THE ATTACK
That scene, like some terrible vision from the pages of Doré, often
rises before me--the tall white figure of the angel, the dark,
squatting winged monster before her, and we two men from the sunlit
world standing there upon that narrow way, the black profundity of the
chasm yawning on either side of us.
The angel had indeed well chosen the moment. If that hideous ape-bat,
straining at its leash, were loosed at us, our position, despite our
revolvers, would be a truly terrible one. Scarce twenty-five feet lay
between that Cerberus and ourselves. In case of attack, we would have
to drop the monster in its spring--and only a lucky shot could do
that--or the result would be a most disastrous one. For we could not
meet an attack there; to step aside or to meet the demon in a struggle
would mean a plunge over the edge.
It was indeed a critical, appalling scene, one in which, if I were a
believer in the _lex talionis_, I would have no desire to see even
my worst enemy placed. Our fate, I thought, was in the hands of that
white-clad, white-faced being whom we knew as the angel. The demon,
however, as will be seen in a moment, was to take the matter into its
own hands, if I may use that expression in speaking of that monster,
for hands the thing had none. I can easily see how the demon, in the
obscurity of the fog, had seemed to old Scranton a thing that had no
shape. But here, the strong rays of our lights turned full upon our
demon, the sight was an altogether different one. And a stranger sight
surely no man had ever seen up there in that world which we had left,
that world so near to us still and yet it seemed so very far away now.
It was as though some Circe had changed us into the figures in some
dread story of ancient days. And this was what men call the Twentieth
Century, the golden age of science and discovery. Well, science doesn't
yet know everything--a fact that, I am sorry to say, some scientists
themselves are very prone to forget.
"Heavens," said Rhodes, keeping his look fixed on those figures before
us, "isn't she a wonderful creature?"
"And it," said I, "an awful thing? And I'd wait a while before saying
that she is wonderful. She may prove to be something very different."
The next instant I gave a cry. The demon had made a sudden strain
forward. Came a sharp word from the angel, and that Cerberus sank back
again. But, though it sank back, that greenish fire in its eyes seemed
to burn more fiercely, malevolently than before.
"I think," I suggested, "that it would be a good plan to move back a
little, back to a safer, a wider spot."
"Move back? Never!" said Milton Rhodes. "We are here to move forward,
not to go back. And, besides, the way widens out a little up there."
I thought this utterly Quixotic; but, of course, if he didn't want to
go back, I couldn't make him. And, if he wouldn't step back, neither
would I.
"Look," I said. "She is going to speak."
The angel raised her left hand and motioned to us rather vehemently, at
the same time uttering some word, or words.
"No mistaking that, Bill," said Milton.
"No; it is as plain as any words could be:
"'Go back!'"
"I am at a loss," said Rhodes, "how to answer."
Again the angel raised her hand; but she did not motion this time, for
the demon, with a blood-curdling sound, deep in its throat, strained
forward again, and so suddenly and strongly that the angel was drawn
forward a step or two. A sharp word, however, from the angel, and the
monster settled back, as a dog does after straining at its leash.
Once more the angel fixed her eyes upon us, or, rather, upon Milton
Rhodes. Once more she raised her hand to sign to us to go back. But the
sign was never given.
At that instant, as the angel stood there with upraised hand, it
happened.
That sound came again, only more horrible than before, and the demon
sprang at us. Caught thus off her guard, the angel was jerked, whirled
forward. There was a wild, piercing cry, which rose to a scream; but
the winged monster paid not the slightest heed. It was as though the
thing had gone mad.
The woman went down; in an instant, however, she was up again. She
screamed at the demon, but it lunged toward us, flapping its great
hideous wings and dragging her after it farther out onto the bridge.
Her position now was one of peril scarcely less than our own.
All this had passed, of course, with the quickness of thought. We
could not fire, for fear of hitting the angel, right behind the demon;
we could not move back; and we could not stand there and let this
nightmare-monster come upon us. In a second or two, if nothing were
done, it would do so. But what could we do? The thought of saving
ourselves by killing the woman--and the chances were a hundred to one
that we would kill her if we fired at the demon--was a horrible one.
But to stand there and be sent over the edge was horrible, too. And the
angel, in all probability, would be killed anyway; that she had not
already been jerked from the rock was nothing less than a miracle.
Why didn't she loose her hold on the leash?
These are some of the things that flashed through my mind--yes, even
then. I never before knew what a rapid thing thought can be. Oh, those
things that shot through my brain in those brief, critical seconds. My
whole life, from childhood to that very moment, flashed before me like
the film of a cinematograph, though with the speed of light. I wondered
what death was like--what it would be like somewhere in the depths of
that black gulf. And I wondered why the angel did not loose her hold
on that leash. I didn't know that she had wrapped the chain around
her hand and that the chain had in some way got caught. The poor angel
could not free herself.
Little wonder, forsooth, that she was screaming so wildly at the demon.
"We must risk it!" I cried.
"Hold!"
The next instant Milton Rhodes had stepped aside--yes, had stepped
right to the very edge of the rock. The demon whirled at him, and, as
it whirled, one of its great wings struck me full across the face. I
gave myself up for lost, but somehow I kept my place on that ribbon of
rock. Another instant, and the monster would be at Milton's throat. But
no! From this dizzy position which he had so suddenly taken, the angel
was no longer behind the demon, and on the instant Rhodes fired.
Oh, that scream which the monster gave. It struck the rock, and that
Rhodes managed to keep his footing on the edge of that fearful place
is one of the most amazing things that I have ever seen. But keep it
he did, and he fired again and yet again. The demon flapped backward,
jerked the angel to her knees and near the edge and then suddenly flat
on her face. The next instant the monster disappeared. Its wings began
to beat against the rock with a spasmodic sound.
I gave a cry of relief and joy.
But the next moment one of dismay and horror broke from me.
The monster was dragging the angel over the edge!