“I sat down and watched the sky, and listened to the river down below, and thought of you. I must have dozed a little, for all of a sudden I came wide-awake, shuddering with a terror I couldn’t understand. Then I heard something moving down the path—something that grunted and snuffled savagely.
“I started up, ran for the cave, and just got inside when the brute reached it. I rolled the stone in place, Allan, but before I could brace it with the pole it was hurled back, and in crawled the gorilla, roaring and snapping like a demon!”
She hid her face in both hands, shuddering at the terrible memory. But, forcing herself to be calm, she went on again:
“I snatched up the pistol and fired. Then—”
“You hit him?”
“I must have, for he screeched most horribly and pawed at his breast—”
“So, then, that explains the bloodmarks on the floor and the great hand-print on the wall?”
“Hand-print? Was there one?”
“Yes; but no matter now. Go on!”
“After that—oh, it was too ghastly! He seized me and I fought—I struggled against that huge, hairy chest; he gripped me like iron. My blows were no more than so many pats to him.
“I tried to fire again, but he wrenched the pistol away, and bent it in his huge teeth and flung it down. But, though he was raging, he didn’t wound me—didn’t try to kill me, or anything. He seemed to want to capture me alive—”
Allan shuddered. Only too well he understood. Gorilla nature had not changed in fifteen hundred years.
“After that?” he questioned eagerly.
“Oh, after that I don’t remember much. I must have fainted. Next thing I knew, everything was dark and the forest was all about. I screamed and then again I knew nothing. Once more I seemed to sense things, and once more all grew black. And after that—”
“Well?”
“Why—I was here on the bed, and you were beside me, Allan—and these men of our Folk were here! But how it all happened, God knows!”
“I’ll tell you some time. You shall have the story from our side some day, but not now. Only one thing—if it hadn’t been for Zangamon here and Bremilu—well—”
“You mean they helped rescue me?”
He nodded.
“Without them I’d have been helpless as a child. They traced you in the dark, for they could see as plainly as we see by day. It was a blow from Bremilu’s stone ax that killed the brute. They saved you, Beatrice! Not I!”
She kept a little silence, then said thoughtfully:
“How can I ever thank them, Allan? How can I thank them best?”
“You can’t thank them. There’s no way. I tried it, but they didn’t understand. They only did what seemed natural to them. They’re savages, remember; not civilized men. It’s impossible to thank them! The only thing you can do, or I can do, is work for them now. The greatest efforts and sacrifices for these men will be small payment for their deed. And if—as I believe—the whole race is dowered with the same spirit and indomitable courage—the courage we certainly did see in the Battle of the Wall—then we need have no fear of our transplanted nation dying out!”
Much more there might have been to say, but now the meal was ready, and hunger spoke in no uncertain tones. All four of the adventurers ate in silence, thoughtful and grave, cross-legged, about the meat and drink, which lay on palm-leaves or in clay bowls hard-burned and red.
A kind of embarrassment seemed to rest on all, for this was the first time they had eaten together—these barbarians with the two folk of the upper world.
But the meal was soon at an end, and the prospect of labors to be undertaken cheered Allan’s spirit. Despite his stiff and painful arm, he felt courage and energy throbbing in his veins, and longed to be at work.
“The very first thing we must do,” said he, “is fix up a place for our guests. They’ve got to stay here, out of the light, till nightfall. That will give us plenty of time. I want to get them settled in their own quarters, and bring them into some regular routine of life and labor, before they have a chance to get homesick and dejected.”
He warned the Merucaans to cover their heads with their cloaks while Beatrice and he opened the doorway.
He closed it then, with other rocks outside, and covered it with his own outer cloak; then, wearing only his belted tunic, he rejoined Beatrice half-way up the path to the cliff-top. Both were armed; he with his own automatic, she with the one they had found in the crypt.
“Our first move,” said he, “will be to transport the various things from the aeroplane. It will be something of a task, but I don’t dare leave them out there on the barrens till night, when the men themselves could bring them in. The sooner we get things to rights the better.”
She agreed, and together they took the path toward the landing-place, which they had christened Newport Heights. Stern felt grateful that his right arm, his gun arm, was uninjured. The other mattered little for the present.
An idea crossed his mind to seek out the dead gorilla and make a trophy of the pelt; but he dismissed it at once. The beast was so repellent that the very thought of it fair sickened him.
They reached the plane in some few minutes, found everything uninjured, and loaded themselves with the Merucaans’ goods and chattels. Stern took the bags of edible seaweed and the metal crate of fowl; she draped the big net over her shoulders, and together, not without difficulty, they returned to Settlement Cliffs.
Pass, now, all the minute details of the installation. By noon they had prepared a habitation for the newcomers, deep in a far recess of a winding gallery which thoroughly excluded all direct sunlight.
Only the dimmest glow penetrated even at high noon. Here they stowed the freight, built a rock fireplace, and threw down quantities of the long, fragrant grass for bedding.
They returned to their own cave, bade the colonists once more cover their heads, and entered, carefully closing the doorway after them. All four dined together, in true Merucaan style, on the familiar food of the Abyss. The colonists seemed a little more reassured, but talk languished none the less.
The afternoon was spent in preparing a second cave; for, in spite of all the girl’s entreaties, Allan was determined to make another visit to the village of the Lost Folk as soon as his arm should permit.
“Nothing can happen this time, dear girl,” he assured her as they sat resting by the mouth of the newly prepared dwelling. “You’ll have two absolutely faithful and efficient guards always within call by night. By day you can barricade yourself with them, if there’s any sign of danger.”
“I know, Allan, but—”
“There’s no other way! Our work is just begun!”
She nodded silently, then said in a low tone:
“Yours the labor; mine the waiting, the watching, and the fear!”
“The fear? Since when have you grown timid?”
“Only for you, Allan! Only for you! Suppose, some time, you should not come back!”
He laughed.
“We thrashed that all out the first time. It’s old straw, Beta. My end of the task is getting these people here. Yours is waiting, watching—and being strong!”
Her hand tightened on his, and for a little while they sat quite still and without speech, watching the day draw to its close.
Far below, New Hope River chattered its incessant gossip to the vexing boulders. Above, in the sky, lazy June clouds, wool-white, drifted to westward, as though seeking the glory that there promised to transmute them into gold and crimson.
A pleasant wind swayed the forest, wherein the scarlet birds flitted like flashes of flame. The beauty of the outlook thrilled their hearts, leaving no room for words.
But suddenly Allan’s eyes narrowed, and with a singular hardening of expression, a tightening of the jaw, he peered away at the dim, haze-shrouded line of far horizon to northeastward.
He cast a sidelong glance at Beatrice. She had noticed nothing.
One moment he made
as though to speak, then repressed the words, and once more gazed at the horizon.
There, so vague as almost to leave a doubt in mind, yet, after all, only too terribly real, his keen sight had detected something which caused his heart to throb the quicker and his eye to gleam with hate.
For, at the very rim of the world, dim, pale, ominous, three tiny threads of smoke were hanging in the evening air.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE ANNUNCIATION
A week later all was ready for Allan’s second trip into the Abyss.
His arm had recovered its usual strength and suppleness, for his flesh, healthy as any savage’s, now had the power of healing with a rapidity unknown to civilized men in the old days.
And his abounding vigor dictated action—always action, progress, and accomplishment. Only one thing depressed him—idleness.
It was on the second day of July, according to the rude calendar they were keeping, that he once more bade farewell to Beatrice and, borne by the Pauillac, headed for the village of the Lost Folk.
He left behind him all matters in a state of much improvement. Zangamon and Bremilu were now well installed in the new environment and seemingly content. By night they fished in New Hope Pool, making hauls such as their steaming sea had never yielded.
They wandered—not too far, however—in the forest, gradually making the acquaintance of the wondrous upper world, and with their strangely acute instincts finding fruits, bulbs and plants that well agreed with them for food.
Allan had carefully instructed them in the use of the wonderful “fire-bow”—the revolver—warning them, however, not to waste ammunition. They learned quickly, and now Beatrice found her larder supplied each night with game, which they dressed and brought her in the evening gloom, eager to serve their mistress in all possible ways.
They fished for her as well, and all the choicest fruits were her portion. She, in turn, cooked for them in their own cave. And for an hour or two each night she instructed them in English.
Short are the annals of peace—and peace reigned at Settlement Cliffs those few days at least. Progress!
She could feel it, see it, every hour. And her thoughts of Allan, now abandoning their melancholy hue, began to thrill with a new and even greater pride.
“Only he, only he could have brought these things to pass!” she murmured sometimes. “Only he could have planned all this, dreamed this dream, and brought it to reality; only he could labor for the future so strongly and so well!”
And in her heart the love that had been that of a girl became that of a woman. It broadened, deepened and grew calmer.
Its fever cooled into a finer, purer glow. It strengthened day by day, transmuting to a perfect trust and confidence and peace.
Allan returned safely inside the week with two more of the Folk—warriors and fishers both. Beatrice would have welcomed the arrival of even one woman to bear her some kind of company, but she realized the wisdom of his plan.
“The main thing at first,” he explained, as they sat again on the terrace the evening of his return, “the very most essential thing is to build up even a small force of fighting men to hold the colony and protect it—a stalwart advance-guard, as if this were a military expedition. After that the women and children can come. But for the present there’s no place for them.”
Now that there were four Merucaans, all seemed more contented. The little group settled down into some real semblance of a community.
Work became systematized. Life was beginning to take firm root in the world again, and already the outlines of the future colony were commencing to be sketched in.
So far as Stern could discover, no disaffection as yet existed. The Folk, in any event, were singularly stolid, here as in their own home. If the colonists sometimes muttered together against conditions or concerning the lie Allan had told about the patriarch, he could never discover the fact.
He derived a singular sense of power and exaltation from watching his settlers at their work.
Strange figures they made in the upper world, descending the cliff at night, their torches flaring on their pure-white hair bound with gold ornaments, their nets slung over their brown-clad shoulders.
Strange, too, were the sensations of Beta and Allan as they beheld the flambeaux gleaming silently along the pool or over the surface when the Folk put forth on the rude rafts Allan had helped them build.
And as, with the same weird song they had used in the under world, the heavy-laden Merucaans clambered again up the terraces to their dwelling in the rock, something drew very powerfully at Allan’s heart.
He analyzed it not, being a man of deeds rather than of introspection; yet it was “the strong man yearning toward his kind,” the very love of his own race within him—the thrill, the inspiration of the master builder laying the foundations for better things to be.
Allan and the girl had long talks about the character of the future civilization they meant to raise.
“We must begin right this time at all hazards,” he told her. “The world we used to know just happened; it just grew up, hit-or-miss, without scientific planning or thought or care. It was partly the result of chance, partly of ignorance and greed. The kind of human nature it developed was in essence a beast nature, with ‘Grab!’ for its creed.
“We must do better than that! From the very start, now, we must nip off the evil bud that might later blossom into private property and wealth, exploitation and misery. There shall be no rich men in our world now and no slaves. No idlers and no oppressed. ‘Service’ must be our watchword, and our motto ‘Each for all and all for each!’
“While there are fish within the river and fruit upon the palm, none shall starve and none shall hoard. Superstition and dogma, fear and cruelty, shall have no place with us. We understand—you and I; and what we know we shall teach. And nothing shall survive of the world that was, save such things as were good. For the old order has passed away—and the new day shall be a better one.”
Thus for hours at a time, by starlight and moonlight on the rock-terrace or by fire-glow in their cave—now homelike with rough-hewn furniture and mats of plaited grass—they talked and dreamed and planned.
And executed, too; for they drew up a few basic, simple laws, and these they taught their little colony even now, for from the very beginning they meant the germs of the new society should root in the hearts of the rescued race.
The third trip was delayed by a tremendous rain that poured with tropic suddenness and fury over the face of the world, driven on the breath of a wild-shouting tempest.
For the space of two days heaven and earth were blotted out by the gray, hurling sheets of wind-driven water, while down the cañon New Hope River roared and foamed in thunder cadences.
Beta and Allan, warmly and snugly sheltered in their cave, cared nothing for the storm. It only served to remind them of that other torrential downpour, soon after they had reached the village of the Folk; but now how altered the situation! Captives then, they were masters now; and the dread chasms of the Abyss were now exchanged for the beauties and the freedom of the upper world.
No wind could shake, no deluge invade, their house among the everlasting rock-ribs. Bright crackled their fire, and on the broad divan of cedar he had hewn and covered thick with furs, they two could lie and talk and dream, and let the storm rage, careless of its impotent fury.
“There’s only one sorrow in my heart,” whispered Beta, drawing his head down on her breast and smoothing his hair with that familiar, well-loved caress. “Just one, dear—can you guess it?”
“No millinery shops to visit, you mean?” he rallied her.
“Oh, Allan, when I’m so much in earnest, how can you?”
“Well, what’s the trouble, sweetheart?”
“When the storm ends you’re going to leave me again! I wish—I almost wish it would rain forever!”
He made no answer, and she, as one who sees strange and sad visions, gazed into the leaping flames, an
d in her deep gray eyes lay tears unshed.
“Sing to me!” he murmured presently.
Stroking his head and brow, she sang as aforetime at the bungalow upon the Hudson:
Stark wie der Fels,
Tief wie das Meer,
Muss deine Liebe,
Muss deine Liebe sein! ...
The third trip was made in safety, and others after it, and steadily the colony took shape and growth.
More and more the caves came to be occupied. Stern set the Merucaans to work excavating the limestone, piercing tunnels and chimneys, making passageways and preparing for the ever-increasing number of settlers.
Their native arts and crafts began to flourish. In the gloomy recesses fires glowed hot. Ores began to be smelted, with primitive bellows and technique as in the Underworld, and through the night—stillness sounded the ring and clangor of anvils mightily smitten.
Palm-fibers yielded cordage for more nets or finer thread for the looms that now began to clack—for at last some few women had arrived, and even a couple of the strong, pale children, who had traveled stowed in crates like the waterfowl.
By night the pool and river gleamed more and more brightly. Boats navigated even the rapids, for these were hardy water-people, whose whole life had been semi-aquatic.
The strange fowl nested in the cliff below the settlement, hiding by day, flying abroad by night, swimming and diving in the river, even rearing their broods of squawking, naked little monsters in rough nests of twigs and mud.
Some of the hardier of the first-arrived colonists had already—far sooner than Allan had hoped—begun to tolerate a little daylight.
Following his original idea, he prepared some sets of brown mica eye-shields, and by the aid of these a number of the Merucaans were able to endure an hour or two of early dawn and late evening in the open air.
The children, he found, were far less sensitive to light than the adults—a natural sequence of the atavistic principle well known to all biologists.
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