It is characteristic of Myles Cabot that, in desperate situations such
as the one in which he now found himself, he always either becomes
engrossed in some personally-detached scientific speculation as to his
own fate, or else his thoughts become filled with some absurd doggerel
ditty or jingle.
In the present instance, as he clung naked to his perch on the side of
the pit, with the ant bear approaching him from below and the ant man
covering him with a rifle from above, all that he could think of was
that old Harvard Glee Club song about the darky, which ends with the
words:
“O Lord, if you can’t help me,
For Heaven’s sake don’t help that bear!”
As the ten-foot jaws of the huge carnivorous beast came closer and
closer to Cabot, the ant man on the bank could no longer restrain his
glee, and began dancing up and down with joy.
Cabot watched his antics with disgust, and even shouted across at him:
“Shut up, you d—— Eli! Do you think that that is a sportsmanlike way
to act on the bleachers?”
But, of course, the ant didn’t hear, as Cabot was without his headset
and artificial antennae.
The ant continued to dance, and the ant bear continued to crawl up the
side of the pit, when suddenly the edge of the crater crumbled beneath
the ant, and in an instant he, too, was catapulted down into the arena.
A shower of gravel smote the bear, and he could no more resist the
tropism which it excited in his make-up than a sunflower can resist
turning its face to the sun. With a swift somersault he seized the
surprised Formian between his jaws, and then backed slowly down into the
depths of the sand at the bottom of the pit.
Cabot watched the placid ant bear and the frantically but futilely
struggling ant man until both had disappeared beneath the surface; then
he heaved a sigh of relief, and looked for a way to escape before his
jailer should digest the Formian and stir abroad again in search of
further prey.
But he could see nothing which held out any hope. Then his scientific
mind came to his rescue, and he strove to recall all that he had learned
of the diminutive ant bears of the earth during his childhood. He
reviewed each item of their habits, until he recollected the furrows
which they dig to lure their prey into their pits. He remembered seeing
similar furrows in the plain where he now was. One such might furnish a
way out.
So he studied the edges of the crater until he located a slight dent at
one side. Lowering himself from his perch, he cautiously made his way
along the side of the pit until he came directly below the dent. There
he started digging frantically, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing
that the sliding sand was forming a gully in front of and above him.
Step by step he crawled up this gully, still digging, ever digging,
until he had nearly gained the top, when he heard a click behind him.
Stopping digging, he glanced around, and there was the ant bear emerging
from its lair, intent on eating him for its dessert.
With one last supreme effort, Cabot scrambled over the edge into the
furrow, and started running along it with the beast in hot pursuit.
The furrow got shallower and shallower. Cabot could now see above the
level of the plain as he ran on. It was like running in a dream. The
shifting sands gave way with every step, so that progress seemed almost
impossible, while the nightmare creature behind him gained, steadily
gained.
And then Cabot reached the end of the furrow and raced out upon the open
plain. To his surprise the bear stopped abruptly. Evidently there were
rules-of-the-game which governed even the crude mental processes of this
beast, and one of these rules was: “No fair catching one of the other
side when out of your territory.”
But Myles did not wait to see whether this rule held. He sped on to the
edge of the plain and to the shelter of the surrounding woods. There he
regained his toga and revolver, and then continued into the depths of
the forest.
When he considered himself at a safe distance, he crawled into a clump
of bushes; and not waiting for the night, lay down for a much-needed
rest.
It was morning again before he woke. Making his way back to the road, he
continued his interminable journey northward.
The word “northward” occurs very often, perhaps too often, in this
narrative but it is typical of Myles Cabot’s quest. All day long, day
after day, there rang in his ears the words, “northward, northward, ever
northward.” He recited the words in cadence with his stride, they sang
in the wind and in the swish of the trees.
Have you ever sat at the extreme stern of an ocean liner in the
moonlight and listened to the throb of the engines, the purr of the
wake, and the hum of the rigging? Have you ever stood on the rear
platform of a transcontinental train at night and watched the green
lights slide backward in the converging darkness, and listened to the
rush of the air and the rhythmic clank of the rails? If you have, you
will understand the lilting song which impelled Myles Cabot onward, ever
onward, toward his journey’s end.
He had plenty of opportunity for thought as he dragged his weary feet
along the road. He wondered as to the progress of the Civil War. Much of
its success would depend upon whether Count Kamel had joined the Kew
forces. Kamel had been the leader of the radicals in the popular
assembly, who had launched the movement for a shorter working day, when
the overthrow of the Formians two years ago had put an end to the period
of slavery which every male Cupian had had to undergo in ant-land. But
Prince Toron, the administration leader, at Cabot’s instigation had
blocked this move, and had put through a bill authorizing the
expenditure of this extra time upon the construction of public works.
The measure had been cleverly baited with a promise which appealed
strongly to the sport-loving Cupians, namely, that the first building
erected would be a huge stadium for the holding of national games—the
very stadium in which the assassination of Kew XII had later taken
place. Another move which had helped in the passage of this legislation
was the creation of a new cabinet post, the Minister of Public Works,
which portfolio had been tactfully offered to Count Kamel, the leader of
the radicals.
* * * * *
Cabot smiled as he recalled these facts.
“I hope that Toron gets to him again,” said Myles to himself, “and makes
him some flattering offer in the present war.”
Then he fell to worrying about the loss of his own artificial antennae.
Without these, he would be unable to talk even to his own wife! And then
it occurred to him that perhaps, even so, she might be able to talk to
him, and thus only one-half of the conversation would have to be carried
on by pad and stylus. How so?
Quite a while ago, not content with adapting himself so as to talk in
the antenna-fashion employed by these people with whom he had cast his
lot, he had started to teach the Princess Lilla to talk with her mouth;
for the anatomists of the university of Kuana had told him that the
Cupians possess vocal chords like those of earth folk, even though they
never use them. Myles had rigged up a small transmitting set, so that
she could hear her own vocalization; but the performance had embarrassed
her frightfully; and, therefore, she always practiced alone.
“Myles,” she used to say, “the Supreme Builder gave antennae to us
Cupians. Is it not a sacrilege to flout His gifts? If He had meant the
men and women of our planet to send with their mouths, would He not have
given us those funny cups on the side of the head to receive with? You
are excusable, for the Supreme Builder made you differently. But we
Cupians were made to send and receive with our antennae. Yet it cannot
be wrong for a wife to do as her husband does; so I am determined to try
to learn to talk with my mouth.”
It is fortunate that she adhered to this determination, for by so doing
she changed the history of a whole planet. But that is an episode which
will be related further on in this narrative. For, at the time of which
I now write, Myles did not know what progress, if any, she had made with
spoken speech.
One day as he trudged on, he came upon a placid herd of green cows,
which were unusually well supplied with the red parasite which afflicts
that breed. For some reason, the possibility of roast lobster was
unusually alluring that day. Could he not spare just one cartridge, or
must he save every shot for the enemy? And then it suddenly dawned on
him that all these days he had not yet spent one single shot even on the
enemy! What was the use of saving his ammunition for the ant men, and
then never using it on them?
From that thought there developed a detailed plan of action, so obvious
that he cursed himself for not having conceived of it before. And yet it
is just simple thoughts that are the evidence of the highest form of
invention, according to innumerable patent office decisions. Ideas so
simple that any one could have thought of them, except for the fact that
no one ever did think of them until the inventor came along; ideas which
doubtless escaped even him for a long time.
Engrossed in his brilliant plan, Cabot forgot all about the green cows
and their red parasites; so he pressed on, and soon found opportunity to
put his plan into practice. For a kerkool, occupied by a single ant man,
came charging down the concrete highway. As usual, Cabot hid in the
bushes beside the road; but this time he took a pot-shot at the occupant
of the car. The car, however, sped on and, rounding the turn ahead,
disappeared from view.
Perhaps the bright idea hadn’t been so bright after all; for how was
Cabot, crack shot that he was, to expect that he could hit such a
swiftly moving target as an ant in a kerkool?
Once again he took up his weary march. He rounded the turn ahead. And
there lay the kerkool, wrecked beside the road. The shot actually had
taken effect after all!
But what good was a _wrecked_ kerkool? Would it not merely direct the
attention of the Formians to the fact that one of their enemies was at
large in this vicinity? It would; that was the second part of the plan.
So Cabot lay down beside the wrecked car and awaited further
developments.
Developments were not long in developing, for soon another kerkool
stopped to investigate. Its occupants were two ant men, armed with but a
single rifle to the two of them. One dismounted, leaving the rifle in
the car, and pattered over to take a look at the wreck. Just about then
Myles opened fire, but made the mistake of shooting first at the ant who
was on the ground. The shot disabled the black antagonist, without
killing him, and thus permitted him to radiate a warning to his
companion, who, of course had not heard the revolver. Cabot, in turn,
could not hear the radiated warning, so he merely surmised it, but he
had learned fairly well to judge such matters during his three years on
Poros.
The driver of the kerkool quickly fired one shot in Cabot’s direction
and threw on full speed ahead. But, with a leap, the earthman grabbed
the rear end of the car and trailed out behind as it rapidly
accelerated.
And now they were deadlocked. By this time Cabot had secured a foothold,
but was not able to clamber aboard without dropping his revolver. Nor
did he dare to shoot, for even a momentary release of the control levers
by the driver would have spelled a collision and death to them both. The
driver, for his part, was driving so fast that, in spite of his six
legs, he could not spare two of them to take another shot at his
passenger. Nor did he dare slow down, for that would have given Cabot an
opportunity to shoot at him.
But the deadlock was to the ant’s advantage. Time was playing into his
hands; for he knew, and Cabot sensed, that they were rapidly nearing a
town, at which it would be an easy matter for the ant to turn the man
over to the authorities.
And then the great god coincidence sat into the game, in opposition to
his old enemy, the god of time. A Formian pinqui, on guard at a
cross-road, held up one paw as a signal to stop, for another kerkool was
approaching from the left and had the right of way.
The driver disregarded the signal and the pinqui fired. The next instant
Cabot was at the levers. How he ever got there he does not know; but the
fact remains that fate had forced him into a situation which he had not
dared to face, and that somehow he had mastered the situation.
The other car just barely skinned by the rear, the pinqui fired a
parting shot, and Cabot’s kerkool was off for the open country again.
The ant-man at his side turned out to be only stunned, which probably
accounts for his not letting go the levers and wrecking the car when he
was shot. He was rapidly recovering, and Cabot was unarmed, having
dropped his revolver when he had sprung to seize the controls.
* * * * *
The rifle of the ant was lying beneath the ant’s body. Cabot stopped the
kerkool as quickly as possible, and pondered for a moment on what course
to take next. Escape from the ant would be easy; but if he fled, his
whole brilliant scheme for obtaining possession of a kerkool would have
gone for naught. To attempt to wrench the rifle from beneath the rapidly
recuperating beast would probably bring the latter fully to his senses.
Therefore, the only thing to do appeared to be to grapple with the
Formian at once; and by taking him by surprise, try to get a strangle
hold on him in his present comatose condition.
Imagine tackling single-handed an ant with the brain of a man, the size
of a horse, with razor-sharp mandibles! But it was Cabot’s only hope. If
he could get the better of the Formian before the latter fully came to
his senses, Myles had a bare chance of victory.
As bad luck would have it, the ant man came to his senses before Cabot
did get the better of him. But not before Cabot had placed both hands
under the edge of the ant’s head, preparatory to twisting his neck,
which is the weakest and most vulnerable spot on a Formian, the spot
always sought in their frequent duels. A moment more of leeway, and this
plan would have succeeded. But as it was, Myles was just too late. A
sweep of the ant’s leg and Cabot’s right hand was dislodged and held
down to the floor. The ant’s jaw clicked savagely, as he turned and
faced his opponent; but still the man’s left hand held him off.
This could not last long. Cabot’s left arm was gradually weakening.
Nearer and nearer came the ant’s jaws to his throat. The fingers of his
right hand twitched convulsively as he strove to release that arm. And
then those fingers touched something familiar.
With one last supreme effort, he moved his hand sufficiently to grasp
his lost revolver. A shot severed the leg which was holding him, and in
an instant he had thrust the smoking weapon squarely between the horrid
jaws and fired again. The battle was over. It was Cabot’s last
cartridge, but the battle was over.
Cabot’s first inclination was to heave the body over among the rubbish;
but on second thought he decided to use it as the keystone of a rather
clever plan of camouflage. Propping the dead carcass up at the levers,
so that it would appear to be driving, he crouched beside it, reached in
front of it and started the kerkool. Thank Heavens he had had experience
in driving the seatless machines of the Formians, as well as the more
comfortable cars of his own people.
Cabot passed through the first town without challenge, but evidently his
strange appearance was noted and excited some curiosity, for at the
second town he was confronted by a formidable array of ant pinquis.
Hoist by his own petar, he was, for it was his own system of
radio-communication, installed throughout the Kingdom, which had enabled
the authorities to broadcast the news of his approach.
There was nothing to do but run the gantlet; so thrusting aside the dead
body of his companion, Myles took a firmer hold on the levers and
charged full into the midst of the pinquis.
The kerkool shuddered from stem to stern at the shock, but her
gyroscopes kept her steady, and Cabot sped on out of town amid a shower
of lead from the greatly surprised and demoralized enemy.
The third town proved to be even a worse proposition, for by now the
ant-men fully recognized Cabot’s identity and had thrown up a hasty
barricade in the very heart of town. Putting on the brakes, he was just
barely able to steer sharp to the right into a side street and thus
avoid a collision with the barricade.
But, alas, the side street proved to be merely a blind alley, a
cul-de-sac. He was trapped! Well, so be it. He had the rifle and
ammunition of the dead ant, and would sell his life dearly. Although the
rifle was built to fit claws rather than hands and a shoulder, still he
could use it. So parking the kerkool crossways at the end of the street,
he crouched behind it, and opened fire on the ant men as they rounded
the corner in pursuit. They at once withdrew, thus giving him a brief
respite.
But he realized that almost any moment they were likely to attack him
from the roofs of the surrounding houses; and, accordingly, as soon as
he had momentarily cleared the street, he withdrew into the house at its
end. Of course, this was taking a chance on the occupants; but whoever
they were, they discreetly kept out of the fight. The narrow window
openings, which are typical of Porovian architecture, afforded ideal
loopholes, and enabled Cabot to pick off with ease any black form which
showed itself, either at the opening of the street or at the edge of any
of the adjoining roofs. But this could not keep on forever. Even the
bandolier which he had taken from the dead driver of the kerkool would
in time become exhausted. And at any moment his enemies could be
expected to enter his stronghold from the rear.
So leaving the muzzle of his rifle conspicuously protruding from the
window, he made a hurried search of the ground floor of the house and
finally found what he wanted, namely, a chair, the legs of which were
about the same size and shape as rifle barrels. When he returned to the
window with the four chair legs, the Formians were throwing up
breastworks at the corner of the street, so that they could fire at the
window from under cover.
Cabot arranged his chair legs at four of the windows, took a few shots
at the barricade to let them know that his “force of defenders” was
still active, and then hurriedly withdrew to the rear of the house with
his real rifle and the few remaining rounds of ammunition.
The street in the rear was vacant. There were still many simple points
of the art of war, which the black rulers of Poros had yet to learn. But
evidently they were learning very quickly; for Cabot had scarcely gone
two blocks before the alley behind him was filled with rattling Formians
intent on entering the dwelling which he had just quitted. Luckily he
gained the cover of a doorway without their seeing him; and finding the
door unlocked, he entered his second house of refuge.
Within it was a Cupian. Eagerly the earthman rushed forward to greet
him. But the Cupian, giving one horrified look at the intruder’s hair
and beard, fled frantically to the upper floors. He could not hear
Cabot’s words of reassurance, nor could Cabot hear the shriek of terror
which he must have given. Undoubtedly he would spread the alarm; so
there was no time to be lost.
Rushing through this house as he had through the other, Myles found that
the rear of this house looked out upon open fields with woods beyond;
and soon he was rapidly running toward this new haven.
But before he could gain the woods, the black pack debouched from the
city in pursuit. It was now evening. The red sky in the west enabled
Myles to get his sense of direction, and to proceed due northward
through the woods, which fortunately he reached in advance of his
pursuers. But still the pack gained.
Finally he arrived at the top of a cliff, beneath which lay a placid
lake. And in the middle of the lake rose a turreted island. He had
reached his journey’s end after forty days of weary wandering. For this
was Lake Luno!
There were only a few more paraparths of daylight left: so, lying down
behind a fallen tree-trunk at the very edge of the bank, Cabot opened
fire at the oncoming Formians. They, too, at once took cover, and thus
both sides sniped at each other as the velvet blackness of the Porovian
night crept up out of the eastern sky. Between shots the earthman took
many a longing look at his home across the water.
Soon it would be too dark to see to shoot, and then the black horde
would rush Cabot’s position. So, just before the pink light had
completely faded in the west, he rapidly fired all his remaining
ammunition among the trees before him, heaved his now useless rifle over
into the water, dived off into the lake below, and struck for his
island, his family and his home.
* * * * *
As he cleaved the water with the long measured sweep of the trained
swimmer that he was—for he had been a distinguished member of the
aquatic team at Harvard and had never let a day go by without a dip in
the tank—his heart sang to the time of his strokes: “Going home, going
home, going home.”
There was still just enough light in the sky for him to make out the
outline of the island, but not enough for his pursuers to see him from
the top of the cliff, though they did pepper the water pretty well in a
direct line from their position to the island. But they gave him credit
for much more speed than he was capable of, and so most of their bullets
landed far ahead of him.
He knew that the Formians would not follow him farther, at least for
that night. Formians are no swimmers, having a horror of water. There
were plenty of boats along the shore of Lake Luno, but he was certain
that his enemies would not venture out in the night, for fear of a
spill. The only danger was that they might send some of their Cupian
allies across; but he doubted this, in view of the fact that they
probably thought him still armed with the rifle and respected his
marksmanship. No, he was fairly safe for the present.
Darkness had completely enveloped the planet as Cabot pulled himself
wearily upon the beach of his own island. For some time he lay weakly
upon the sand, panting, utterly worn out. But at last he roused his
exhausted frame and groped his way up the familiar path to the summit.
He was there! He was home! In a few moments he would be clasping his
Lilla close in his arms. Oh, how he loved her, who had made this planet
a home for him, instead of a mere dreary exile in the skies. In a few
moments he would see for the first time his tiny son.
Forgotten were his enemies. Forgotten was Prince Yuri, the traitor.
Forgotten was the thousand-stad journey. For as Myles clambered up the
path, his sole idea was: “Lilla and home and little Kew.”
But the civil war was abruptly recalled to his memory when he reached
the summit and found Luno Castle in total darkness! The massive door was
standing idly open. There was not a sound of occupancy within.
With an intense pang of anxiety, he rushed across the threshold. He
switched on the hall light. At least there was some comfort, for the
electricity was still in working order. But scarcely had the light gone
on, when a bullet whistled through the doorway from outside.
Doubtless the best sharpshooters of the enemy had been waiting on the
opposite bank for just such an opportunity as this! Several more bullets
followed in rapid succession, but a hasty slamming of the great door put
a stop to any further incursions of this sort. And Myles found and
lighted a pocket flash lamp, before proceeding to the upper floors. The
flash would not throw enough light to furnish a target for the Formians.
Upstairs there was evidence of considerable confusion; furniture
overturned, draperies torn and so forth; but no signs of his family, of
the doctors and nurses, or of the servants. His heart was filled with an
agony of suspense, his mind with a growing realization that he had
arrived too late. Each room he penetrated in turn, searching, ever
searching, until at last he reached the great banquet hall on the
highest story.
And there a sad sight met his eyes! A square altar had been erected in
the center of the room. Around it, in a Pythagorian triangle, stood
three candlesticks, holding the burned-out stubs of candles. And on the
altar, wrapped in the imperial robes of the Kew dynasty, lay the body of
a baby Cupian, only a few sangths old!
With a cry of anguish Cabot clasped the tiny form to his breast and
covered it with kisses. But it gave back no response; it was cold and
stiff.
For a long time he stayed with his dead. He examined the little toes,
with which, but for this cruel civil war, he might have played, “This
little pig went to market.” He chafed one tiny hand, and wrapped all its
little fingers around a finger of his own, fondly picturing himself as
strolling in the castle garden with a little toddler at his side. He
knelt by the altar and talked baby talk to the little dead darling. Then
wept bitterly and cursed the pride which had kept him from his child in
its hour of need.
And what of Lilla, more precious to him than this infant whom he had
never known? Very evidently she had been taken prisoner rather than
killed. Perhaps Yuri would hold her as a hostage, as the price of Cupian
surrender. Or more likely he would force her to marry him, as soon as he
could dispose of her husband. Whichever was his plan, it behooved Myles
to remain alive for Lilla’s sake.
If Myles’ own grief could be so sharp at the death of a baby whom he had
never known, how much more bitter must have been the grief of her who
had held this child warm and gurgling to her breast! And in addition,
she was now the captive of the murderer of her father, of her babe,
and—for all that she knew—of her husband.
Poor dear girl! Cabot roused himself and, clasping the little form close
to his breast, carried it outside, and by the light of his flash, dug
for it a shallow grave in the castle courtyard. Over the grave he said a
Christian prayer, the mound he covered with flowers, and at the head he
placed a rude cross.
The problem remained to reach the troops to the northward, and now for
the first time he realized his own predicament. Undoubtedly the shore of
Lake Luno was already thickly lined with ants, whose airplanes would
certainly start dropping bombs on the island as soon as it was daylight.
They might even attack by boat, but he rather thought that they
respected his rifle too much for this. At all events, what possible
chance was there for him ever to escape this trap?
But trap or no trap, northward again he must go, for it was only by
reaching his army that he could learn the fate of his princess.
Nothward again! After he had thought he had reached his journey’s end.
The word “northward” had already seared itself into his very soul during
his interminable quest for Luno Castle, and yet now he must travel north
once more.
If only he could travel east, or in some other direction than north!