by Ruthven Todd
Looking up, Flyball realized that Fred was again looking worried. There was no possible way for him to land the helicopter, either in the bowl or nearby. He loosened his pistol and then realized that there were far too many tyrannosauri for it to be of any use.
Marty and Tailspin were looking up, showing their relief at the arrival of help. Tailspin even ran a damp paw over his ruffled collar.
Fred was hovering only a few feet above them, but it almost seemed that the tyrannosauri knew that he could not reach the kittens. Flyball crouched on the side of the open cockpit. Fred realized that he wanted to jump out to join the kittens. With the low gravity, this would be easy.
Shouting to make his voice heard above the roar of the helicopter’s motor, Fred stooped over Flyball. “I’ll let you off, Flyball,” he yelled, “and then go back for the shotgun and for something the kittens can climb. Okay?”
Flyball’s answer was to jump lightly from the cockpit. He landed gently beside the kittens. This seemed to excite the tyrannosauri to fresh fury.
The helicopter swung toward them and there were a series of rapid reports as Fred, shooting under difficulties, loosed off his pistol into the thick of them. Two of them rolled over and were immediately set upon and torn to shreds by their companions. Then the helicopter drifted rapidly out of sight.
Flyball wasted no time being angry with Marty and Tailspin for the trouble they were causing, but looked around him. There was nothing to prevent the tyrannosauri coming down into the bowl and although Flyball was confident that he would have been a match for one tyrannosaurus, he knew that he could not hope to do anything against a hundred of them.
But, for the time being, some of the brutes were drooling to themselves after feasting on their kind and on sundry pterodactyls, which now seemed to have vanished from the sky. Others were fighting among themselves. But there was still a ring of gaping mouths and dagger-like teeth around the crater. If they made a combined attack it would all be over quickly.
Though they still did not attack together, occasionally a single tyrannosaurus would venture to descend the shallow slope. Then Flyball would charge toward it, a gray fury, his teeth bared and his green eyes flashing, and the tyrannosaurus would again retreat to the rim with its fellow creatures.
It seemed a long time before they heard the beat of the helicopter’s motor, growing gradually louder. The sound seemed to infuriate the tyrannosauri and to make them bolder so that it was no longer a matter of a single monster descending into the crater, but of several trying it at the same time.
One of them approached so close that Flyball actually got a swipe at it with his claws. He felt as though he had hit something as hard as harness leather, but the brute turned and flopped its way back to the rim of the crater.
Just as the helicopter arrived overhead, a bunch of about a dozen tyrannosauri started to hop and waddle their way toward the cats. Flyball was too concerned with this attack to look up at Fred. Suddenly there were three brisk cracks from the helicopter. Fred was using the shotgun. A dead tyrannosaurus rolled right to Flyball’s feet. Marty and Tailspin gave cheering miaows. The rest of the bunch of tyrannosauri retreated, the wounded being attacked by their more fortunate companions.
Now Flyball was able to look up. Dangling from the helicopter was a length of cotton material. Up this the kittens could scramble easily. Flyball cuffed Marty, none too gently, toward this and the kitten scrambled his way up and into the cockpit. Tailspin did not wait to be urged but, dodging his father’s paw, clawed his way quickly up the cotton.
It was Flyball’s turn, but he was determined that he, at least, was not going to go without a trophy. He picked up one of the paws of the dead tyrannosaurus and dragged it over to the cotton, wrinkling his nose at the rank smell. Although, with the low gravity, it was not terribly heavy, it was awkward. He tried to start climbing, but even though he had a firm grip on his specimen and could hold strongly to the cotton, he could not manage to climb. The dead tyrannosaurus swung this way and that, upsetting his balance.
Fred looked over the side of the helicopter to see what was detaining his friend. Then he caught hold of the cotton and, steadying the helicopter with his knees and elbows, pulled it up very carefully. Flyball held on with all his strength. It was not that he was afraid that he might hurt himself if he fell, but he was worried about his specimen. After all, he was the space cat and hero of other expeditions—he knew what was expected of him. Besides, though he would not have admitted it, he was certainly not going to be outdone by Marty and his coelacanth.
It was not only crowded in the cockpit but also terribly smelly as Fred turned the helicopter toward the place where the Einstein towered in the air. Tailspin and Marty huddled together as far as possible from the dead tyrannosaurus, hoping that the fright which they had had would serve to excuse them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marty and Tailspin thought they had received pretty hard treatment. Not only had they been tongue-lashed by Fred but they had also been given a serious lecture by Flyball, while Moofa, in her relief at seeing them safe, had drubbed them soundly.
Just the same, as Marty told Tailspin, they had proved themselves true adventurers, proper sons of Flyball and fit to carry on the noble profession of space cat.
Now Moofa and Flyball sat in silence. She was thinking how good it was that no ill had befallen the kittens, but was also thinking that she would have to keep a stricter eye on them in the future.
Flyball, although he knew he should still have been angry with the kittens, was thinking that really they were a fine spirited pair and that, not so long ago, he himself would have thought it a fine adventure to be chased by prehistoric monsters, even if it did mean having to be rescued. There was no real harm in the pair.
They sat on the bottom step of the spaceship’s ladder and looked out toward where the white sun was setting behind the horsetails and the fern trees. They knew that the electric fence was once more between them and the strange evening noises of the forest. This time there was no bridge over which they could escape.
“Being good is going to be most awfully dull,” said Tailspin. Marty chewed at a paw and grumbled his agreement. “Nobody to play with but these old people.” Tailspin went on, “not even a mouse.”
At that moment Marty caught sight of something moving at the edge of the forest. He wondered what it was. Then he saw that coming across the clearing was the little horse they had found the day before. This time, however, the little horse was not alone, but was accompanied by the most elegant little mare.
The two of them trotted across the clearing and came to a stop outside the electric fence.
Tailspin and Marty went to meet them. The little horse gave a gentle whinny and the kittens miaowed loudly.
Fred looked up from his log book to see what was happening. He walked over and the little horse whinnied again and stamped a front paw, leaving a light five-toed impression in the dust.
“I do believe it wants to come in!” Fred exclaimed and Bill put on his heavy gloves and opened a gate. The two tiny horses cantered in, and stood still.
“There you are,” said Flyball to his kittens. “Now you’ve got something to look after! What do you think of that?”
The kittens looked at one another with delight. Maybe horses were not as much fun as mice, but they were certainly the first kittens to ever have their own horses. The memory of the scoldings and the spankings faded and they watched while Fred set up a little shed in which the horses could shelter during the night. Then they lay down and gazed at the horses as they made themselves at home in their new house.
This was indeed a planet of wonders, and Marty and Tailspin knew that, even if they had to behave themselves, there was still plenty of fun and adventure to be found.
Slowly the white sun settled in the filmy branches of the fern trees and the kittens looked at one another with great contentment.
Photo by Judy Tennyson
Scottish poet, novelist, and art
ist Ruthven Todd (1914–78) is best known as an editor of William Blake’s works and an author of children’s stories, including four Space Cat adventures. He also wrote detective fiction under the pseudonym R. T. Campbell.
Illustrator and writer Paul Galdone (1907–86) specialized in children’s books. His illustrations for Eve Titus’s books include the Basil of Baker Street series. Galdone and Titus were nominated for Caldecott Medals for Anatole (1957) and Anatole and the Cat (1958), titles that were named Caldecott Honor books in 1971. Galdone was posthumously awarded the 1996 Kerlan Award for his contributions to children’s literature.
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