IN THE FOREST DEPTHS
In the tower, Alan, with Lea, San, and Lentz, came speeding back to
this night in 1664. San plunged the tower to its swiftest pace--the
trip seemed less than an hour.
At first they sat in the lower room. Alan could not make up his mind
about Lentz. The fellow appeared loyal enough. Anxious to help; and
certainly his presence was an advantage. But Alan determined to watch
him closely, always.
Both Lea and San were startled at Lentz's appearance in the tower. That
was obvious; and several times Alan seemed to read in their expressions
that they, too, were suspicious of the man.
Lentz interpreted:
"San must stay always with the tower. He wants me to be sure you
understand that."
"Yes, I do."
"And Lea says she will go with you--"
The Turber aero was on the river bank not much more than a mile from
where the tower would land. It was Alan's plan to try and creep up on
it.
"What weapons have you?" Lentz asked.
Alan showed him the revolver. Lentz reached to take it.
"No," said Alan. "I'll keep it. What have you?"
Lentz had a knife--a long, thin blade in a sheath. Alan wondered what
else. For an instant he had an impulse to search the fellow. But he
decided it would be a wrong move. He smiled.
"That might be handier than mine. Mine makes a noise. You'll go with
me, Lentz?"
"Yes. That is what I think best. I have so often seen this forest with
the instruments--I can guide you."
"And--me?" said Lea.
"You stay here," said Alan decisively.
She burst into a flood of words to Lentz.
"She says she speaks the dialect of these Indians of 1664. She has
studied it in the dead-language books--She can talk to the Indians. She
stopped there once--they thought she was a goddess."
Lea said: "Yes. Yes--magic--this tower."
"She means," said Lentz, "they saw the tower. It was magic to them--she
says, if we meet any band of savages she can get them to help us."
Alan decided against it. Haste was necessary; they could not be sure
how long Turber's aero would remain.
"No," he said. "Tell Lea, I think not. You and I will go, Lentz. She
and San had better remain with the tower."
Lea was disappointed, but she yielded.
Near the end of the trip San remained at the controls; the others went
to the top of the tower. It presently lurched and stopped.
Alan saw that they were in the forest. A quiet, starlit evening. From
this height at the tower's top, the distant Hudson showed plainly. A
dark, rolling area of woods, thick with underbrush. To the south a
few lights in the little city of New Amsterdam were visible. Almost
directly west, by the river, there was a yellow glow.
"That's where Turber is," said Lentz.
"Yes," Lea agreed. And she pointed southeast. Another camp fire was off
there--a mile or so away, perhaps. A band of Indians encamped.
* * * * *
As well as he could, Alan tried to keep in mind the lay of this strange
land. Strangely dark and sinister forest. Yet Alan was born right here
in this same Space! He had lived here all his life. This, in 1945, was
Central Park. The Turber aero lay over by Riverside Drive. But how
different now!
Out in the Hudson River a large canoe was coming south. It seemed
heading in the direction of the Turber aero.
They went back to the lower tower room. Through the windows here the
black woods crowded like a wall.
"Tell them, Lentz, to watch closely. At any sign of trouble, tell them
to take the tower and escape."
Lentz told them. They nodded solemnly. Lea gave Alan her hand. Again,
as always, its touch thrilled him. She said:
"Good-by, Alan. Good--luck."
"Good-by, Lea."
In the woods, Lentz and Alan crept through the underbrush.
"You lead," Alan whispered. He felt safer with Lentz in front of him.
But he told himself that was foolish; Lentz seemed perfectly friendly.
"Quiet, we make no noise. In these woods, it seems, savages are
everywhere."
It was rough, heavy traveling. The underbrush was thick; there were
fallen trees, tiny streams occasionally; deep, solemn glens, thick with
leafy mold and huge ferns. And the solid wall of trees. Wild brier,
dogwood, sumach, and white birch occasionally, gleaming, ghostlike, in
the gloom.
Silent, sinister recesses. At every crackling twig beneath their tread,
Alan's heart leaped. The Indians of this forest could glide through
it soundlessly. Alan felt a dozen times that he and Lentz were being
stalked.
"Where are we, Lentz? Wait a minute."
They crossed perilously on the top of a fallen tree, which spanned a
deep ravine. Lentz waited at its end for Alan to come. Lentz whispered:
"Let me help you."
There was an instant when it flashed to Alan that Lentz might push him
off. Alan drew back.
"Move on--I'll get down."
They crouched at the end of the tree. It occurred to Alan that he had
been foolish to bring Lentz. His mistrust of the fellow was growing.
But it seemed an unreasonable mistrust.
"Where are we, Lentz?"
"Halfway there, I think. Or more. We should see the light of the camp
fire soon."
They started again. Presently Lentz stopped. Alan could see him, ten
feet ahead, standing against a tree-trunk.
"What is it?" Alan advanced until they stood together. Lentz pointed.
Two eyes gleamed in the brush ahead. Alan impulsively raised his
weapon, but Lentz checked him.
"Quiet! Some animal."
* * * * *
Not an Indian. Alan relaxed. Of course not--human eyes do not glisten
like that in the darkness.
It may have been a wildcat. The eyes moved; there was a rustling; the
thing was gone.
"Shot would spoil everything," Lentz whispered. "Come on."
Once more they started. The stars were almost hidden by the thick
interlacing of the forest trees. Alan had long since lost his sense of
direction. This space--Eighty-Sixth Street, from the park to Riverside
Drive. How different now!
Alan was lost. He followed Lentz. But it seemed that Lentz was bending
always too much to the left. Once Alan said:
"That way, isn't it?"
"No. I think not. That is north. This is west."
But to Alan the feeling persisted. They plunged down into a dell, at
the bottom of which ran a tiny, purling brook. They waded it.
"Lentz!" he whispered.
They crouched together. There was something close ahead of them in the
woods. Figures--unmistakable human figures--stood lurking against a
tree off there!
In the silence Alan could almost hear his pounding heart. He was afraid
to move; a crackling twig would have sounded like a shot.
A moment. Then there was a rustling ahead. The figures moved. They ran.
The underbrush cracked under them. They had seen Alan and Lentz and
were running. They reached, in a few feet, an open space of starlight.
Alan saw them clearly.
He gasped, and then he called softly, cautiously:
"Nanette! Ed--stop! It's Alan--"
It was Nanette and I, wandering lost.