The Golden Age of Pulp Fiction Megapack 01

by George Allan England

  Here the Folk, according to their own custom, marked the graves with totem emblems as down in the Abyss, and at night they wailed and chanted there under the bright or misty moon; and day by day the number of graves increased till more than twenty crowned the cliff.

  The two Anthropoids were not buried, however, but were thrown into the river from the place where they had been shot down while rolling rocks over the edge. They vanished in a tumbling, eddying swirl, misshapen and hideous to the last.

  With his accustomed energy he set his men to work repairing the damage as well as possible, rearranging the living quarters, and bringing order out of chaos. Beta was now able to sit up a little. Allan decided she must have had a touch of brain-fever.

  But in his thankfulness at her recovery he took no great thought as to the nature of the disease.

  “Thank God, you’re on the road to full recovery now, dear!” he said to her on the tenth day as they sat together in the sun before the home cave. “A mighty close call for you—and for the boy, too! Without that good old goat what mightn’t have happened? She’ll be a privileged character for life in these diggings.”

  Beta laughed, and with a thin hand stroked his hair as he bent over her.

  “Do you remember those funny goat-pictures Powers used to draw, a thousand years ago?” she asked. “Well, he ought to be here now to make a sketch of you handing one to our kiddums? But—it was no joke, after all, was it? It was life and death for him!”

  He kissed her tenderly, and for a while they said nothing. Then he asked:

  “You’re really feeling much—much better to-day?”

  “Awfully much! Why, I’m nearly well again! In a day or two I’ll be at work, just as though nothing had happened at all.”

  “No, no; you must rest a while. Just so you’re better, that’s enough for me.”

  Beatrice was really gaining fast. The fever had at least left her with an insatiable appetite.

  Allan decided she was now well enough again to nurse the baby. So he and the famous goat were mutually spared many a mauvais quart d’heure.

  Tallying up matters and things on the evening of the twelfth day, as they sat once more on the terrace in front of Cliff Villa, he inventoried the situation thus:

  1—Twenty-six of the Folk are dead.

  2—H’yemba is disposed of—praise be!

  3—Forty still survive—twenty-eight men, nine womn, three children. Of these forty, thirty-three are sound.

  4—The Pauillac is lost.

  5—The bridge is destroyed, and eight of the caves are gone.

  6—The entire forest area to the northward, as far as the eye can reach, is totally devastated.

  7—The Horde is wiped out.

  “Some good items and some bad, you see, in this trial balance,” he commented as he checked up the items. “It means a fresh start in some ways, and no end of work. But, after all, the damage isn’t fatal, as it might easily have been. We’re about a thousand times better off than there was any hope for.”

  “You haven’t counted in your own wounds just healing, or the terrific time you had with the Horde,” suggested Beatrice. “How in this world you ever got through I don’t see.”

  “I don’t either. It was a miracle, that’s all. From the place where I descended for a little repair work, and where they suddenly attacked us, to the colony, can’t be less than one hundred and fifty miles. And such hills, valleys, jungles! Perfectly unimaginable difficulties, Beta! Now that I look back on it myself, I don’t see how I ever got here.”

  “They killed both the men you had with you?”

  “Yes; but one of them not till the second day. You see, the carburetor got clogged and wouldn’t spray properly. I realized I could never reach Settlement Cliffs without overhauling it. So I scouted for a likely place to land, far from any sign of the cursed signal-fires.

  “Well, we hadn’t been on the ground fifteen minutes before I’m blest if one of my men didn’t hear the brushwood crackling to eastward.

  “‘O Kromno, master!’ said he, clutching my arm, ‘there come creatures—many creatures—through the forest! Let us go!’

  “I listened and heard it, too; and somehow—subconsciously, I guess—I knew an advance-guard of the Horde was on us!

  “It was night, of course. My searchlight was still burning, throwing a powerful white glare into the thicket about a quarter-mile away, beyond the sand-barren where I had taken earth. I turned it off, for I remembered how much better the Folk could see without artificial light in our night atmosphere.

  “‘Tell me, do you see anything?’ I whispered.

  “The other fellow pointed.

  “‘There, there!’ he exclaimed. ‘Little people! Many little people coming through the trees!’

  “For a moment I was paralyzed. What to do? There was no time now for a getaway, even if the machine hadn’t been out of order. My mind was in a whirl, a rout, an utter panic. I confess, Beatrice, for once I was scared absolutely blue—”

  “No wonder! Who could have helped being?”

  “Because you see, there was no way out. Lord knew how many of the little fiends were closing in on us; they might be on all sides. The country was much broken and absolutely new to me. I had no defenses to fight from, and it was night. Could anything have been worse?”

  “Go on, dear! What next?”

  “Well, the Horde was coming on fast, and the darts beginning to patter in, so I saw we couldn’t stay there. I had some vague idea of stratagem, I remember—some notion of leading the devils away on a long chase, outdistancing them and then swinging round to the machine again by daylight, and possibly fixing it up in time to skip out for home. But—”

  “But it didn’t work out that way?”

  “Hardly! I emptied my automatics into the brown of the advancing pack, and then retreated, flanked by my two men. They were keen to fight, the Merucaans were—always ready for a mix—but I knew too much about the poisoned arrows to let ‘em. We stumbled off through the woods at a good gait, crashing away like elephants, while always, apelike, creeping and hideous, the little hairy beast-people stole and slithered among the palms.”

  Beatrice shuddered.

  “Heavens!” she exclaimed. “I—I’d have died of sheer fright!”

  “I didn’t feel like dying of fright, but I infernally near died of rage when in about five minutes I saw a flicker of flame through the jungle, and then a brighter glare.”

  “They burned the Pauillac?”

  “I guess so. I never went back to see. They probably burned the planes, and tried to batter up the rest of it with rocks and things. They wrecked it all right enough, I guess. That was for the attack we made on ‘em from its safe elevation at the bungalow. Well—”

  “What then?”

  “I can hardly remember. We trekked south, as near as I could reckon it, or south by east, with New Hope River as our objective-point. Oh, what’s the use trying to tell it all? You know the jungle at night?”

  “Wild beasts, you mean?”

  “And snakes, Beta! Some sensation to step on a copperhead and then leap off just in time to miss the snap of the fangs, eh?”

  “Oh, don’t Allan! Don’t!”

  “All right; I’ll skip that part. Anyhow, we hiked till daybreak, when my men began to complain of severe pain in the eyes. I had to stop and rig up some shields for them, and smear their hands and faces with mud to keep off the sun. Well, we managed to eat a little fruit and get a drink of water; but as for rest, there was none. For inside an hour, hanged if the darts didn’t begin dropping again!”

  “They’d come up with you!”

  “Maybe. Or else it was another group of ‘em. No telling. The whole country seemed to swarm with the devils. Anyhow, we had to mosey again. But—well—one of the darts got home on my best fighter. And—h-m!—he didn’t last five minutes. He turned a kind of bluish-green, too. And swelled a good bit. I’ll spare you the details, Beta. At any rate, we had to leave him
. So there were only two of us now, and God knew where home was, or how many thousand of the hairy devils were lying in ambush on the way. So then—”

  “What did you do?” she asked, shuddering.

  “We hiked, and kept on hiking! All day we beat and trampled through the forest, and toward night there was no more go in us. So we decided to make a stand. Pretty objects we were, too, torn and bruised, mired from swamps clear to our waists, and a mass of scratches and bruises! Well, we hadn’t long to wait when the attack was on again.

  “I gave my one remaining man the spare automatic, and showed him how to handle it; and for about an hour we stood off the devils. But they flanked us, and all at once my man grunted and pitched forward. I’m damned if they hadn’t driven a spear clean through his lungs!

  “After that, good God! it was just a man-hunt, endless and horrible, through trackless wilds, over hills and mountains, through valleys, across rivers, Heaven knows where! But I always tried to keep my wits and beat to southward, hoping, ever hoping I might reach the New Hope. Well—now and then I could get far enough ahead to snatch a bite or a drink. Twice I slept—twice, in about a week; think of that, will you? Once in a hollow tree, and once under a rock-ledge. Only a few hours in all. But it helped. Without that I couldn’t have got through.”

  She took his hand, and kissed and caressed it.

  “My Allan!” she whispered, while in her eyes the tears started hot. “You suffered all that just to come home again?”

  “What else was there to do? The last few days I hardly knew anything at all. It was a daze, a dream, a nightmare. There was so much pain in every part that no one part could hurt very much. The bushes pretty nearly stripped every rag of clothes off me—and the skin, as well. My sandals went all to pieces. I lost my sense of direction a hundred times, and must have often doubled on my tracks. I ate and drank what I could get, like an animal. Once, in a period of lucidity, I remember finding a nest of fledgling birds. I crunched them down alive, pin-feathers and all! Well—”

  “My boy! My poor, lost, tortured boy!”

  “When they wounded me I never even knew. All I know is that the spear wasn’t one of the poisoned ones. Otherwise—”

  “There, there! Don’t think about it any more, darling! Don’t tell me any more. I know enough. It’s too awful! Let’s both try to forget!”

  “I guess that’s the best way, after all,” he answered. “I found the river somehow, after a thousand or two eternities. Instinct must have guided me, for I turned upstream in the right direction. And after that, all I remember is seeing the bridge across to Settlement Cliffs.”

  “And so you came home to us again, darling?”

  “So I came home. Love led me, Beatrice. It was my chart and compass through the wilderness. Not even pain and hunger could confuse them. Nothing but death could ever blot them out!”

  “And after all you’d been through, dear, you did what you did for us? Without resting? Without delay or respite?”

  “That’s life,” he answered simply. “That’s the price of the new world. He who would build must suffer!”

  Her arms embraced him, her breath was warm upon his face, and in the kiss that burned itself upon his eager lips he knew some measure of the sweetness of reward.

  CHAPTER XXX

  INTO THE FIRE-SWEPT WILDERNESS

  Less than three weeks after the extermination of the Horde, Stern had already completed important measures looking toward the rehabilitation of the colony.

  The damage had been largely repaired. Now only some half-dozen convalescent cases still remained on the sick-list. What the colony had lost in numbers it had gained in solidarity and a truer loyalty than ever before felt there.

  All the survivors, now vastly more faithful to the common cause than in the beginning, showed an eager longing to lay hold of the impending problems with Stern, and to labor faithfully for the future of the great undertaking.

  The fishing, hunting and domestication of wild animals all were resumed, and again the sound of hammers and anvils clanked through the caves.

  Under Stern’s direction, half a dozen men crossed the pools in boats, descended the north bank of the river, and got hold of the cut bridge cables.

  Stern shot a thin line over to them by means of a bow and arrow. With this they pulled a stouter cord across, and finally a strong cable. All hands together soon brought the bridge once more up the cliff, where it was lashed to its old moorings.

  Barring a few broken floor-planks, easily replaced, only slight damage had been done. One day’s labor sufficed to put it in repair again.

  The parapet was rebuilt and a wall constructed across the end of the broken terrace. Work was begun on new cave dwellings, with great care not to weaken the strata and so invite another disaster.

  Stern, very wise by now in gauging the barbarian mentality, undertook no direct punishment of such as had been led away by H’yemba. But he gathered all the Folk together in the palisade, and there—close to the mutely eloquent object-lesson of the little cemetery—he made them a charweg, a talk in their own speech.

  “My people!” cried he, erect and strong before them all, “listen now, for this thing ye must know!

  “The evil of your hearts, thinking to prevail against me and the Law, hath brought ye misery and death! Ye have rebelled against the Law, and behold, many are now dead—innocent as well as guilty. The landslide smote ye, and enemies came enemies far more terrible than the dreaded Lanskaarn ye fought in the Abyss! But a little more and ye had all died with battle and disaster. Only my hand alone saved ye—all who still live to breathe this upper air.

  “Men! Ye beheld my doing with the earthquake and the Horde! Ye beheld, too, my answer to H’yemba, the evil man, the rebel and traitor. Him ye saw hurled, bleeding, from the parapet! That was my answer to his insolence! And if not he, then who can ever stand against me?”

  He paused, and swept them with his glance, letting the lesson sink deep home. Before him their eyes were lowered; their heads bowed; and through them all ran murmurs of fear and supplication.

  “My Folk! Rightly might I be angered with you, and require sacrifice and still more blood; but I am merciful. I shall not punish; I shall only teach, and guide, and help! For my heart is your heart, and ye are precious in my eyes.

  “But, hark ye now, and think, and judge for yourselves! If any ever speak again of rebellion, or of treason, and seek to break the Law, on his head shall be the blood of all. For surely woe shall come again on us. In your own behalf I warn you, and ye shall be the judges. Now answer me, O my Folk, what shall be done unto any who rebels?”

  “He shall die!” boomed the voice of Zangamon. The loyal fighter, now lean and gaunt with great labors, but still powerful, raised his corded hand on high. “Of a truth, that man shall die!”

  “What death?” cried Stern.

  “Even the death of H’yemba! Let him be cast from the parapet to death in the white rushing river far below!”

  All echoed the cry: “Death to all traitors, from the rock!”

  “So be it, then,” Stern concluded. “Ye have spoken, and it shall be written as a Law. From Execution Rock shall all conspirators be cast. Now go!”

  He dismissed them. While they departed and filed down the terraces to their own homes, he stood there with folded arms, watching them very gravely. The last one vanished. He nodded.

  “They’ll do now!” said he to himself. “No more trouble from that source! Another milestone passed along the road of self-control, self-government and communal spirit. Ah, but the road’s a long one yet—a long and hard and stony road to follow!”

  Next day Stern began making his plans for the recovery of the lost aeroplane.

  “This is by far the most important matter now before the colony,” he told Beatrice, watching her nurse the boy as they sat by the fire, while outside the rain drummed over cliff and cañon, hill and plain. “Our very life depends on keeping a free means of communication open with the moth
er-country of the Folk, so to call it, and with the city-ruins that supply us with so many necessary articles. No other form of transportation will do. At all hazards we must have an aeroplane—one at least, more later, if possible.”

  “Of course,” she answered; “but why not make one here? Down there in your workshop—”

  “I haven’t the equipment yet,” he interrupted; “nor yet the necessary metal, the wire, a hundred things. All that will come in time when we get some mines to work and start a few blast-furnaces. But for the present, the best and quickest thing to do will be to look up the old machine again.”

  “But,” she objected, terrified at thought of losing him again: “but I thought you said the Horde wrecked it!”

  “So they did; but beasts like that probably couldn’t destroy the vital mechanism beyond possibility of repair. That is, not unless they heaped a lot of wood all over it, and heated it white-hot, which I don’t think they had intelligence enough to do. In any event, what’s left will serve me as a model, for another machine. I really think I’ll have to have a try for it.”

  “Oh, Allan! You aren’t going to venture out into the wilderness again?”

  “Why not, dearest? You must remember the forest is all burned now; perhaps for hundreds of miles. And the Horde, the one greatest peril that has dogged us ever since those days in the tower, has been swept out with the besom of flame!”

  “Which has also surely destroyed the machine, even if they haven’t!” she exclaimed, using every possible argument to discourage him.

  “I hardly think so,” he judged. “You see, I left it in a wide sand-barren. I think, on the whole, it will pay me to make the expedition. Of course I shan’t take less than a dozen men to help me bring it back—what’s left of it.”

  “But Allan, can you find your way?”

  “I’ve got to! That machine must positively be recovered! Otherwise we’re totally cut off from the Abyss. Colonizing stops, and all kinds of hell may break loose below ground before I can build another machine entire. There are no railroads running now to the brink,” he added smiling; “and no elevators to the basement of the world. It’s the old Pauillac again or nothing!”