"You have a lock of her hair. I saw you pick it from the net. The
net'll go out soon, like the grating did. Then there won't be anything
to keep the snakes and beetles off of us. She'll sit up there and watch
us die, and laugh.
"But I won't die, I tell you! I won't!"
He shuddered in Breska's hands, and began to laugh. The laugh rose
to a thin, high scream like the wailing of a panther. Breska hit him
accurately on the point of the jaw.
"Cafard," he grunted, as some of the men came running. "He'll come
round all right."
He dragged Kuna to the dormitory, and came back doubled up with
coughing from the exertion. Tex saw the pain in his dark face.
"Say," he murmured, "you'd better ask for leave when the relief gets
here."
"_If_ it gets here," gasped the Martian. "That attack at Fort Nelson
was just a feint to draw off our reinforcements."
Tex nodded. "Even if the varmints broke through there, they'd be
stopped by French River and the broken hills beyond it."
A map of Fort Washington's position formed itself in his mind; the
stone blockhouse commanding a narrow tongue of land between strips of
impassable swamp, barring the way into the valley. The valley led back
into the uplands, splitting so that one arm ran parallel to the swamps
for many miles.
To fierce and active men like the swamp-dwellers, it would be no trick
to swarm down that valley, take Fort Albert and Fort George by surprise
in a rear attack, and leave a gap in the frontier defenses that could
never be closed in time.
And then hordes of white-haired warriors would swarm out, led by that
beautiful fury on the winged lizard, rouse the more lethargic pastoral
tribes against the colonists, and sweep outland Peoples from the face
of Venus.
"They could do it, too," Tex muttered. "They outnumber us a thousand to
one."
"And," added Breska viciously, "the lousy taxpayers won't even give us
decent equipment to fight with."
Tex grinned. "Armies are always step-children. I guess the sheep just
never did like the goats, anyhow." He shrugged. "Better keep an eye on
Kuna. He might try something."
"What could he do? If he deserts, they'll catch him trying to skip out,
if the savages don't get him first. He won't try it."
But in the morning Kuna was gone, and the lock of silver hair in Tex's
pocket was gone with him.
* * * * *
Five hot, steaming days dragged by. The water sank lower and lower
in the tank. Flakes of rust dropped from every metal surface at the
slightest touch.
Tex squatted on a slimy block of stone in the compound, trying to
forget hunger and thirst in the task of sewing a patch on his pants.
Fog gathered in droplets on the reddish hairs of his naked legs,
covered his face with a greasy patina.
Breska crouched beside him, coughing in deep, slow spasms. Out under
the sagging net, men were listlessly washing underwear in a tub of
boiled swamp water. The stuff held some chemical that caused a stubborn
sickness no matter what you did to it.
Tex looked at it thirstily. "Boy!" he muttered. "What I wouldn't give
for just one glass of ice water!"
"Shut up," growled Breska. "At least, I've quit being hungry."
He coughed, his dark face twisted in pain. Tex sighed, trying to ignore
the hunger that chewed his own belly like a prisoned wolf.
Nine more days to go. Food and water cut to the barest minimum. Gun
parts rusting through all the grease they could put on. The strands of
the net were perilously thin. Even the needle in his hand was rusted so
that it tore the cloth.
Of the thirty-one men left after Kuna deserted, they had lost seven;
four by green snakes slipped in through broken drain gratings, three
by beetle-bombs tossed over the parapet. There had been no further
attacks. In the dark, fog-wrapped nights, swamp men smeared with black
mud crept silently under the walls, delivered their messages of death,
and vanished.
In spite of the heat, Tex shivered. How much longer would this silent
war go on? The swamp-men had to clear the fort before the relief column
came. Where was Kuna, and why had he stolen that lock of hair? And what
scheme was the savage beauty who led these devils hatching out?
Water slopped in the tub. Somebody cursed because the underwear never
dried in this lousy climate. The heat of the hidden sun seeped down in
stifling waves.
And suddenly a guard on the parapet yelled.
"Something coming out of the swamp! Man the guns!"
Tex hauled his pants on and ran with the others. Coming up beside the
lookout, he drew his pistol and waited.
Something was crawling up the tongue of dry land toward the fort. At
first he thought it was one of the scaly war-dogs. Then he caught a
gleam of scarlet collar-facings, and shouted.
"Hold your fire, men! It's Kuna!"
The grey, stooped thing came closer, going on hands and knees, its dark
head hanging. Tex heard Breska's harsh breathing beside him. Abruptly
the Martian turned and ran down the steps.
"Don't go out there, Breska!" Tex yelled. "It may be a trap." But the
Martian went on, tugging at the rusty lugs that held the postern gate.
It came open, and he went out.
Tex sent men down to guard it, fully expecting white figures to burst
from the fog and attempt to force the gate.
Breska reached the crawling figure, hauled it erect and over one
shoulder, and started back at a stumbling run. Still there was no
attack. Tex frowned, assailed by some deep unease. If Kuna had gone
into the swamps, he should never have returned alive. There was a trap
here somewhere, a concealed but deadly trick.
Silence. The rank mist lay in lazy coils. Not a leaf rustled in the
swamp edges.
Tex swore and ran down the steps. Breska fell through the gate and
sagged down, coughing blood, and it was Tex who caught Kuna.
The boy lay like a grey skeleton in his arms, the bones of his face
almost cutting the skin. His mouth was open. His tongue was black and
swollen, like that of a man dying of thirst.
Kuna's sunken, fever-yellowed eyes opened. They found the tub, in which
soiled clothing still floated.
With a surge of strength that took Tex completely by surprise, the boy
broke from him and ran to the water, plunging his face in and gulping
like an animal.
Tex pulled him away. Kuna sagged down, sobbing. There was something
wrong about his face, but Tex couldn't think what.
"Won't let me drink," he whispered. "Still won't let me drink. Got to
have water." He clawed at Tex. "Water!"
Tex sent someone after it, trying to think what was strange about Kuna,
scowling. There were springs of sweet water in the swamps, and even the
natives couldn't drink the other. Was it simply the desire to torture
that had made them deny the deserter water?