Just at that moment, through a rift in the smoke, he fancied that he saw
the sparkle of water, and toward it he bent his steps. If there really
was a stream there, it might block the course of the conflagration, and
afford safety on its farther bank.
So on and on, amidst the smoke, he sped, with the roar of the fire
behind him. His one hope lay in finding the stream and in managing to
cross it.
He did not heed the choking sensation in his throat. His own life and
the fate of a nation depended on his success. He must find the water.
He had run but a few paraparths when he again caught sight of the water
between the trees, for he had been nearer than he had thought. In
another moment he gained the bank, but he groaned at the sight. For the
opposite shore was also in flames. Evidently the ant men had anticipated
his move.
What could he do now? Great volumes of smoke were pouring in on him from
behind. The air was full of flying embers, and the heat was becoming
almost unendurable. The hunted man had gained the bank of the stream,
only to find his escape cut off there by the flames on the other side.
Cabot was facing a double peril, as he fully realized. The Formians who
were pursuing him, and who had set these fires, would prove as merciless
as the flames in their dealings with him, whom they rightly regarded as
the cause of the misfortunes of their nation. Thus either way out of
this dilemma appeared to be worse than the other. And still the rain
held off.
At this moment a slight shift in the wind drove back the heat behind
him. The smoke which now came from across the little river was cool and
thin enough to be bearable, and accordingly he quickly determined to
stick close to the bank, and to proceed cautiously northward, the
direction in which the stream appeared to be flowing.
Perhaps no one was on guard at the place where the stream emerged from
the burning area, and he could there make his escape.
But, alas, no such luck! His flight was interrupted by the sight of an
ant man, who, as seen through the smoke, loomed twice his natural size.
Cabot took careful aim and fired two shots, at which his enemy crumpled
up, but not without first radiating a warning to his fellows. This made
it too late to get through at this point, so Cabot turned and retraced
his steps upstream.
Finally he came to a place where the fire appeared to be burning only on
his own side of the river. Although the current was swift he determined
to chance it and swim across, so he waded out into the stream. The cool
of the water felt soothing to his dry body, and near the surface the air
was clear and free from smoke. Cabot filled his lungs again and again
with this blessed air, then stopped to lave his parched lips in the cool
stream.
When he raised his head to resume the crossing, what should he see on
the opposite shore but two of his black enemies! Firing rapidly at them,
he backed up the bank again and lay down under cover of a log.
The Formians now promptly withdrew, and soon were lost in the smoke of
several new fires which they had started.
He heard a boom in the distance. What! Were they bombing Luno Castle
again? Another boom in a slightly different direction! Where else could
they be dropping bombs? And then he realized this must be thunder.
Now the wind shifted again, driving the flames up to Cabot’s side of the
river and forcing him back into the water. Burning brands came scudding
across the surface, so that even the water proved but little protection.
However, by making his way upstream, he finally came to a place where
the bank overhung, and the brook was about five feet deep. Here the bank
protected him from the flying embers, and he was able to breathe the
clear air near the surface of the stream. Now the fire could not touch
him, even if it should sweep to the very edge of the brook.
The sky got darker and darker. The rain began to descend. The storm,
which had been so long threatening, had broken at last, and the rain was
falling torrentially. Indeed, it soon was coming down in sheets, and
Cabot knew that if he could only maintain his position a little longer,
he would be saved from the fire, and would then have only the Formians
to cope with. The flames in the forest had not been under such headway
that they could long withstand such a deluge as was now coming down.
But the rain, by quenching the fire, greatly increased the volume of the
smoke, which now came billowing thickly out over the surface of the
water. Also the river began to rise. The swollen stream was quickly
responding to the addition of the heavy downpour of rain, and Cabot
realized that he would soon be driven from his hiding place. Yet if he
went ashore in that thick smoke, he would not be able to breathe. He was
between the devil and the deep river.
And, to make matters worse, the smoke was settling closer and closer
over the water, so that Myles was finally forced to bring his nostrils
to within a fraction of an inch of the surface, in order to get any
fresh air at all.
As he stood thus, with his nostrils just above the surface of the water,
and his eyes smarting with the acrid smoke, the smoke suddenly lifted
sufficiently to disclose a large log which the current was carrying
swiftly, end-on, directly toward his head. Then, with a crash, it
struck.
* * * * *
How long or how far the swift current carried him he knew not, but it
must have been many stads, for when his eyes finally opened again, the
brook had become a river.
He found himself now clinging instinctively to the very log which had
dislodged him, and doubtless it was this instinctive act which had saved
his life.
After resting a moment, and recovering his wits, he investigated his
surroundings. The river was roaring along the bottom of a deep gorge,
and right before him rose the face of a steep rocky cliff, against which
the river seemed to rush and end, turning neither to the right nor to
the left. In a flash it dawned on Cabot where he was. This was “the lost
river,” a natural phenomenon which had long perplexed the scientists of
Poros, and had long been revered by the proletariat as a symbol and
emblem of eternity.
“It will undoubtedly mean eternity to me,” thought Cabot, “for in a
moment I shall strike the face of that cliff, and all will be over.”
But, just before he reached the cliff, the log and he were sucked down,
down, by some irresistible undertow. He strangled and struggled upward,
but the pressure held him down. His lungs were bursting with
excruciating pain. His ears hurt. His mouth was filled with blood. Oh,
how he longed for the crash against the cliff, which would end it all!
But the crash never came.
He could bear it no longer, yet there was no alternative except to bear
it. And then, as suddenly as it had sucked him beneath the surface, the
river released its grip on his legs, and he shot upward, clear of the
watery grave. With what joy did he fill his straining lungs with God’s
fresh air! Again and again he breathed, as he clung to the friendly log,
until at last the pain in his throat departed, and he was somewhat his
normal self once more.
He was drifting quietly along on the surface of a placid stream. A few
moments ago all had been broad daylight, but now all was dark as a
Porovian night. Every ripple of the water echoed above and to both
sides, thus leading Cabot to infer that he was in some subterranean
grotto. So he struck out for the shore.
The shore proved to be a precipitous wall; but finally, after groping
along it for a way, he came to a ledge about a foot above the surface,
and onto this ledge he pulled himself. Shedding his toga, he wrung it
out, and finally massaged himself with it into a state resembling
dryness. But his wings and false antennae were gone, and his radio
apparatus seemed to be a hopeless mess.
At any rate, the air was fortunately not cold in the cave, so he lay
down on the ledge and slept.