Grim retribution overhung the condemned men. It promised swift justice.
Captain Cragley was the law. He dealt out the penalty according to the
code governing interplanetary navigation.
"We must get away from this vicinity in a hurry!" he informed Quentin.
"You can bet your last coin there'll be a ship around pretty soon to
pick up the platinum and these three men! If there's a battle, we
haven't a chance in our present condition!"
"Where'll we go?" asked Quentin. "Somewhere and hide?"
"We'll head for Deliphon. It's a long, hard tramp, but it's our only
chance. Get things ready to leave. Pack everything we'll want to take
with us. Just before we start, we'll have this execution over with."
Quentin immediately apprised the crew and passengers of the _C-49_ of
Captain Cragley's intentions. He stated the fact that brigands were
expected shortly, telling of what they would do to luckless passengers
who fell into their hands. A second expedition was sent to the _C-49_
for food stores and various articles it was deemed necessary to carry
along on the march.
With the usual brief ceremony required in such proceedings, Brady, Davy
and Raynor were lined up before a shallow grave which had hastily been
dug for them. Five of the crew stood at attention, electric guns half
raised. Cragley, in a crisp, steady voice, gave the orders. The three
men, white of face, stared fascinated at their executioners--into the
face of death.
"Ready!"
The men of the _C-49_ tensed themselves. Brady no longer expostulated on
his pleas of innocence. He faced his fate like a man.
"Aim!"
The pistols were raised. Five left eyes closed. Sights were drawn. The
interval preceding the fatal word seemed endless. At the last moment, it
was apparent that Brady was unequal to the strain. He closed his eyes.
His body swayed.
"Fire!"
Five blue streaks shot noiselessly from the weapons. The three men
stiffened and fell--into the cavity dug for them. Their lives had been
forfeited for their crimes. Dirt was shoveled upon them. No longer
would fliers of the space lanes fear them. But there were other outlaws.
Captain Cragley, his crew of six, and nine passengers, set out in the
direction of Deliphon. The trip promised to be perilous and fraught with
danger, as well as grueling and full of hardships. Though I had been to
Venus once before, I knew little of the yellow jungles. My time on the
clouded world had been spent in the colonies.
Our first day of tramping took us through lush jungles and dismal
swamps. The ground was fairly level. Occasionally we came to rough,
rocky outcrops which protruded above ground. These we invariably
circled. Several times we found it necessary to ford rivers and skirt
lakes. Our progress was very slow. Quentin prophesied we would be on the
march for fully twenty rotations of Venus unless we struck the
comparatively clear country which Cragley was sure existed between us
and Deliphon.
Fearsome beasts menaced us at all times. We were ever on our guard, and
they usually fell electrocuted before completing their charges among us.
Even so, we experienced many narrow escapes. Many of these monsters were
larger than the prehistoric dinosaurs which once roamed the earth. They
were difficult to kill, and it required the maximum voltage of our
electric guns to bring them down.
Clothes torn, bodies bruised and scratched, we presented a sorry
spectacle. Most of us felt the way we looked, but Cragley's unquenched
determination spurred us on toward Deliphon. He was anxious to put a
good distance between us and the abandoned cylinder. He feared the
brigands, friends of the three who had been executed. Though Brady had
not admitted the claim, the captain was certain a shipload of the
outlaws were scheduled to show up for the platinum and their comrades.
At night, a camp was set up. Cragley argued against lighting a campfire,
asserting that it would prove a magnet to the wandering brigands he
believed were in search of us. Quentin, employing smooth diplomacy, made
it clear to his superior officer that a campfire promised to safeguard
us from prowling beasts. Quentin cited the fact that it was a common
sight for a night cruiser of Venus to look down upon fully a dozen or
more campfires of the troglodytes.
* * * * *
Guards were posted during the night. It was well. The fires held the
nocturnal creatures at bay. Whenever one of them did muster enough
courage to charge, it was revealed in the firelight and shot down.
Several times I awoke to see a bellowing monster crash in death at the
edge of our camp. Sleeping, we found was a fitful task. The first night
proved the worst.
Next morning, we plodded on again through the thick, yellow jungle. The
country became a bit hilly, yet none the less wooded. In the valleys
between, we often found swamps. While approaching one of these swamps,
we noticed a gray mist hanging over the stagnant pools. It appeared not
unlike the steaming vapors we had previously encountered. One of the
crew, plunging ahead of us to gauge the depth of the water and steer us
clear of treacherous, clinging mud, became enveloped in the mist. Almost
immediately his complexion turned black, and he fell strangling in
throes of death. Another of the crew ran forward to drag back his
comrade, but Captain Cragley warned him back.
"He's too far gone! There's nothing we can do for him!"
"What is it?"
"A poisonous swamp gas! There's enough poison in one breath to kill
twenty men!"
Instinctively, we recoiled from the milky haze.
"How are we to cross?" asked Quentin.
"Put on the space helmets!" ordered Cragley. "That stuff can't hurt you
unless you breathe it!"
To prove his words, Cragley donned his space helmet and advanced into
the mist. Looking back through the transparent facing of the helmet, he
beckoned to us. Previously, many of the passengers had rebelled against
Cragley's persistence that they carry the added weight of the space
helmets. It had seemed utterly useless. Now, as they moved unharmed
through the deadly fumes, they thanked his foresight.
We carried the dead body of the luckless man, who had saved us through
his unfortunate discovery, to the top of the next hill where burial was
made.
The second night, it came my turn to share guard duty with one of the
crew while the others slept. The fires were plentifully fueled with dry
branches and stalks. Fire material was piled in reserve. Grinstead, my
companion watcher, went his rounds while I attended the fire, keeping
the flames well supplied.
Protected by an embankment erected near a rocky ledge, the balance of
our party slept. My eyes fell upon the little mound of boxes which
contained the precious metal. Cragley and Quentin lay on each side of
the platinum shipment. Not since we had commenced the march had they
let it out of their sight or reach.
"Hantel!" It was Grinstead's voice. "Come here a moment!"
Hastily I ran to his side. He was stooped over a mark on the ground far
to one side of our camp just within circle of the firelight. Mutely he
pointed to a footprint--the footprint of a six-toed man.
"Troglodytes!" I exclaimed.
Grinstead nodded. "Fresh, too! Think we'd better awaken Cragley?" he
asked. "These cave men don't seem bad when they're peaceful, but if they
get going--they're devils!"
I stared back into the alarmed eyes of Grinstead and pondered the
matter. I was about to voice an opinion, leaving it up to Grinstead to
do as he pleased, when a startled cry rang out from the direction of the
sleepers.
Instantly, everything was confusion and uproar. Sleek, naked bodies
prowling about our equipment flashed out of sight into the jungle. The
whole camp came awake, exclamations and profanity mingling with the
weird cries of the troglodytes. Recovering from my surprise, I fired a
shot at one of the rapidly disappearing cave men, but the flickering
firelight distorted my aim.
Then occurred the most amazing feature of the whole affair. A man, fully
dressed, ran out of sight with the troglodytes, melting into the shadows
of the surrounding jungle. Cragley ran up beside me and saw him too. He
was out of sight before either of us had a chance to fire. At first, I
had thought the man to be one of our party, but his flight with the cave
men disproved the assumption.
"Wonder what the idea is?" spluttered Cragley.
"Our equipment," said Quentin, pointing to the food stores and other
articles the cave men had hastily disarranged. "They came to steal!"
"But the man!" I insisted.
"A renegade!"
Cragley shook his head. "It's queer," he said. "I don't know what to
make of it."
* * * * *
An examination of our equipment proved we had suffered few losses.
Several boxes of synthetic food were gone, and one of the crew had lost
his electric pistol. Aside from these thefts, nothing else appeared to
be missing. Cragley tripled the guards, and the rest went back to sleep
once more. Nothing else occurred during that night. I was unable to get
the fleeing renegade out of my mind. There was something familiar about
the figure as I had seen it revealed in the glare of the firelight just
before the savages disappeared in the jungle.
The thefts of the food and pistol were logical enough in view of the
fact that the troglodytes had stolen them, but, guided by the man, why
had they neglected stealing the platinum? Evidently, they were unaware
of its presence.
Murky morning suffused the perpetually clouded sky, and once more we
pushed on toward our goal, distant Deliphon--so near and yet so far.
Much to the relief of everyone, we came out of the jungle into a
comparatively open country. High grasses grew about us, but the going
was much easier than we had experienced while in the jungle. The land
before us was a bit rolling and hilly. Leafy copses dotted the landscape
as far as the eye might reach. In the open, the danger from lurking
beasts was at a minimum. Our hopes rose higher.
It was around noon when the space ship from the south cruised into view
above us. Cragley viewed it in consternation.
"The brigands! Now we're up against it!"
For a moment, pandemonium reigned among the frightened passengers. All
had plans, each one trying to put his own into force at once. Out of the
chaos, Captain Cragley gathered order.
"Head for the bushes!" he cried. "We're all armed! If they come too
close, let them have it!"
The assurance in Cragley's voice I knew was faked. Like him, I realized
the desperate odds which confronted us. The ship was high above. We had
plenty of time to scurry for cover before it dropped lower. Cragley and
Quentin arranged us to the best advantage, and we waited for the
initiative of the outlaws of Venus.
The ship descended several hundred feet away. Our retreat into the
bushes had been carefully watched. Several men left the craft and came
slowly, uncertainly, toward our position.
"Stop where you are!" snapped Cragley from his place of concealment.
"Come across wi' the metal!" shouted one of them in a high pitched
voice. "An' get outa there--or get riddled!"
Cragley's reply was a blue spurt from the muzzle of his pistol. The
distance was much too far for accurate firing, but the charge went
dangerously close. The outlaws immediately turned tail and ran for their
craft. We waited for their next act, knowing that the battle had only
commenced.
The space ship shot skyward, circling our wide clump of bushes. The
survivors of the _C-49_ tensed themselves for a destructive bombardment
from above. It did not come. Captain Cragley was plainly surprised. He
was aware that the outlaw ship carried instant death if they chose to
use it.
The craft hovered some two hundred feet above us. Cruising slowly in a
circle, it suddenly dropped four objects well outside our improvised
stronghold. The projectiles were shaped like torpedoes. The explosions
which were expected never came. The projectiles stood straight up from
the ground, their front ends imbedded deeply. It was all a strange
procedure. Cragley was nonplussed.
"They probably contain explosives," ventured Quentin, answering the
question he knew stood out in the captain's mind.
"I'm not so sure of that," said Cragley.
Meanwhile, I had been doing some rapid thinking. Anxiously, I watched
the ship above us, keeping myself partially screened from view of any
sniper who might be looking down. I turned to the captain, a wild plan
outlined in my mind.
"Let me go out there," I offered. "I can----"
"Not on your life!" he exclaimed, placing a restraining hand upon my
arm. "It's death to go out there!"
"It's death to remain," I assured him earnestly.
"But not definitely certain," he maintained. "For some reason or other
they're holding off from us. We have an advantage of some kind, but
damned if I know what it is."
"Look!" cried Quentin.
He pointed to three of the four projectiles which were visible from
where we lay. They were glowing strangely with intense light. A jagged
beam of electricity leaped out from the airship. Instantly iridescent
shafts of light spread from the nearest projectile to the ones on either
side of it. The shafts made a flashing display, crooked, forked and
darting.
"Lightning bolts!" exclaimed Cragley. "We're surrounded by a fence of
them!"
"Penned in--like rats in a trap!"
"What will they do now?"
"Hard to tell. Probably pick us off one by one at their leisure. They
seem to be going to a lot of unnecessary trouble for no reason at all."
Three sharp blasts of sound issued from the outlaw ship. A pause, and
then followed three more. I watched Cragley to see what action, if any,
he would take. He seemed undecided. I began to grow uneasy.
"Not a chance of breaking through that screen of electricity," said
Quentin. "They got us right where they want to keep us."
"But why?"
Quentin shook his head. "If it was just the platinum, they could destroy
every one of us, then come in here and take it."