They wandered down the coastline, the two together faring better in the
hunt for small game and edible growths than either had succeeded in
doing alone.
Whenever he found a scattering of the baked clay fragments, or even
isolated lumps, Marlin made it a point to carry them down to the
water's edge, where in due course they would add to the life of the
planet. It would be splendid to locate some larger pieces. There might
be something to those stories of goats and sheep trapped by the ooze. A
dog would be a find.
DuChane was off hunting by himself when Marlin came upon the largest
deposit of clay fragments he had yet encountered. One of the lumps
was of boulder size. He studied it with mounting excitement. It might
prove entirely barren, as many of the fragments did, or it might prove
to contain only tiny creatures. On the other hand, it could be the
chrysalis of a fairly good-sized animal.
Transporting it to the water's edge was out of the question, but Marlin
solved the problem by dredging a channel through the sand and rock
debris which had isolated the deposit. When the next tide rose, it
poured through the channel, immersing the clay boulder, and when the
tide receded, the greater part of the water remained in the pool.
He did not tell DuChane of his discovery when they returned to camp at
sundown. It would be a thrill to surprise him, if the find proved worth
while.
Beyond assuring himself at intervals that the clay boulder was covered
with water, there was little that Marlin could do to assist nature.
From morning to morning, on various pretexts, he opposed DuChane's
restless desire to move camp, while he watched the slow disintegration
of the clay. Now and then he fished small creatures out of the water;
others floated to the edge and revived of themselves. He was beginning
to fear that the large blob contained no more than a sprinkling of such
life, when, peering through the murky water, he saw a streak of lighter
coloration along one side.
That it might be a human limb he refused even to hope. It seemed
hairless, but often the small animals were bald in spots when they
emerged, presenting a pathetically moth-eaten appearance. He could
do nothing all day but watch. At sundown, DuChane made caustic
observations upon his failure to contribute to their larder. Marlin
scarcely bothered to offer an excuse.
Early next morning, he was back at the pool. By this time, the body
within the partly disintegrated chrysalis was so definitely outlined
that he could almost be certain of its human shape. The exposed
portions were still hard and rigid to the touch. He restrained his
impatience to break away the encrusting clay. Experience had shown
that attempts to hasten the process usually resulted in injury or death
to the enclosed creature. Yet by mid-afternoon enough of the deposit
had dissolved to assure Marlin, not only that the body was human, but
that it was quite probably feminine. The head and upper portion were
still encrusted with the clay. He could only hope that they would be
free by morning.
Had it not been for questions it would arouse in DuChane's mind, he
would have remained all night by the pool. When he forced himself to
return to camp, DuChane regarded him sourly. Suspicion mounted as
Marlin set about unaccustomed preparations.
* * * * *
Selecting the sharpest of his stone implements, he ground it to a still
keener edge. Then, painfully and methodically, he began scraping his
beard. The coming of darkness made little difference, since he was
working by sense of touch. When the growth had been removed from his
face, after a fashion, he hacked at his tangled locks until something
that might be termed a haircut had been achieved.
Long before he had finished, DuChane was snoring, but in the morning he
looked at his companion with undisguised amusement.
"Why the beauty treatment?"
"We're civilized beings," retorted Marlin defensively. "Why look like
savages?"
Restraining his impatience until he was sure DuChane had gone his
own way, he gathered some food and all the animal skins they had
accumulated between them and hastened to the pool.
A tide had risen and ebbed during the night, leaving the water
comparatively clear. The body of the girl was floating on the surface,
face and shoulders entirely freed of clay but submerged.
A desperate fear clutched Marlin's vitals. He should have been there
when the last of the clay dissolved, ready to drag her clear of the
water. What if the delay had allowed her to drown?
Dropping his armful of skins on a flattened rock, he plunged into the
pool and bore her to the improvised couch. The skins with the softer
fur he spread beneath, and with those remaining he covered the slender
body.
Not until then did he look at the wan face with any impulse of
curiosity. It had not especially mattered who she was. It was enough
that she was a member of the human species--a girl.
Now he realized that she was Norma, the moody outlaw maiden. And with
the realization came a stab of dismay.
Norma had been dead before the crash. The barest accident alone had
saved her body from the incinerator. The life-maintaining clay had
closed over her too late to preserve a vital spark already fled. No
wonder she lay so inert and motionless.
With leaden heart, he looked down at the still features--so cold and
immobile. Not until then did he realize how vehemently he had counted
on bringing her into his world--how he had needed and yearned for such
companionship. It had not seemed to matter who the girl was; but now
he realized that he wanted Norma--that life would never be complete
without her.
He touched the cheeks, the hands, the scarred neck. They were
cold--cold as the stone on which she lay. And yet a sense of perplexity
assailed him.
Not one fragment of inorganic life had been preserved in the clay, as
far as he had discovered. It seemed to maintain all forms of life or
potential life; other substances had invariably been consumed.
His clothing and everything he carried had succumbed to the
disintegration, yet his body had emerged from its clay entombment
unscathed--not only that, but strengthened, purified, adapted to its
new environment, so that he experienced no great discomfort in a
climate markedly colder than Earth's. He and DuChane had discussed this
and decided that the body metabolism had been altered, making them
definitely coldblooded.
If the purifying clay could do this, could it not also have drawn the
poison from Norma's system, maintaining a spark of life that still
persisted despite her seeming death? From the mere fact that her body
was preserved, what other conclusion was it possible to draw?
With renewed hope, Marlin set frantically about trying to establish
respiration by artificial means. Was it imagination, or did he feel a
slight surge of warmth in the limp body? As a last resort, he bent over
the still face and blew his breath into the delicate nostrils.
A long drawn, quivering shudder swept the form. Stilling his
excitement, he blew again and yet again, slowly working the arms back
and forth. And presently, beyond doubt, she was breathing naturally,
her flesh was taking on a glow of warmth, the long-lashed eyes opened
for a second.
* * * * *
Throughout the morning, Marlin nursed his charge. From time to time, he
moistened the pale lips with water and allowed a trickle to run into
her mouth. When the sun reached its zenith, she made an effort as if to
rise, and he helped her to a sitting posture.
She looked around blankly, scarce seeming to know what she saw, and
aware of Marlin only as an object that moved.
She was not beautiful by Earth standards, but those standards were far
away. To Marlin, her very presence was intoxicating. He could have
knelt and worshipped her.
How long he had been observed, in his preoccupation, he had no way of
knowing. When he glanced up at an overhanging rock-ledge above the
pool, DuChane was regarding him with sardonic amusement.
"I figured you were up to something," the man called down. "So this was
the inspiration for the shave."
Marlin licked his lips, stifling a wave of apprehension.
"She's mine," he said.
DuChane circled the ledge until he found a place to descend. Making his
way down slowly, he strode toward the girl--would have touched her but
for a warning gesture from Marlin.
He turned abruptly.
"We may as well get this settled." His voice was harsh--his eyes had
grown hard. "One of us gets her--the other doesn't."
"She's mine," Marlin repeated doggedly. "I found her--opened the
channel to the tide--brought her to life."
"You want her," returned DuChane, "because she's a woman. I want her
because--she's the one. I'd come to feel that way about her back in the
space ark."
Filled with a blind rage, Marlin plunged toward him. DuChane carried a
spear, and he raised it in defense, but in the fury of his onslaught
Marlin brushed it aside and heard it clatter on the rock.
He landed a fist squarely on the other's jaw and followed it with
flailing blows on face and body.
DuChane made a quick recovery. He lowered his head and bored through
the barrage to get a strangle hold on Marlin's neck.
Forced to adopt similar tactics, Marlin struggled for his opponent's
throat. They fell together, thrashing over the rocky slope.
With an unexpected twist, DuChane wrenched free. Attempting to follow
him, Marlin slipped on the wet rock and fell with a resounding splash
into the pool. By the time he could scramble out, DuChane had recovered
his spear and was warily bearing down upon him, the stone point poised
for a deadly thrust.
Before the sure death presaged by the snarling features, Marlin
cautiously retreated. By this time, his mind had regained its
alertness. For all his rage, he realized that, unarmed, he was no match
for DuChane while the latter possessed the spear.
Whirling suddenly, he made a dash for freedom. Before DuChane could
hurl his shaft, he had scrambled over the edge of the embankment and
was running toward camp.
Quickly, Marlin gathered all the spears belonging to their combined
store. Thus fortified, he warily circled the higher ground which
overlooked the pool.
DuChane was squatting before the girl, but his preoccupation was not so
intent that he failed to glimpse the movement above. Instantly he was
erect, spear in hand.
* * * * *
Poising his best shaft, Marlin flung it straight toward the other's
breast. DuChane leaped aside, and the spear struck a rock behind him a
glancing blow. The head shattered, while the shaft rebounded, striking
the girl.
Sick with dismay, Marlin saw her recoil and then bewilderedly attempt
to rise. DuChane caught her in his arms and forced her down on the bed
of skins, then turned vindictively toward the man above.
Defeated for the moment, Marlin withdrew. He could not risk throwing
more spears while DuChane remained near the girl.
Throughout the rest of the day, he stalked the other. DuChane was too
wary to be taken off guard. He was even supplied with rations--the
delicacies Marlin had brought from camp with which to feed the girl
when she regained consciousness. He saw DuChane put occasional morsels
into her mouth. She swallowed, mechanically but eagerly.
Toward evening, Marlin was sure he heard her utter a few hesitant
syllables in answer to DuChane's low-voiced remarks.
He kept up the siege through the night, hoping to slip down unobserved
and creep up on the other man, but the night happened to be one in
which the moons were both in evidence. Their radiance was sufficient to
give the alert DuChane warning of his approach.
The one thing to his advantage was an unusually high tide. It drove
DuChane and his charge up the slope to a position beneath the
overhanging ledge. Studying the situation by the first rays of the
morning sun, Marlin decided on a plan of action.
He gained a vantage point as nearly as possible above the two. By
hurling himself over the ledge, he might be able to overcome the other
in a surprise attack.
Waiting until the murmur of voices below indicated that DuChane was at
least partly off guard, he poised himself, spear in hand, then leaped.
It was a fall of a good twelve feet. He landed on all fours on the
sloping descent, the jar breaking his hold on his spear. A sharp pain
stabbed up one leg.
DuChane sprang to his feet, spear upraised, but Marlin charged toward
him without hesitation.
The jagged point of the spear pierced his side, but he plowed on,
forcing the other back up the slope by sheer fury of the onslaught.
Again they were at close grips, gouging, tearing, surging back and
forth across the slope. Once DuChane gained a strangle hold on Marlin's
throat. Fingers, hard and cruel as talons, sank deep into his windpipe.
Mustering all his energy, Marlin broke the hold by forcing the other
back against the rock wall and pounding his head against the jagged
surface.
They broke apart, Marlin gasping for breath, DuChane shaking his shaggy
head to clear it. Then, with the fury of desperation, Marlin stumbled
back to the fray.
This time DuChane met the attack by hurling his body down upon him with
the force of a catapult.
They hurtled down the slope together, but Marlin was beneath, and the
crash of landing knocked the breath from his body.
DuChane scrambled for his spear, but when Marlin tried to rise, he
found his muscles too weak to obey the demand of his will. He was faint
from loss of the blood which gushed from his torn side, and the pain
stabbing up from his ankle was rising to the threshold of consciousness
with unbearable intensity.
With glazing eyes, he looked up to see DuChane poised for the kill.
The spear-arm hesitated. Through a throbbing haze of waning
consciousness, Marlin heard the other man's voice.
"I don't want to kill you--Dave. What about it? Will you go your way
and leave us in peace?"
Then blackness blotted out the scene.