Darkness and Dawn

by George Allan England

  CHAPTER XXXI

  A STRANGE APPARITION

  At a good round pace, where open going permitted, the partymade way, striking boldly across country in the probable direction ofthe lost aeroplane.

  Some marched in silence, thoughtfully; others sang, as though settingout upon the Great Sunken Sea in fishing boats. But one common purposeand ambition thrilled them all.

  A man less boldly resourceful than Allan Stern must have thought long,and long hesitated, before thus plunging into a desolated and unknownterritory on such a hunt.

  For, to speak truth, the finding of the needle in the haystack wouldhave been as easy as any hope of ever locating the machine in allthose thousands of square miles of devastation.

  But Stern felt no fear. The great need of the colony made theexpedition imperative; his supreme self-trust rendered it possible.

  From the very beginning of things, back there in the tower overlookingMadison Forest, he had never even admitted the possibility of failurein any undertaking. Defeat lay wholly outside his scheme of things.That it could ever be his portion simply never had occurred to him.

  As they progressed he carefully reviewed everything in his mind. Plansand equipment seemed perfectly adequate. In addition to theimpedimenta already mentioned, a few necessary tools, a supply ofcordage for transporting the machine, and three bottles of brandy foremergencies had been judiciously added to the men's burdens.

  Each, in addition, carried a small flat water-jug, tightly stopped,slung over his shoulder. Allan counted on streams being plentiful; buthe meant to look out even for the unexpected, too.

  He had wisely taken means to protect their feet for the long tramp. Inspite of all their opposition he had made them prepare and bind onsandals of goat's leather. Hitherto they had gone barefooted atSettlement Cliffs; but now that w as no longer permissible.

  The total equipment of each man weighed not less than one hundredpounds, including tools and all. No weaklings, like the men of thetwentieth century, could have stood the gaff marching under such aload; but these huge fellows, muscular and lithe, walked off with itas though it had been a mere nothing.

  Allan himself bore an equal burden. In addition to arms and provisionshe carried a powerful binocular, the spoil of a wrecked optician'sshop in Cincinnati.

  Underfoot, as the column advanced in a long line, loose dust andwood-ashes rose in clouds. The air grew thick and irritating to thelungs.

  Now and then they had to make a detour round a charred and fallentrunk, or cut their way and clamber through a calcined barricade oftwisted limbs and branches. Not infrequently they saw burned bones ofanimals or of Anthropoids.

  Here and there they even stumbled on a distorted, half-consumedbody--a hideous reminder of the vanquished enemy--the half-man thathad tried to pit itself against the whole-man, with inevitableannihilation as the only possible result.

  The distorted attitudes of some of these ghastly, incredibly uglycarcasses told with eloquence the terrified, vain flight of the Hordebefore the all-consuming storm of fire, the panic and the anguish oftheir extinction.

  But Allan only grunted or smiled grimly at sight of the horriblelittle bodies. Pity he felt no more than for a crushed and hideouscopperhead.

  The country had been swept clean by the fire-broom. Not a livingcreature remained visible. Moles there still might be, and perhapshares and foxes, woodchucks, groundhogs and a few such animals that bychance had taken earth; but even of these there was no trace.Certainly all larger breeds had been destroyed.

  Where paradise-birds, macaws and paroquets had screamed and flitted,humming-birds darted with a whir of gauzy wings, serpents writhed,deer browsed, monkeys and apes swung chattering from theliana-festooned fern-trees, now all was silence, charred ashes,dust--the universal, blank awfulness of death.

  Naked and ugly the country stretched away, away to its black horizon,ridge after ridge of rolling land stubbled with sparse, limblesstrunks and carpeted with cinders.

  A dead world truly, it seemed--how infinitely different from the lush,green beauty of the territory south of the New Hope, a region Sternstill could make out as a bluish blur, far to southward, through hisbinoculars.

  By night, after having eaten dinner beside a turbid, brackish pool,they had made more than twenty miles to northwestward. Stern thoughtscornfully of the distance. In his Pauillac he would have covered iteasily in as many minutes.

  But now all was different. Nothing remained save slow, laboriousplodding, foot by foot, through the choking desolation of the burnedworld.

  They camped near a small stream for the night, and cast their lines,but took nothing. Stern gave this matter no great weight. He thought,perhaps, it might be a mere accident, and still felt confident offinding fish elsewhere.

  Even the discovery of three or four dead perch, floating belly up,round and round in an eddy, gave him no clue to the total destructionof all life. He did not understand even yet that the terrificconflagration, far more stupendous than any ever known in the olddays, had even heated the streams and killed there the very fishthemselves.

  Yet already a vague, half-sensed uneasiness had begun to creep overhim--not yet a definite presentiment of disaster, but rather asubconscious feeling that the odds against him were too great.

  And once a thought of Napoleon crossed his mind as he sat theresilently, camped with his men; and he remembered Moscow, with astrange, new apprehension.

  Next morning, having refilled their canteens, they set out again,still in the same direction. Stern often consulted his chart, to besure they were proceeding in what he took to be the proper course.

  The distance between Settlement Cliffs and the machine was whollyproblematical; yet, once he should come within striking distance ofthe scene of his disaster, he felt positive of being able to recognizeit.

  Not far to the south of the spot, he remembered, a very steep andnoisy stream flowed toward the east, and, off to northwest of it rosea peculiarly formed, double-peaked mountain, easily recognizable.

  The sand-barren itself, where he had been obliged to abandon themachine, lay in a kind of broad valley, flanked on one hand by cliffs,while the other sloped gradually upward to the foot-hills of thedouble mountain in question.

  "Once I get anywhere within twenty miles of it I'm all right," thoughtAllan, anxiously sweeping the horizon with his binoculars as the partypaused on a high ridge to rest. "The great problem is to locate thatmountain. After that the rest will be easy."

  At noon they camped again, ate sparingly, and rested an hour. HereAllan brought his second map up to date. This map, a large sheet ofparchment, served as a record of distances and directions traveled.

  Starting at Settlement Cliffs he had painstakingly entered on it everystage of the journey, every ridge and valley, watercourse, camp andlandmark. Once the goal reached, this record would prove invaluable inretracing their way.

  "If the rest of the trip were only indicated as well as what's past!"he muttered, working out his position. "One of these days, when otherthings are attended to, we must have a geodetic survey, complete mapsand plans, and accurate information about the whole topography of thisaltered continent. Some time--along with a few million other necessarythings!"

  The third day brought them nowhere. Still the brule stretchedon and on before them, though now, far to right, Allan occasionallycould glimpse a wooded mountain-spur through the binoculars, as thoughthe limits of the vast conflagration were in sight at least in onedirection.

  But to left and ahead nothing still showed but devastated land.

  The character of the country, however, had begun to change. Thevalleys had grown deeper and the ridges higher. Allan felt that theywere now coming into a more mountainous region.

  "Well, that's encouraging, anyhow," he reflected. "Any time, now, Imay sight the double-peaked mountain. It can't heave in sight any toosoon to suit _me!_"

  There was need of sighting it, indeed, for already the party had begunto suffer not a little. The perpetual tram
ping through ashes hadstarted cracks and sores forming on the men's feet. Most of them werecoughing and sneezing much of the time, with a kind of influenzacaused by the acrid and biting dust.

  The dried food, too, had started an intolerable thirst, and water wasterribly scarce. The canteens were now almost always empty; and morethan one brook or pool, to which the men eagerly hastened, turned outto be saline or hopelessly fouled by fallen forest wreckage, festeringand green-slimed in the cooking sun.

  In spite of the eye-shields and pigments, some of the men were alreadysuffering from sunburn and ophthalmia, which greatly impaired theirefficiency. Their failure to take fish was also beginning todishearten them.

  Allan pondered the advisability of suspending day travel and trekkingonly by night, but had to give over this plan, for it would obviateall possibility of his sighting the landmark, the cleft mountain.Though he said nothing, the pangs of apprehension were biting deepinto his soul.

  For the first time that night the idea was strongly borne in upon himthat, after all, this might be little better than a wild-goose chase,and that--despite his desperate need of the Pauillac engine--perhapsthe better part of valor might be discretion, retreat, return toSettlement Cliffs while there might still be time.

  Yet even the few hours of troubled sleep he got that night, camped ina blackened ravine, served to strengthen his determination to push onagain at all hazards.

  "It can't be far now!" thought he. "The place simply can't be veryfar! We must have made the best part of the distance already. Whatmadness to turn back now and lose all we've struggled so hard to gain!No, no--on we go again! Forward to success!"

  Next morning, therefore--the fourth since having left New HopeRiver--the party pushed forward again. It was now a strangeprocession, limping and slow, the men blinking through their shields,their hands and faces smeared with mud and ashes.

  Painfully, yet without a word of complaint or rebellion, they oncemore trailed over the fire-blasted hills on the quest of the wreckedPauillac.

  Hour by hour they were now forced to pause for rest. Some of theimpedimenta had to be discarded. During the forenoon Allan commandedthat most of the fishing-gear and part of the cordage should be thrownaway.

  Toward mid-afternoon he sorted out the tools, and kept only anessential minimum. Now that they had seen no possible need forammunition, he decided to leave half of that also.

  The tools and ammunition he carefully cached under a rock-cairn andset a tall, burned pole up over it, with a cross-piece lashed near thetop. The position of this cairn he minutely noted on his map. Some dayhe would return and get the valuables again.

  Nothing could be spared from the provision packets, but these weremuch lighter, anyhow. This helped a little. But Allan could see thatthe strength of his men, and his own force as well, was diminishingfaster than the burden.

  So, with a heavy heart, now half inclined to abandon the task and turnback, he surveyed the horizon for the last time that night in vainsearch for the landmark mountain of his hopes.

  Morning dawned again pitilessly hot and sun-parched. By five o'clockthe party was under way, to make at least a few miles before thegreatest heat should set in.

  Allan realized that this must be the crucial day. Either by nightfallhe must sight the mountain or he must turn back. And withfever-burning eagerness he urged his limping men to greater speed,chafed at every delay, constantly examined the horizon, and withconsuming wrath cursed the Horde which in its venomous hate hadbrought this anguish and disaster on his people.

  Just a little past eight o'clock a cry suddenly burst from Zangamon,who had left the line during a pause to look for water in a near-byhollow.

  Stern heard the man's hoarse voice unmistakably resonant with terror.To him he ran.

  "What is it, Zangamon?" he cried thickly, for his tongue was parchedand swollen. "What have you found? Quick, tell me!"

  "See, O Kromno! Behold!" exclaimed the man, pointing.

  Stern looked--and saw a human body, charred and distorted, facedownward on the blackened earth. Up through the back somethingprojected--something hard and sharp.

  He stooped, wide-eyed, staring at the thing.

  "A spear-head, so help me!"

  Then he realized the truth. They had found one of his slaughteredcompanions of the terrible flight from the Horde!

  Stern recoiled. Shocked though he was, yet a certain joy possessedhim. For now he knew he could not be far from the path of success. Thewrecked machine, he knew, could not lie more than one or two days'march ahead. If the party could only last that long--

  The others came hobbling. When they, too, saw the mournful object andknew and understood, a deep silence fell upon them. In a circle theysurrounded the corpse of their murdered comrade, and for a while theylooked on it with woe.

  Allan realized that he must not let inaction, thought and fear prey onthem, so he commanded immediate burial of the body.

  They therefore dug a shallow grave in the baked soil, and, taking goodcare not to touch the poisoned spear-head, carefully laid theircompanion to rest. Over the filled-in grave they heaved rocks.

  "Does anybody know his name?" asked Allan.

  "He was called Relzang," answered Frumnos. "I knew him well--ametal-worker, of the best."

  "That's so--now I remember," assented Stern. "What was his totem?"

  "A circle, with a bird's head within."

  "Let it be placed here, then."

  Their best stone-cutter roughly hewed the mark in a great boulder,which was set on top of the pile. Then nothing more remaining to do,the exploring party once more pushed forward.

  But Allan could sense that now even its diminished strength hadgreatly lessened. Discouragement and forebodings of certain death wereworking among the men.

  He knew he could not hold them more than a few hours longer at theoutside.

  During the noonday halt and rest, under a low cliff, he made acharweg, saying:

  "O my people, barring the matter of the patriarch's death, I havealways spoken truth to you. Now I speak truth. This shall be the lastday. Ye have been brave and strong, uncomplaining in great trials, andobedient. I shall reward ye greatly. But I am wise. I will not driveye too far. The end is at hand.

  "Either I see the cleft mountain by to-morrow night or we return. Ishall push no farther forward than the march of one day and a half.After that I shall either have the flying boat or we shall go quicklyto our safe home at Settlement Cliffs.

  "Be of good heart, therefore. The return will be much easier andshorter. We can follow the picture of the way that I have made.Despair not. All shall be well. I have spoken."

  They greeted his promise with murmurs of approbation, but made noanswer, for body and soul were grievously tried. When he gave theorder to advance again, however, they buckled into the toil with agood heart. Their morale, he plainly saw, had been markedly improvedby his few words.

  And, now filled with hot, new hope, once more he led the painfulmarch, his binoculars every few minutes swinging round the far horizonin a vain attempt to sight the longed for height.

  But other events were destined and were written on the book of fate.For, as they topped a high ridge about five o'clock thatafternoon--dragging themselves along, parched and spent, rather thanmarching--Allan made a halt for careful observations from thisvantage-post.

  The men sank down, eager to lie prone even for a few minutes on theash-covered soil, to hide their eyes and pant like hard-run huntingdogs.

  Allan himself felt hardly the strength to remain upright; but heforced himself to stand there, and with a tremendous effort held theglass true as it slowly scoured the sky-line to north and west.

  All at once he uttered a choking cry. The glass shook in his wastedhands. His eyes, staring, refused their office, and a strange purpleblur seemed to blot the horizon from his sight.

  With the binoculars he stared at a point N. N. W., where he hadthought to see the incredible apparition; but now nothing appeared.

  "Ha
llucinations, so soon?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Come, come,buck up! This won't do at all!"

  And again he searched the place with his powerful lenses.

  "My God! but I _do_ see them--and they're real--they're moving, too!"he exclaimed. "No hallucination, no mirage! They're _there!_ But--butwhat--_What can this mean? Who can they be?_"

  Tiny and clear against the dazzling background of the afternoon sky hehad perceived a long line of human figures trekking to southeast overthe distant hill-top, almost directly toward the point where hisexhausted troop now lay inert and panting.