FALSE TRAILS
JACK’S subjection to the power of mortification and despair did not last
long. He raised himself from the ground and stared about him. The first
thing he saw was Jim squatting before him.
“We was sure up ag’in a tight squeeze dat time, boss,” remarked his
retainer. “Did yer hear de yell I let loose? Dat big guy in the red
sweater was a comin’ head-on! But our folks had heard de alarm, an’ before
I gits knocked out I seen ’em hot-footin’ up de trail. I guess dere was
some scrap; but which side gits de decision is more’n I knows. But say,
boss, I ain’t got much use fer dat yaller-haired kid. Looks ter me like
she double-crossed yer. Ain’t dat right?”
“Jim,” said Jack, getting on his feet “what we must find out is, what
became of Miriam. Did you see anything of her?”
“Not me, boss; I was takin’ de count.”
“We’re worse off than we were before,” remarked Jack. ‘I suppose I behaved
like a fool; but things are puzzling here. If Argon, or somebody, would
help us out!”
“Mebbe dat’s him now!” said Jim, pointing across the desert.
Jack wheeled round and looked. Something was approaching and at a good
pace. It had the look of a vehicle of some sort. Jim, after eying it
intently, shook his head.
“Dere ain’t a traffic-cop on Fif’ Av’noo would stan’ fer dat outfit!” he
declared.
As it drew near its make-up was revealed. The vehicle somewhat resembled
the two-wheeled chariot of classic times: the driver stood in front; but
instead of a pair of horses the shafts were attached to a metal sphere
about four feet in diameter, which rolled and bounded onward, in obedience
to a motive-power apparently contained in the sphere itself. The vehicle
drew up beside them, and the driver, an odd-looking creature, with a big
head, staring eyes, and a copper-colored skin covered with course hair,
motioned to them to get aboard.
“Say pal, where did yer blow in from?” Jim inquired.
The driver shook his head and pointed to his mouth, which he opened
widely. There was no tongue in it.
“The fellow is dumb!” ejaculated Jack.
“It don’t look right ter me,” observed Jim. “Let’s side-step it!”
“He is evidently sent to fetch us somewhere,” returned Jack. “We can’t be
more lost than we are; and who but Lamara can have sent it? We may as well
get in—there’s nothing else in sight.”
“It’s up ter you, boss,” said Jim doubtingly, “but it sure is a phony rig!
I’d like ter know what dat there ball has inside it!”
Jack had already climbed into the vehicle. He reached out a hand for Jim,
but the driver had set the contrivance going, and it was only by an active
leap that the little cripple succeeded in making the connection. They were
off at full speed.
“Talk about speed-laws!” said Jim, after a moment; “dere ain’t no limit on
dis geezer! What you got dere, pal—a balloon?”
“Something of that kind, I should say,” observed Jack quietly. In fact,
the car drawn by the metal sphere was actually rising from the ground.
They were soon several hundred feet aloft, and still on an up-grade.
“No doubt it’s all right,” Jack added; “he’s getting his bearings like a
carrier pigeon; he’ll make a slant for home presently.”
The driver, however, was not following a straight course, but was bearing
continually to the left. It soon became evident that they were mounting on
a spiral. The planet was fast dropping away beneath them.
“What is the dumb beast doing?” muttered Jack in surprise. “Does he think
he lives in the air? He must come to earth sooner or later.”
Jim had been taking observations on his own account. He now plucked Jack
by the arm and reached up to whisper in his ear:
“Boss, dis slob ain’t comin’ down at all. D’yer know where he’s takin’ us?
He ain’t no Sattum guy whatever. He’s one of Torpy’s gang, and he’s
elopin’ wid us to where Torpy come from!”
At this startling suggestion Jack looked upward and beheld the red moon
which was Torpeon’s habitation directly above them. He had been fooled
again; it was a plain case of kidnaping! Had he been aware that Miriam was
at the same moment being unwillingly borne in the same direction he would
probably have been content to let the flight proceed; as it was, he
thought it was time to take an active part in the transaction.
He seized the driver by the shoulder with a powerful grasp.
“Put about!” he shouted. “Get back to earth! Reverse your machine this
instant or I’ll throw you out!”
The driver, however, was strong as a gorilla. He squirmed out of the grip
of Jack’s hand with comparative ease and gave a twist to the rod which
connected with the sphere and served him as reins, with the effect of
making the mysterious motor ascend more swiftly than ever. They were now
at least a mile about the surface.
“Dis ain’t no healthy place for wrastlin’, boss,” Jim suggested. “Better
lay low a while and catch him when he ain’t watchin’ out.”
But Jack’s blood was thoroughly up, and he was in no mood for
procrastination. The question in dispute should be settled then and there.
“Hold on tight, boy,” he said to Jim; “I’m going to teach this gentleman
better manners. He may be a better man than either Torpeon or I, but he’ll
have to prove it.”
Without further preface he sprang upon the copper-colored driver, and a
furious fight began. The creature struggled like a wild beast. All
limitations of civilized, and even of human warfare, were abandoned; if
his tongue were missing, his teeth were like those of a cave bear; and
both hands and feet were armed with nails that looked like the talons of a
griffin, and were used as such. He shrieked, bit and tore, leaped up and
down, threw himself into unimaginable positions, got his shoulder under
Jack’s thigh, and fought frantically to throw him on his back. Failing
this, he got him round the body with his gorilla arms and, disregarding
the tremendous blows which Jack dealt him, strove to fasten his fangs into
his throat. The car, meanwhile, swayed from side to side like a skiff in a
hurricane, and threatened to overturn every moment. Just then a swinging
blow, driven with all the power of Jack’s arm which might have felled an
ox, caught him fair on the jaw and broke it; and at the same time a
vigorous thrust from Jim’s crutch, which he had been watching his chance
to deliver, struck him in the left eye, and doubtless put it out of
service.
With a hideous screech the monster relinquished his hold of his adversary
and flung himself out of the car. It looked like suicide; but that was not
the design of the gorilla from Tor. He came face down upon the metal
sphere, and gripping it fast between his knees, disconnected with his left
hand the guiding-rod from the car. The sphere, with the creature on it,
continued its ascent with added impetus, and was soon far away; while the
car containing Jack and Jim began a descent toward the planet beneath.
The situation seemed serious. “I think we’re in for a bad tumble, Jim,”
Jack remarked, glancing over the edge of the car. “It’s some comfort to
have landed on that fellow’s jaw before he got away; and that punch you
gave him in the eye will help him remember us; but Saturn will hit us a
harder blow yet. If you should happen to come out alive tell Miriam we did
our best.”
“Dat tumble we had from N’York was bigger dan dis, and didn’t hurt us
none,” Jim responded cheerfully. “Some o’ dem Sattum guys may be holdin’ a
blanket to catch us, like at a fire on the Bowery. Say, boss,” he added,
“here’s dat keepsake de lady give yer in de lab’ratory hangin’ down yer
back! What about it?”
Jack had forgotten the sapphire talisman. If it had warded off the
lightning bolt launched at him by Torpeon it might have some further
occult virtue in reserve. The drop earthward continued with increasing
velocity, but there was still a good distance to go. He lost no time in
getting his hands on the talisman, and there it lay, sparkling in his
broad palm. But how was it to be used?
“Look at what’s comin’ for us, boss!” squeaked Jim.
Some disturbance had occurred in the atmosphere—a vortex movement,
reminding Jack of a Kansas tornado he had seen in his boyhood. It swooped
down upon the car with a long, whistling scream. The vertical line of
their descent was immediately modified, and they were driven off in a
circular direction, like a boat gyrating on the circumference of a
whirlpool. The little talisman blazed like a purple star. The car still
approached the earth, but was so buoyed up on the wings of the tornado as
greatly to counteract the attraction of gravitation, and the angle of
incidence was so much enlarged that they would strike the surface at but a
slight deviation from the parallel. Even this, however, might give them an
awkward jolt, for their speed was immense.
“Hurray, boss, we’re saved!” called out Jim, with a gesture of triumph.
“We gits a bat’ an’ dat lets us out. Pipe de lake!”
In fact, they were skimming toward a handsome sheet of water, with tall
trees grouped along its margins; at its further side rose a lofty butte
with perpendicular walls that gleamed like crystal. In another moment the
car struck the lake near its center, and was carried along by its impetus,
amidst showers of spray, at a pace which no electric launch could have
rivaled. Before the impetus had exhausted itself they had been brought
within a few rods of the shore; as the car came to rest Jack stepped out
midleg deep in the water, took Jim on his shoulder, and waded to dry land.
The tornado had vanished overhead.
“Coney Island can’t beat it!” Jim observed as Jack set him down.
“It won’t bear talking of,” said Jack gravely. He had passed through
emotions during the last few minutes, the effect of which he would never
lose.
They looked about them. The crystal butte was close at hand, and almost in
its shadow stood a small cottage with white walls and wide-spreading
eaves. A vine bearing heavy clusters of yellow flowers climbed over its
porch; the door stood invitingly open; the casements were spread wide; and
on the clear air was spread a fragrance which caused Jim to assume the
attitude of a hound scenting quarry. His face was lifted, his nostrils
sniffed eagerly, and his little black eyes, half closed, gave to his
countenance an expression of dreamy voluptuousness.
Jack, whose olfactories had been slower to awake than his companion’s,
looked at the urchin in astonishment. “What ails you, boy?” he demanded.
“Oh, gee, lead me to it!” breathed Jim in an unctuous murmur.
“Delmonnikers never smelt like dat! Eats, boss, eats! Gimme two dozen hot
dogs an’ ten plunks wort’ o’ ham-and, an’ keep de change! Lead me to it!”
By this time Jack had caught the odor, and he emitted a long-drawn
“Ah-h-h!”
The perfume, rich and delicate, swam on the air and seduced the senses.
With it came the realization that not since leaving New York—it might be
days or years ago—had food passed his lips. No wonder if his heart had
sunk under the blows of fate! Not Hercules his labors, Archimedes his
inventions, or Terence Mayne his New Madison Square Building, could have
been accomplished on an empty stomach. His appetite, as the odor continued
to insinuate itself, dilated to heroic proportions. A kingdom for an ox
roasted whole!
“Foller me, boss!” chanted Jim in gluttonous tones: “I’s on de trail!”
He was hobbling incontinently toward the cottage, which bore a touching
likeness to the annex-bungalows of terrestrial summer hotels. From its
chimney climbed gently upward a column of bluish smoke, which was
dissipated about by languid air currents, winged with deliciousness. Jim
reached the door first.
But with sublime self-restraint he halted there, poised on his crutch till
his master should enter. Jack caught him up under one arm, and the next
instant they found themselves staring at a table exquisitely arrayed in
white damask, porcelain dishes, sparkling flagons, and glistening silver.
Gracing these utensils was royal abundance of delectable soups, juicy
meats, fragrant vegetables, quivering jellies, mounded cakes and fruits,
the bubbling promise of vintage wines, and on a side table an urn of
incomparable coffee. Lucullus was outdone!
The two adventurers seated themselves opposite each other, and Jack
proceeded to do the honors. “Clear turtle, Jim,” quoth he, ladling out the
golden liquid; Jim had already begun to fill his mouth with
hors-d’oeuvres. “Our appetites need no stimulus, but a sip of this
amontillado will spiritualize them. Turbot, I declare! I wish Uncle Sam
were with us! No, let us limit ourselves to one help—that pheasant must
have full justice! Perhaps the venison outdoes the sirloin, magnificent
though that looks; and the burgundy harmonizes with the noble stag. A
little of this jelly! Do you smoke, Jim? While we are breathing ourselves
for the pudding, we might try one of these cigarettes. Jim, you are
looking better!”
“Dis is heaven, ain’t it boss?” Jim inquired.
“A part of it, I hope. A glass of this champagne will fortify us for what
is yet to come. Sip it reverently—it is the apotheosis of the Widow! I
incline to the pie rather than to the pudding—unless you are adequate to
both. I am but a man—you, a boy! I envy you! After all, even a banquet so
transcendent as this serves but as preparation for the coffee and cigars.
What are you saying?”
“De yaller-haired kid, boss!” Jim whispered. “She’s pipin’ us t’rough de
door!”
Jack turned and beheld the smiling face of Zarga.