  Ramon had realized it also. "Mira!" (look) he cried excitedly. "The dog is driving the beast to the village! Dios! What will happen? What will the people think? What will they do when they see the burro, when they see the dog? Never, amigo mio, have they dreamed that such creatures exist. Quick, quick, amigo, turn the prism or we shall miss the fun!"