Jongor- the Complete Tales

by Robert Moore Williams

  THEY moved furtively through the moon-drenched night. Under the rays of the moon, Lost Land was a fantastically beautiful place, but neither had an eye for the scenery at this moment. Ann heard a rustle of sound off to the left. She pretended not to notice it. Alan went forward resolutely. If he heard anything, he did not call it to her attention. From the far distance came the full-throated roar of a lion. Neither of them gave any thought to the sound. A roaring lion was not on the hunt. But the sound served to remind them of the dangers existing here, if they had needed any reminder. Another sound came, from behind them.

  “Alan, we’re being followed,” Ann whispered.

  The youth turned. Grasping the spear firmly, he listened. “I don’t hear anything,” he said.

  “I don’t hear anything now,” the girl answered. “But—”

  “It’s some animal,” Alan said. “Or maybe it’s your imagination.”

  “It’s not my imagination,” the girl answered indignantly.

  “Come on,” he ordered bluntly.

  She followed him as he found his way through a grove of trees. The darkness here was most intense. She knew that Alan was groping his way forward without really being able to see where he was going. Suddenly he stopped.

  “What is it?” the girl whispered.

  “Here, I’ll give you a hand up,” her brother answered.

  “What—”

  “You’re going up into a tree,” the youth answered firmly. She felt his hands catch her, lift her. Groping upward against the rough bark of a tree, she found a limb. She threw a leg over it, drew herself up.

  “You come too,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to stay down here for a while,” he answered. “You get yourself securely settled up there.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh!” his whisper came from below, warning her to be silent.

  Her ears caught a sound, conning from the edge of the grove, a soft rustle as of a body brushing lightly against foliage. The sound shocked her into silence. Through this darkness, something was coming. Something? It might be anything! The only certain thing was that it was not friendly. She groped upward, found another limb, lifted herself again. Settling herself on it, she clung to the bole of the tree, and listened with over-keen ears to the sounds of the jungle night.

  SOMETHING was moving through that darkness. The soft, almost undistinguishable sounds of stealthy movement came to her ears. She was not certain that she heard the sounds. Perhaps she sensed them, with some higher perception of danger that the human being seems to possess when under stress. Was Alan hearing them? She thought of calling out to him, put the thought out of her mind almost as soon as it entered. Calling out might warn Alan; it would certainly warn the creature that was coming through the darkness below her. She strained her eyes trying to see. Here and there streaks of moonlight filtered down through openings in the tree tops above her. She tried to watch the patches of light below her. The creature moving down there evaded the moonlight.

  “Ugh!”

  Crash!

  THUD!

  In rapid succession, the three sounds came from below her. The first, she was certain, came from Alan in the form of a sudden, startled grunt. The crash and the thud she could not identify, but she had the dazed impression they were the result of weapons meeting flesh.

  “Damn you!” That was Alan speaking. This much was certain. The answer was a spitting grunt that could have come from the mouth of almost any living creature. Following the grunt came the sound of a furious struggle, bodies threshing on the ground, a sudden sharp cry of pain, a thud, a grunt, a “Take that, damn you!”

  Ann Hunter hesitated for only a split second, then she started down the tree. No matter what happened to her, she intended to go down there and help her brother.

  Almost as soon as she started, she stopped. The struggle had ended. Suddenly, one instant there was a fight, then there was a thud, then there was silence. The whole shocked grove of trees was silent. The silence seemed to indicate that tragedy had taken place down there in the darkness below her and the whole world, knowing it, was trying to keep quiet.

  Ann listened with bated breath. She could hear someone—or something—breathing heavily.

  “Alan?” she whispered.

  There was no answer. She could hear movement. Something touched the tree. Something was coming up the tree.

  “Alan?”

  Something groped forward from the darkness below and touched her. It was a paw!

  The creature coming up the tree was a Murto!

  The night was split with the sudden explosive violence of Ann Hunter’s scream.

  WITH the blow of the club that had struck Jongor and had knocked from his mind all memory of recent events had also come an apathy, an indifference. Not caring much what happened to him, he suffered the two men to force him to guide them. For two days they went westward, picking their way through the jungle, skirting the stretches of open water, wading through reedy swamps. Gnomer and House cursed the country with unrestrained profanity. Jongor shrugged. He was accustomed to this country and to this way of life.

  The two men guarded him very closely. While they were on the march, they kept his hands tied behind his back. When they stopped to eat, they untied his hands, but Gnomer always sat a few feet away from him with his rifle ready.

  Jongor tried to talk to the two men. “Why do you wish to go to the city of the Murtos?”

  “Maybe it’s so we can get rich,” Gnomer answered. “From what you told us, these Murtos were once a colony of miners. For generations, they piled up wealth here—”

  “But you only knew about that after I told you,” Jongor pointed out. “You have some other reason for coming here?”

  “Another reason?” Gnomer shrugged. “We had heard about this place. What better reason could anyone have than the hope of getting rich?”

  “What is being rich?” Jongor asked.

  The two men stared at him. They tried to explain. It was having money, much money, a big house, cars, servants, He stared back at them. “What good are these things?” he asked, Gnomer shock his head then. Glancing at his partner, he tapped his temple.

  Jongor did not understand the gesture. He did not know Gnomer was indicating that in his opinion Jongor was not quite normal. But Jongor did notice that after that the men were wary of him. He did not like it. There were other things he did not like, including the severe headaches that he was suffering. He was aware, also, of a ghost of a memory that kept trying to struggle to his attention. Something about a girl . . .

  He could never quite get the picture.

  “All right, get up and get going,” Gnomer ordered, rising to his feet.

  Jongor shrugged and rose. He did not like what was said, he did not like the tone of voice. But what could he do about it? There was the little matter of the rifle. There anther little matter of his hands being tied behind his back at all times except when they were eating. Gnomer was an expert with the rope. Jongor had tested the knots surreptitiously. They didn’t give. And the rope was strong, much too strong even for his mighty muscles.

  MOVING forward, he stumbled and fell under ordinary circumstances, Jongor would never have fallen from so slight a stumble as this. But with his hands tied behind his back, his balance was difficult to hold. He went down.

  Rouse kicked him in the rear. “Get up, get up, you big clumsy ape. Hey, what’s the matter with you?” The last was a startled shout as Jongor turned toward Rouse.

  The face that Rouse saw was a face that was hot with anger. Jongor had been kicked. It was the first time in his life this indignity had been offered to him. His response was an instant, hot anger. So much of the rage showed on his face that Rouse was almost frightened. The man hastily lifted his rifle.

  “Hey!” he repeated.

  “What is it?” Gnomer said.

  “Don’t kick me again!” Jongor said. Turning, he plodded forward.

  But the kick had been enough to sh
ake him out of his apathy. He still had no memory of recent events, but the indifference was gone. He applied more pressure to the ropes.

  “Go on, see if you can break them!” Rouse jeered.

  “Some day I’ll break your neck,” Jongor answered.

  Rouse fingered the rifle.

  “Better lay off him,” Gnomer ordered.

  That night they camped beside a vast expanse of reedy swamp which opened out into stretches of clear water. Although neither Gnomer nor Rouse noticed it, something was feeding on the swamp reeds. Very little disturbance was noticeable in the reeds; in the open stretch of water beside the reeds an occasional ripple seemed to appear. Jongor, his hands untied so he could gnaw on a chunk of succulent wild pig which Gnomer had shot during the day, was very much aware of the ripple in the water and that something was feeding on the reeds.

  He was also aware that on his left wrist a gray crystal mottled with curious veins of light seemed to glint at him. For a moment, he stopped eating, then he continued without interruption. Now his gaze was concentrated entirely on the crystal.

  A MINUTE passed. Down by the reeds something poked into the air, something that looked like the snout of a gigantic snake, something that seemed to be trying to smell or to feel a vibration in either the air or in some other medium. Neither Gnomer nor Rouse noticed it. If Jongor was aware of it, he gave no sign. But his gaze did not shift or move from the crystal on his left wrist.

  It was a curious crystal. The stone itself was gray. Moving through it were strange veins of light. The stone was set in a dull yellow metal. If either Gnomer or Rouse had examined the setting, they would have become wildly excited—the setting was gold. The band that circled Jongor’s wrist was also gold.

  Suddenly a sound rent the air about them. The object in the water shook its gigantic head and started to move. A split second later, the ripple had enlarged. What at first glance appeared to be a small island suddenly emerged from the water beside the reed bed.

  Gnomer and Rouse leaped to their feet.

  The island in the water was moving toward the shore. The general effect was that of a submarine with a projecting periscope.

  “Is that a sub?” Rouse gasped.

  “It can’t be a submarine. There couldn’t be a sub in this place.”

  The creature came to shore. Water sprayed away from it like a tidal wave. The sound was that “of some vast pump in operation as the gigantic creature heaved and lifted itself up from the muddy bottom of the lake. It crashed through the fringe of shrubs at the water’s edge and stood there, a creature out of Earth’s long-gone past.

  “A—a—a dinosaur!” Gnomer gasped in horror, recognizing the creature. This was one of the vegetation-eating dinosaurs, one of the lumbering monsters that usually fed from lakes or streams because the vast bulk of its body needed support from water. Not that these dinosaurs could not walk on land—they could, for long periods, but they were generally more comfortable in the water.

  There were other, entirely different, kinds of dinosaurs in Lost Land—the meat-eaters, the terrible thunder lizards, creatures that could gobble down a whole deer in a single gulp and still be hungry.

  Although dinosaurs, or “dinos”, as he called them, had been perfectly familiar to Jongor since his childhood, neither Gnomer nor Rouse had ever seen such a creature nor had any intimation that dinosaurs still existed in Lost Land. For a moment they stood frozen, unable to move, at the sight of the monster.

  THE dino twisted its long neck, moving its head as if it were testing the wind, trying to smell something.

  A low sound, like a moan, came from its lips. It began to move.

  “It’s coming toward us!” Rouse whispered.

  Gnomer threw up his rifle, fired. The sharp spiteful crack of the gun rang through Lost Land.

  The bullet struck the dinosaur and was lost in that mountain of flesh.

  “You might as well shoot an elephant with a pop-gun!” Rouse exploded. “I’m getting out of here.” The last words were flung back over his shoulder as he started to flee.

  Gnomer had stronger nerves, a harder courage. He stood facing the charge of the monstrous beast. The rifle in his hands rang out again. Then, with the dinosaur almost on top of him, he turned and ran.

  As he turned, he caught a glimpse of Jongor, still squatting by the fire. If Jongor even knew that the dinosaur existed, he gave no indication of it.

  “Hey! Get the hell out of here!” Gnomer shouted.

  Still Jongor did not move.

  “Come on,” Rouse yelled. “Don’t stand around to argue. If that dinosaur eats him up, it’s his business.” Both men ran. To their eternal relief, the dinosaur did not follow them. Instead, it veered toward Jongor. They stopped, turned. Each expected to see Jongor trampled to the ground under the monstrous padded feet of the animal.

  The dinosaur came up to Jongor and stopped. The long neck bent downward. Jongor went up it like a squirrel going up a tree. He settled himself high on the massive fore shoulders of the beast. His voice lifted: “Ho, little one. Give those two creatures something to think about. Get them, little one. After them!”

  Snorting, the dinosaur turned toward the two men, began its lumbering gallop.

  “My God! He’s riding that thing.”

  “He’s not only riding it, he has it under control!”

  For a split second, the two men stared, open-mouthed. A dinosaur was the last thing on earth either one of them had ever expected to see. And now, not only to see one, but to see the strange human whom they had captured climb up on the back of this dinosaur and direct it toward them, was more than human nerves could stand. Both men ran like fools being chased by the devil. Behind them came the thunder of heavy feet, the crash of breaking brush, the moaning whine of the monster out of the lake. Behind them also came a mighty human voice, shouting: “Chase them, little one. Give them hell. Show them who is boss in Lost Land!”

  ANSWERING the human voice came the moan of the dinosaur. Both Gnomer and Rouse were utterly certain that their end had come. They ran as perhaps no two men had ever run before in all the history of the world.

  To Jongor, on the back of the dinosaur, this was fun. The two men were getting exactly what they had coming to them. They were the first two humans he had ever met, except for his father and mother. When he had gone to them in friendship, they had tricked him. But he had no intention of killing them. When the dinosaur had chased them far enough, he called off the mighty beast.

  “Come, little one, we must go back now and recover my own weapons.”

  Reluctantly the dinosaur gave up the chase, turned in the direction of the place where the two men had captured Jongor and where he had left his bow and his spear. He wanted his weapons back, as quickly as possible.

  To survive in Lost Land without weapons was a gamble that only a fool would take.

  The great beast moved easily through the night. Morning had arrived before they reached the place where Gnomer and Rouse had captured Jongor. He retrieved his spear, the great bow, the quiver of arrows, the knife and belt.

  “Go back to your swamp, little one,” he spoke softly to the dinosaur.

  The creature moaned and headed toward the nearest water, where it

  launched itself like a battleship going down the ways. Jongor, aware of the pangs in his own stomach, turned to the hunt. After he had killed and had eaten, he decided he would return to his own home, the great cave where he had lived with his parents. It was the only home he had ever known.

  He made his way leisurely across Lost Land. Off to his left something moved—a human figure.

  His keen eyes caught the moving figure the instant it came into sight.

  “Another human,” he thought. “Well, this time I won’t be tricked. I’ll stay away from that kind of animal!”

  His experience with Gnomer and Rouse had given him a hearty distaste for all humans.

  He saw the human wave at him, try to attract his attention. He moved quietly away.<
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  A SPITTING snarl answered Ann Hunter’s scream. A paw groped toward her again.

  As it touched her, she reached upward with both hands and took a firm grip on a limb above her. She swung herself from it. With both feet, she smashed blindly at the Murto below her. She felt her feet strike flesh.

  “Wow!” The yell came from the startled Murto as she kicked him. All the strength in her legs and the weight of her swinging body was back of the blow. It caught the Murto in the face and he lost his grip on the tree and fell.

  Then, before Ann had even begun to realize what was happening, she felt her hands slip, knew that she was falling too. She plummeted downward through the darkness.

  Fortunately she hit directly on top of the Murto, “Alan,” she shouted as she fell. There was no answer.

  She scrambled to her feet. “Alan!”

  There was no answer except the heavy breathing of the Murto and the night sounds of the jungle.

  Dazed, shocked, in the grip of growing terror, she started to run. She heard the Murto get to his feet and come stumbling after her. The sound added to the panic in her.

  “Yi, yi, yi!” the Murto yelled, behind her. She had the impression that these creatures could probably see in the dark, or at least they could see better than she could. She found her way out of the grove into an open space and ran as she had never run before. If there were other dangers in Lost Land, they were as nothing in comparison to the threat behind her.

  When she could run no longer, she stopped. Panting for breath, she listened. There were noises in the night Noises coming from the right were unquestionably being made by Umber, She was still being followed!

  She ran again, but this time silently. An hour later, she knew she had lost the Murto. Turning, she began a cautious retracing of her steps.