_A Mysterious Rescuer_
Their way led through tangled growths of trees and vines that were like
unreal things of a dream. Unreal they were, too, in their strange degree
of livingness, for there were snaky tendrils that drew back as if in
fear at their approach and stalks that folded great, thorny leaves
protectingly about pulpy centers at the first touch of a hand. The world
of vegetation seemed strangely sentient and aware of their approach.
Only the leprous-white trees remained motionless; their red-veined
trunks towered high in air, and the sun of late afternoon shot
slantingly through a leafy roof overhead.
Twice Chet let the others go on ahead while he slipped silently into
some rocky concealment and watched with staring, anxious eyes back along
their trail. But the little stream's gurgling whisper was the only
voice, and in all the weird jungle there was no movement but for the
unfolding of the vegetation where they had passed.
"Nerves!" he reproached himself. "You're getting jumpy, and that won't
do." But once more he let the others climb on while he stepped quickly
behind a projecting rock over which he could look.
Again there was silence; again the leaves unfolded their thorny
wrappings while vermiform tendrils crept across the ground or reached
tentatively into the air. And then, while the silence was unbroken,
while no evidence came through his feeble, human senses, something
approached.
Neither sight nor sound betrayed it--this something, that came
noiselessly after--but a tell-tale plant whipped its leaves into their
former wrapping; a vine drew its hanging clusters of flowers sharply
into the air. The unseeing watchers of the forest had sensed what was
unheard and unseen, and Chet knew that his own inner warning had been
true.
He waited to see this mysterious pursuer come into view; and after
waiting in vain he realized the folly of thinking himself concealed. He
glanced about him; every plant was drawn tightly upon itself. With
silent voices they were proclaiming his hiding place, warning this other
to wait, telling him that someone was hidden here.
Chet's face, despite his apprehension, drew into a whimsical, silent
grin. "No chance to ambush him, whoever he is or whatever it is," he
told himself. "But that works two ways: he can't jump us when we're
prepared; not in daylight, anyway."
And he asked himself a question he could not answer: "I wonder," he
whispered softly, "--I wonder what these plants will do at night!"
* * * * *
Almost they could see the swift descent of the sun. Each flashing glint
of light through the dense growth came from lower down toward the
invisible horizon. It shone at last where Chet cast anxious glances
about upon a mound of rocks.
Rough blocks of tremendous size had been left here from some seismic
disturbance. Like the ruins of a castle they were heaped high in air.
Even the tree growths stopped at their base, and above them was an
opening in the roof of tangled branches and leaves--a rough circle of
clear, blue sky.
"How about making camp?" Chet asked. "This place looks good to me. I
would just as soon be up off the ground a bit."
Harkness looked at the pile of rocks; glanced once toward the sun.
"Right!" he agreed. "This will do for our first camp."
"You've named it," Chet told him as he scrambled to the top of a great
block. He extended a hand to Diane, standing tired and breathless at its
side.
"Welcome to First Camp!" he told her. "Take this elevator for the first
ten floors."
He drew her up to the top of the block. Harkness joined them, and Diane,
though she tried to smile in response to Chet, did not refuse their help
in making the ascent; the day's experiences had told on all of them.
Thirty or forty feet above the ground was Chet's estimate. From the top
of their little fort they watched the shadows of night sweep swiftly
down. Scrub tree growths whose roots had anchored among the rocks gave
them shelter, while vines and mosses softened the hard outlines of the
labyrinth of stones.
* * * * *
Chet undid the package of meat and passed it out freely. There had been
scurryings and rustlings in the jungle growth that had reassured him in
the matter of food. Darkness fell as they ate; then it gave way to a new
flood of light.
Golden light from a monstrous moon! It sent searching fingers through
rifts in the leafy roof, then poured itself over the edge of the opening
above in a cascade of glory. And, though each one of the four raised his
eyes toward that distant globe and knew it for the Earth, no word was
said; they ate their food in silence while the silent night wrapped them
about.
Still in silence they prepared for the night. Chet and Harkness
improvised a bed for Diane in the shelter of a sheer-rising rock. They
tore off pieces of moss and stripped leaves from the climbing vines to
make a mattress for her; then withdrew with Kreiss to a short distance
while Chet told them of his suspicions.
"Six hours of night," he said at last; "that means two hours for each of
us. We'll take turns standing guard."
Harkness insisted upon being first. Chet flipped a coin with Kreiss and
drew the last turn of guard duty. He stretched himself out on a bit of
ground where vegetation had gained a foothold among the rocks.
"It's going to take me a while to get used to these short days," he
said. "Six hours of daylight; six hours of night. This is a funny,
little world--but it's the only one we've got."
The night air was softly warm; the day had been hard on muscles and
nerves. Chet stared toward the glorious ball of light that was their
moon. There were men and women there who were going about their normal
affairs. Ships were roaring through the air at their appointed levels;
their pilots were checking their courses, laughing, joking.
* * * * *
Chet resolutely withdrew his eyes. Think? Hell, no! That was one thing
that he must not do. He threw one arm across his eyes to shut out the
light that brought visions of a world he would never see again--that
emphasized the utter hopelessness of their position.... His next
conscious sensation was of his shoulder being shaken, while the hushed
voice of Doctor Kreiss said:
"Your turn now, Herr Bullard; four hours have you slept."
From Kreiss, Chet took the pistol with its seven precious shells. "All
quiet," Kreiss told him as he prepared to take Chet's place on the soft
leaves; "strange, flying things have I seen, but they do not come near.
And of your mysterious pursuer we have seen nothing. You imagined it,
perhaps."
"I might have imagined it," Chet answered, "but don't try to tell me
that the plants did. I'll give this vegetation credit for some damned
uncanny powers but not for imagination--I draw the line there."
He looked toward the highest point of rock and shook his head. "Too
plain a target if I'm up there," he argued, and took up his position in
the shadows instead.
Once he moved cautiously toward the place they had prepared for Diane.
She was breathing softly and regularly. And on the rock at her side,
with only his jacket for a bed, lay Harkness. Their hands were clasped,
and Chet knew that the girl slept peacefully in the assurance of that
touch.
"They don't make 'em any finer!" he was telling himself, and at the same
moment he stiffened abruptly to attention.
Something was moving! Through and above the hushed noises of the night
had come a gliding sound. It was an indescribable sound, too elusive for
identification; and Chet, in the next instant, could not be sure of its
reality. He did not call, but swung alertly back on guard and slipped
from shadow to shadow as he made his way across the welter of rocks.
* * * * *
He stopped at last in strained listening to the silent night. One hand
upon a great stone block at his side steadied his body in tense, poised
concentration.
From afar came a whistling note whose thin keenness was mingled with a
squeal of fright: some marauder of the night had found its prey. From
the leafy canopy above him voices whispered as the night wind set a
myriad leaves in motion. The thousand tiny sounds that blend to make the
silence of the dark! These he heard, and nothing more, while he forced
himself to listen beyond them. He followed with his eyes the creeping
flood of Earth-light that came slantingly now through the opening above
to half-illumine this rocky world; and then, in the far margin of that
light he found something on which his eyes focused sharply--something
that moved!
Walt!--Kreiss--he must arouse them! A shout of alarm was in his
throat--a shout that was never uttered. For, from the darkness at his
back--not where this moving thing had been disclosed by the friendly
Earth-light, but from the place he had just left--came a scream of pure
terror. It was the shocking scream of a person roused from sleep in
utter fright, and the voice was that of Diane.
"Walter!" she cried! "Walt!" There were other words that ended in a
strangling, choking sound, while a hoarse shout from Harkness merged
into a discord that rang horribly through the still night.
* * * * *
Chet was racing across the rocks; the pistol was in his hand. What
fearful thing would he face? What was it that had attacked? He forced
his leaden feet to carry him on in a succession of wild leaps. Forgotten
was the menace behind him, although he half saw, half sensed, a shadow
that moved faster than he along the upper rocks. He thought only of the
unknown horror that was ahead, that had drawn that despairing shriek
from the brave lips of Diane. The few seconds of his crossing were an
age in length.
One last spring, one vivid instant while the Earth-light marked in sharp
distinctness the figure of a leaping man! It was Harkness, throwing
himself into the air, trying vainly to reach the struggling form of
Diane Delacouer. She was held high above his head, and she was wrapped
in the coils of a monster serpent--coils that finished in a
smoothly-rounded end. And Chet knew in that instant of horror that the
thing was headless!
He was raising his pistol to fire; the long moments that seemed never to
end were in actuality an instant. Where should he aim? He must not
injure Diane.
From the high rocks beside him came a glint of light, a straight line of
reflected brilliance as from a poised and slender shaft. It moved, it
flashed downward, it hissed angrily as it passed close to Chet's head.
It went on, a spear like a flash of light--on and down, to drive sharply
into the body of that serpent shape! And the coils, at that blow,
relaxed, while the figure of Diane Delacouer fell limply to the
outstretched, cushioning arms of the man below....
* * * * *
Had the weapon been thrown with uncanny accuracy, or had it been meant
for him? Chet could not be sure. But he knew that before him Walt
Harkness was bending protectingly above the unconscious figure of a
girl, while above and about the two there flailed a terrible, headless
thing that beat the rocks with sledge-hammer blows. It struck Harkness
once and sent him staggering, and once it came close to Chet so that his
hands closed upon it for an instant. And with the touch he knew that
this serpent was no animal shape, but worse--a creeping tendril from
some flesh-eating horror of the vegetable world.
He dashed in beside Walt; he saw Kreiss hurrying across the rocks. They
had Diane safely out of reach of the threshing, striking thing before
the scientist arrived.
The spear that had passed close to Chet had pinned this deadly thing to
earth; it tore loose as they watched, and the wounded tendril, with the
spear still hanging from its side, slid swiftly down the slope and into
the darkness at the foot of the rocks.
Even the calm preciseness of Herr Kreiss was shattered by the attack. In
a confusion of words he stammered questions that went unanswered. Chet
thrust his pistol into Harkness' hands and was off down the rocky slope
toward the springs where they had got water for their evening meal. A
rolled leaf made a cup that he held carefully while he climbed back. A
few minutes later the pallid face of Diane showed a faint flush, while
she drew a choking breath.
* * * * *
Harkness held the girl's head in his arms; he was uttering words of
endearment that were mingled with vicious curses for the thing that had
escaped.
"Never mind that," argued Chet; "that one won't bother us again, and
after this we will be on guard. But here is something to wonder about.
What about this spear? Where did it come from?"
Harkness had eyes only for Diane's tremulous smile. "I am all right,
truly," she assured him. Only then did he turn in bewilderment to Chet.
"I thought you threw it! But of course not; you couldn't; we didn't have
any spears."
"No," said Chet; "I didn't throw it. I saw something moving over across
there"--he pointed toward the farther rocks where he had been--"I was
going to call when Diane's scream beat me to it. But what I saw wasn't
the thing that attacked her. And if it was the same one who threw that
spear he must have come across here in a hurry. And that spear, by the
way, came uncomfortably close to my head. I'm not at all sure but it was
meant for me."
Harkness released his arms from Diane, for she was now able to sit
erect. He picked up the crude bow that had been beside him and fitted an
arrow to the string.
"I'll go and have a look," he promised grimly. But Chet held him back.
"You're not thinking straight; this shock has knocked you out of
control. If that little stranger with the spear meant to help us there's
no need of hunting him out; he doesn't seem anxious to show himself. And
if he meant it for me, he's still too good a shot to fool with in the
dark. You stick here until daylight."
"That is good advice," Herr Kreiss agreed. "The night, it will soon be
gone." He was looking at the leafy opening overhead where the golden
light of a distant Earth was fading before the glow of approaching day.