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diff --git a/29432.txt b/29432.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f87bd49 --- /dev/null +++ b/29432.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1320 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Man the Martians Made, by Frank Belknap Long + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Man the Martians Made + +Author: Frank Belknap Long + +Release Date: July 17, 2009 [EBook #29432] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN THE MARTIANS MADE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _If Frank Belknap Long is not one of the deans of science fiction + writers, there can certainly be no dispute that he is high on the + faculty board. His pen is indefatigable, it seems, and his + characters come alive as with few other writers. We're sure you'll + like this new suspenseful tale of his._ + + + the + man + the + martians + made + + _by ... Frank Belknap Long_ + + + No mortal had ever seen the Martians, but they had heard their + whisperings--without knowing the terrible secret they kept hidden. + + +There was death in the camp. + +I knew when I awoke that it had come to stand with us in the night and +was waiting now for the day to break and flood the desert with light. +There was a prickling at the base of my scalp and I was drenched with +cold sweat. + +I had an impulse to leap up and go stumbling about in the darkness. But +I disciplined myself. I crossed my arms and waited for the sky to grow +bright. + +Daybreak on Mars is like nothing you've ever dreamed about. You wake up +in the morning, and there it is--bright and clear and shining. You pinch +yourself, you sit up straight, but it doesn't vanish. + +Then you stare at your hands with the big callouses. You reach for a +mirror to take a look at your face. That's not so good. That's where +ugliness enters the picture. You look around and you see Ralph. You see +Harry. You see the women. + +On Earth a woman may not look her glamorous best in the harsh light of +early dawn, but if she's really beautiful she doesn't look too bad. On +Mars even the most beautiful woman looks angry on arising, too weary +and tormented by human shortcomings to take a prefabricated metal shack +and turn it into a real home for a man. + +You have to make allowances for a lot of things on Mars. You have to +start right off by accepting hardship and privation as your daily lot. +You have to get accustomed to living in construction camps in the +desert, with the red dust making you feel all hollow and dried up +inside. Making you feel like a drum, a shriveled pea pod, a salted fish +hung up to dry. Dust inside of you, rattling around, canal water seepage +rotting the soles of your boots. + +So you wake up and you stare. The night before you'd collected driftwood +and stacked it by the fire. The driftwood has disappeared. Someone has +stolen your very precious driftwood. The Martians? Guess again. + +You get up and you walk straight up to Ralph with your shoulders +squared. You say, "Ralph, why in hell did you have to steal my +driftwood?" + +In your mind you say that. You say it to Dick, you say it to Harry. But +what you really say is, "Larsen was here again last night!" + +You say, I put a fish on to boil and Larsen ate it. I had a nice deck of +cards, all shiny and new, and Larsen marked them up. It wasn't me +cheating. It was Larsen hoping I'd win so that he could waylay me in the +desert and get all of the money away from me. + +You have a girl. There aren't too many girls in the camps with laughter +and light and fire in them. But there are a few, and if you're lucky you +take a fancy to one particular girl--her full red lips and her spun gold +hair. All of a sudden she disappears. Somebody runs off with her. It's +Larsen. + +In every man there is a slumbering giant. When life roars about you on a +world that's rugged and new you've got to go on respecting the lads who +have thrown in their lot with you, even when their impulses are as harsh +as the glint of sunlight on a desert-polished tombstone. + +You think of a name--Larsen. You start from scratch and you build Larsen +up until you have a clear picture of him in your mind. You build him up +until he's a great shouting, brawling, golden man like Paul Bunyon. + +Even a wicked legend can seem golden on Mars. Larsen wasn't just my +slumbering giant--or Dick's, or Harry's. He was the slumbering giant in +all of us, and that's what made him so tremendous. Anything gigantic has +beauty and power and drive to it. + +Alone we couldn't do anything with Larsen's gusto, so when some great +act of wickedness was done with gusto how could it be us? Here comes +Larsen! He'll shoulder all the guilt, but he won't feel guilty because +he's the first man in Eden, the child who never grew up, the laughing +boy, Hercules balancing the world on his shoulders and looking for a +woman with long shining tresses and eyes like the stars of heaven to +bend to his will. + +If such a woman came to life in Hercules' arms would you like the job of +stopping him from sending the world crashing? Would you care to try? + +Don't you see? Larsen was closer to us than breathing and as necessary +as food and drink and our dreams of a brighter tomorrow. Don't think we +didn't hate him at times. Don't think we didn't curse and revile him. +You may glorify a legend from here to eternity, but the luster never +remains completely untarnished. + +Larsen wouldn't have seemed completely real to us if we hadn't given him +muscles that could tire and eyes that could blink shut in weariness. +Larsen had to sleep, just as we did. He'd disappear for days. + +We'd wink and say, "Larsen's getting a good long rest this time. But +he'll be back with something new up his sleeve, don't you worry!" + +We could joke about it, sure. When Larsen stole or cheated we could +pretend we were playing a game with loaded dice--not really a deadly +game, but a game full of sound and fury with a great rousing outburst of +merriment at the end of it. + +But there are deadlier games by far. I lay motionless, my arms locked +across my chest, sweating from every pore. I stared at Harry. We'd been +working all night digging a well, and in a few days water would be +bubbling up sweet and cool and we wouldn't have to go to the canal to +fill our cooking utensils. Harry was blinking and stirring and I could +tell just by looking at him that he was uneasy too. I looked beyond him +at the circle of shacks. + +Most of us were sleeping in the open, but there were a few youngsters in +the shacks and women too worn out with drudgery to care much whether +they slept in smothering darkness or under the clear cold light of the +stars. + +I got slowly to my knees, scooped up a handful of sand, and let it +dribble slowly through my fingers. Harry looked straight at me and his +eyes widened in alarm. It must have been the look on my face. He arose +and crossed to where I was sitting, his mouth twitching slightly. There +was nothing very reassuring about Harry. Life had not been kind to him +and he had resigned himself to accepting the slings and arrows of +outrageous fortune without protest. He had one of those emaciated, +almost skull-like faces which terrify children, and make women want to +cry. + +"You don't look well, Tom," he said. "You've been driving yourself too +hard." + +I looked away quickly. I had to tell him, but anything terrifying could +demoralize Harry and make him throw his arm before his face in blind +panic. But I couldn't keep it locked up inside me an instant longer. + +"Sit down, Harry," I whispered. "I want to talk to you. No sense in +waking the others." + +"Oh," he said. + +He squatted beside me on the sand, his eyes searching my face. "What is +it, Tom?" + +"I heard a scream," I said. "It was pretty awful. Somebody has been +hurt--bad. It woke me up, and that takes some doing." + +Harry nodded. "You sleep like a log," he said. + +"I just lay still and listened," I said, "with my eyes wide open. +Something moved out from the well--a two-legged something. It didn't +make a sound. It was big, Harry, and it seemed to melt into the shadows. +I don't know what kept me from leaping up and going after it. It had +something to do with the way I felt. All frozen up inside." + +Harry appeared to understand. He nodded, his eyes darting toward the +well. "How long ago was that?" + +"Ten--fifteen minutes." + +"You just waited for me to wake up?" + +"That's right," I said. "There was something about the scream that made +me want to put off finding out. Two's company--and when you're alone +with something like that it's best to talk it over before you act." + +I could see that Harry was pleased. Unnerved too, and horribly shaken. +But he was pleased that I had turned to him as a friend I could trust. +When you can't depend on life for anything else it's good to know you +have a friend. + +I brushed sand from my trousers and got up. "Come on," I said. "We'll +take a look." + +It was an ordeal for him. His face twitched and his eyes wavered. He +knew I hadn't lied about the scream. If a single scream could unnerve me +that much it had to be bad. + +We walked to the well in complete silence. There were shadows +everywhere, chill and forbidding. Almost like people they seemed, +whispering together, huddling close in ominous gossipy silence, aware of +what we would find. + +It was a sixty-foot walk from the fire to the well. A walk in the sun--a +walk in the bright hot sun of Mars, with utter horror perhaps at the end +of it. + +The horror was there. Harry made a little choking noise deep in his +throat, and my heart started pounding like a bass drum. + + +II + +The man on the sand had no top to his head. His skull had been crushed +and flattened so hideously that he seemed like a wooden figure resting +there--an anatomical dummy with its skull-case lifted off. + +We looked around for the skull-case, hoping we'd find it, hoping we'd +made a mistake and stumbled by accident into an open-air dissecting +laboratory and were looking at ghastly props made of plastic and +glittering metal instead of bone and muscle and flesh. + +But the man on the sand had a name. We'd known him for weeks and talked +to him. He wasn't a medical dummy, but a corpse. His limbs were +hideously convulsed, his eyes wide and staring. The sand beneath his +head was clotted with dried blood. We looked for the weapon which had +crushed his skull but couldn't find it. + +We looked for the weapon before we saw the footprints in the sand. Big +they were--incredibly large and massive. A man with a size-twelve shoe +might have left such prints if the leather had become a little soggy and +spread out around the soles. + +"The poor guy," Harry whispered. + +I knew how he felt. We had all liked Ned. A harmless little guy with a +great love of solitude, a guy who hadn't a malicious hair in his head. A +happy little guy who liked to sing and dance in the light of a +high-leaping fire. He had a banjo and was good at music making. Who +could have hated Ned with a rage so primitive and savage? I looked at +Harry and saw that he was wondering the same thing. + +Harry looked pretty bad, about ready to cave in. He was leaning against +the well, a tormented fury in his eyes. + +"The murderous bastard," he muttered. "I'd like to get him by the throat +and choke the breath out of him. Who'd want to do a thing like that to +Ned." + +"I can't figure it either," I said. + +Then I remembered. I don't think Molly Egan really could have loved Ned. +The curious thing about it was that Ned didn't even need the kind of +love she could have given him. He was a self-sufficient little guy +despite his frailness and didn't really need a woman to look after him. +But Molly must have seen something pathetic in him. + +Molly was a beautiful woman in her own right, and there wasn't a man in +the camp who hadn't envied Ned. It was puzzling, but it could have +explained why Ned was lying slumped on the sand with a bashed-in skull. +It could have explained why someone had hated him enough to kill him. + +Without lifting a finger Ned had won Molly's love. That could make some +other guy as mad as a caged hyena--the wrong sort of other guy. Even a +small man could have shattered Ned's skull, but the prints on the sand +were big. + +How many men in the camp wore size-twelve shoes? That was the sixty-four +dollar question, and it hung in the shimmering air between Harry and +myself like an unspoken challenge. We could almost see the curve of the +big question mark suspended in the dazzle. + +I thought awhile, looking at Harry. Then I took a long, deep breath and +said, "We'd better talk it over with Bill Seaton first. If it gets +around too fast those footprints will be trampled flat. And if tempers +start rising anything could happen." + +Harry nodded. Bill was the kind of guy you could depend on in an +emergency. Cool, poised, efficient, with an air of authority that +commanded respect. He could be pigheaded at times, but his sense of +justice was as keen as a whip. + +Harry and I walked very quietly across a stretch of tumbled sand and +halted at the door to Bill's shack. Bill was a bachelor and we knew +there'd be no woman inside to put her foot down and tell him he'd be a +fool to act as a lawman. Or would there be? We had to chance it. + +Law-enforcement is a thankless job whether on Earth or on Mars. That's +why it attracts the worst--and the best. If you're a power-drunk sadist +you'll take the job just for the pleasure it gives you. But if you're +really interested in keeping violence within bounds so that fairly +decent lads get a fighting chance to build for the future, you'll take +the job with no thought of reward beyond the simple satisfaction of +lending a helping hand. + +Bill Seaton was such a man, even if he did enjoy the limelight and liked +to be in a position of command. + +"Come on, Harry," I said. "We may as well wake him up and get it over +with." + +We went into the shack. Bill was sleeping on the floor with his long +legs drawn up. His mouth was open and he was snoring lustily. I couldn't +help thinking how much he looked like an overgrown grasshopper. But that +was just a first impression springing from overwrought nerves. + +I bent down and shook Bill awake. I grabbed his arm and shook him until +his jaw snapped shut and he shot up straight, suddenly galvanized. +Instantly the grotesque aspect fell from him. Dignity came upon him and +enveloped him like a cloak. + +"Ned, you say? The poor little cuss! So help me--if I get my hands on +the rat who did it I'll roast him over a slow fire!" + +He got up, staggered to an equipment locker, and took out a sun helmet +and a pair of shorts. He dressed quickly, swearing constantly and +staring out the door at the bright dawn glow as if he wanted to send +both of his fists crashing into the first suspicious guy to cross his +path. + +"We can't have those footprints trampled," he muttered. "There are a lot +of dumb bastards here who don't know the first thing about keeping +pointers intact. Those prints may be the only thing we'll have to go +on." + +"Just the three of us can handle it, Bill," I said. "When you decide +what should be done we can wake the others." + +Bill nodded. "Keeping it quiet is the important thing. We'll carry him +back here. When we break the news I want that body out of sight." + +Harry and Bill and I--we took another walk in the sun. I looked at +Harry, and the greenish tinge which had crept into his face gave me a +jolt. He's taking this pretty hard, I thought. If I hadn't known him so +well I might have jumped to an ugly conclusion. But I just couldn't +imagine Harry quarreling with Ned over Molly. + +How was I taking it myself? I raised my hand and looked at it. There was +no tremor. Nerves steady, brain clear. No pleasure in enforcing the +law--pass that buck to Bill. But there was a gruesome job ahead, and I +was standing up to it as well as could be expected. + +Ever try lifting a corpse? The corpse of a stranger is easier to lift +than the corpse of a man you've known and liked. Harry and I lifted him +together. Between us the dead weight didn't seem too intolerable--not at +first. But it quickly became a terrible, heavy limpness that dragged at +our arms like some soggy log dredged up from the dark waters of the +canal. + +We carried him into the shack and eased him down on the floor. His head +fell back and his eyes lolled. + +Death is always shameful. It strips away all human reticences and makes +a mockery of human dignity and man's rebellion against the cruelty of +fate. + +For a moment we stood staring down at all that was left of Ned. I looked +at Bill. "How many men in the camp wear number-twelve shoes?" + +"We'll find out soon enough." + +All this time we hadn't mentioned Larsen. Not one word about Larsen, not +one spoken word. Cheating, yes. Lying, and treacherous disloyalty, and +viciousness, and spite. Fights around the campfires at midnight, +battered faces and broken wrists and a cursing that never ceased. All +that we could blame on Larsen. But a harmless little guy lying dead by a +well in a spreading pool of blood--that was an outrage that stopped us +dead in our legend-making tracks. + +There is something in the human mind which recoils from too outrageous a +deception. How wonderful it would have been to say, "Larsen was here +again last night. He found a little guy who had never harmed anyone +standing by a well in the moonlight. Just for sheer delight he decided +to kill the little guy right then and there." Just to add luster to the +legend, just to send a thrill of excitement about the camp. + +No, that would have been the lie colossal which no sane man could have +quite believed. + +Something happened then to further unnerve us. + +The most disturbing sound you can hear on Mars is the whispering. +Usually it begins as a barely audible murmur and swells in volume with +every shift of the wind. But now it started off high pitched and +insistent and did not stop. + +It was the whispering of a dying race. The Martians are as elusive as +elves and all the pitiless logic of science had failed to draw them +forth into the sunlight to stand before men in uncompromising arrogance +as peers of the human race. + +That failure was a tragedy in itself. If man's supremacy is to be +challenged at all let it be by a creature of flesh-and-blood, a +big-brained biped who must kill to live. Better that by far than a +ghostly flickering in the deepening dusk, a whispering and a flapping +and a long-drawn sighing prophesying death. + +Oh, the Martians were real enough. A flitting vampire bat is real, or a +stinging ray in the depths of a blue lagoon. But who could point to a +Martian and say, "I have seen you plain, in broad daylight. I have +looked into your owlish eyes and watched you go flitting over the sand +on your thin, stalklike legs? I know there is nothing mysterious about +you. You are like a water insect skimming the surface of a pond in a +familiar meadow on Earth. You are quick and alert, but no match for a +man. You are no more than an interesting insect." + +Who could say that, when there were ruins buried deep beneath the sand +to give the lie to any such idea. First the ruins, and then the Martians +themselves, always elusive, gnomelike, goblinlike, flitting away into +the dissolving dusk. + +You're a comparative archaeologist and you're on Mars with the first +batch of rugged youngsters to come tumbling out of a spaceship with +stardust in their eyes. You see those youngsters digging wells and +sweating in the desert. You see the prefabricated housing units go up, +the tangle of machinery, the camp sites growing lusty with midnight +brawls and skull-cracking escapades. You see the towns in the desert, +the law-enforcement committees, the camp followers, the reform fanatics. + +You're a sober-minded scholar, so you start digging in the ruins. You +bring up odd-looking cylinders, rolls of threaded film, instruments of +science so complex they make you giddy. + +You wonder about the Martians--what they were like when they were a +young and proud race. If you're an archaeologist you wonder. But Bill +and I--we were youngsters still. Oh, sure, we were in our thirties, but +who would have suspected that? Bill looked twenty-seven and I hadn't a +gray hair in my head. + + +III + +Bill nodded at Harry. "You'd better stay here. Tom and I will be asking +some pointed questions, and our first move will depend on the answers we +get. Don't let anyone come snooping around this shack. If anyone sticks +his head in and starts to turn ugly, warn him just once--then shoot to +kill." He handed Harry a gun. + +Harry nodded grimly and settled himself on the floor close to Ned. For +the first time since I'd known him, Harry looked completely sure of +himself. + +As we emerged from the shack the whispering was so loud the entire camp +had been placed on the alert. There would be no need for us to go into +shack after shack, watching surprise and shock come into their eyes. + +A dozen or more men were between Bill's shack and the well. They were +staring grimly at the dawn, as if they could already see blood on the +sky, spilling over on the sand and spreading out in a sinister pool at +their feet. A mirage-like pool mirroring their own hidden forebodings, +mirroring a knotted rope and the straining shoulders of men too vengeful +to know the meaning of restraint. + +Jim Kenny stood apart and alone, about forty feet from the well, staring +straight at us. His shirt was open at the throat, exposing a patch of +hairy chest, and his big hands were wedged deeply into his belt. He +stood about six feet three, very powerful, and with large feet. + +I nudged Bill's arm. "What do you think?" I asked. + +Kenny did seem a likely suspect. Molly had caught his eye right from the +start, and he had lost no time in pursuing her. A guy like Kenny would +have felt that losing out to a man of his own breed would have been a +terrible blow to his pride. But just imagine Kenny losing out to a +little guy like Ned. It would have infuriated him and glazed his eyes +with a red film of hate. + +Bill answered my question slowly, his eyes on Kenny's cropped head. "I +think we'd better take a look at his shoes," he said. + +We edged up slowly, taking care not to disturb the others, pretending we +were sauntering toward the well on a before-breakfast stroll. + +It was then that Molly came out of her shack. She stood blinking for an +instant in the dawn glare, her unbound hair falling in a tumbled dark +mass to her shoulders, her eyes still drowsy with sleep. She wore +rust-colored slippers and a form-fitted yellow robe, belted in at the +waist. + +Molly wasn't beautiful exactly. But there was something pulse-stirring +about her and it was easy to understand how a man like Kenny might find +her difficult to resist. + +Bill slanted a glance at Kenny, then shrugged and looked straight at +Molly. He turned to me, his voice almost a whisper, "She's got to be +told, Tom. You do it. She likes you a lot." + +I'd been wondering about that myself--just how much she liked me. It was +hard to be sure. + +Bill saw my hesitation, and frowned. "You can tell if she's covering up. +Her reaction may give us a lead." + +Molly looked startled when she saw me approaching without the mask I +usually wore when I waltzed her around and grinned and ruffled her hair +and told her that she was the cutest kid imaginable and would make some +man--not me--a fine wife. + +That made telling her all the harder. The hardest part was at the +end--when she stared at me dry-eyed and threw her arms around me as if I +was the last support left to her on Earth. + +For a moment I almost forgot we were not on Earth. On Earth I might have +been able to comfort her in a completely sane way. But on Mars when a +woman comes into your arms your emotions can turn molten in a matter of +seconds. + +"Steady," I whispered. "We're just good friends, remember?" + +"I'd be willing to forget, Tom," she said. + +"You've had a terrible shock," I whispered. "You really loved that +little guy--more than you know. It's natural enough that you should feel +a certain warmth toward me. I just happened to be here--so you kissed +me." + +"No, Tom. It isn't that way at all--" + +I might have let myself go a little then if Kenny hadn't seen us. He +stood very still for an instant, staring at Molly. Then his eyes +narrowed and he walked slowly toward us, his hands still wedged in his +belt. + +I looked quickly at Molly, and saw that her features had hardened. There +was a look of dark suspicion in her eyes. Bill had been watching Kenny, +too, waiting for him to move. He measured footsteps with Kenny, +advancing in the same direction from a different angle at a pace so +calculated that they seemed to meet by accident directly in front of us. + +Bill didn't draw but his hand never left his hip. His voice came clear +and sharp and edged with cold insistence. "Know anything about it, +Kenny?" + +Strain seemed to tighten Kenny's face, but there was no panic in his +eyes, no actual glint of fear. "What made you think I'd know?" he asked. + +Bill didn't say a word. He just started staring at Kenny's shoes. He +stood back a bit and continued to stare as if something vitally +important had escaped him and taken refuge beneath the soggy leather +around Kenny's feet. + +"What size shoes do you wear, Jim?" he asked. + +Kenny must have suspected that the question was charged with as much +explosive risk as a detonating wire set to go off at the faintest jar. +His eyes grew shrewd and mocking. + +"So the guy who did it left prints in the sand?" he said. "Prints made +by big shoes?" + +"That's right," Bill said. "You have a very active mind." + +Kenny laughed then, the mockery deepening in his stare. "Well," he said, +"suppose we have a look at those prints, and if it will ease your mind +I'll take off my shoes and you can try them out for size." + +Kenny and Bill and I walked slowly from Molly's shack to the well in the +hot and blazing glare, and the whispering went right on, getting under +our skin in a tormenting sort of way. + +Kenny still wore that disturbing grin. He looked at the prints and +grunted. "Yeah," he said, "they sure are big. Biggest prints I've ever +seen." + +He sat down and started unlacing his shoes. First the right shoe, then +the left. He pulled off both shoes and handed them to Bill. + +"Fit them in," he said. "Measure them for size. Measure _me_ for size, +and to hell with you!" + +Bill made a careful check. There were eight prints, and he fitted the +shoes painstakingly into each of them. There was space to spare at each +try. + +It cleared Kenny completely. He wasn't a killer--this time. We might +have roused the camp to a lynching fury and Kenny would have died for a +crime another man had committed. I shut my eyes and saw Larsen swinging +from a roof top, a black hood over his face. I saw Molly standing in the +sunlight by my side, her face a stony mask. + +I opened my eyes and there was Kenny, grinning contemptuously at us. +He'd called our bluff and won out. Now the shoe was on the other foot. + +A cold chill ran up my spine. It was Kenny who was doing the staring +now, and he was looking directly at my shoes. He stood back a bit and +continued to stare. He was dramatizing his sudden triumph in a way that +turned my blood to ice. + +Then I saw that Bill was staring too--straight at the shoes of a man he +had known for three years and grown to like and trust. But underlying +the warmth and friendliness in Bill was a granite-like integrity which +nothing could shake. + +It was Bill who spoke first. "I guess you'd better take them off, Tom," +he said. "We may as well be thorough about this." + +Sure, I was big. I grew up fast as a kid and at eighteen I weighed two +hundred and thirty pounds, all lean flesh. If shoes ran large I could +sometimes cram my feet into size twelves, but I felt much more +comfortable in a size or two larger than that. + +What made it worse, Molly liked me. I was involved with her, but no one +knew how much. No one knew whether we'd quarreled or not, or how +insanely jealous I could be. No one knew whether Molly had only +pretended to like Ned while carrying a torch for me, and how dangerously +complex the situation might have become all along the line. + +I stood very still, listening. The whispering was so loud now it drowned +out the sighing of the wind. I looked down at my shoes. They were caked +with mud and soggy and discolored. Day after day I'd trudge back and +forth from the canal to the shacks in the blazing sunlight without +giving my feet a thought until the ache in them had become intolerable, +rest an absolute necessity. + +There was only one thing to do--call Kenny's bluff so fast he wouldn't +have time to hurl another accusation at me. + +I handed Bill both of my shoes. He looked at me and nodded. I waited, +listening to the whispering rise and fall, watching him stoop and fit +the shoes into the prints on the sand. + +He straightened suddenly. His face was expressionless, but I could see +that he was waging a terrible inward struggle with himself. + +"Your shoes come pretty close to filling out those prints, Tom," he +said. "I can't be sure--but a wax impression test should pretty well +clear this up." He gripped my arm and nodded toward the shacks. "Better +stick close to me." + +Kenny took a slow step backward, his jaw tightening, his eyes searching +Bill's face. "Wax impression test, hell!" he said. "You've got your +murderer. I'm going to see he gets what's coming to him--right now!" + +Bill shook his head. "I'll do this my way," he said. + +Kenny glared at him, then laughed harshly. "You won't have a chance," he +said. "The boys won't stand for it. I'm going to spread the word around, +and you'd better not try to stop me." + +That did it. I'd been holding myself in, but I had a sudden, +overpowering urge to send my fist crashing into Kenny's face, to send +him crashing to the sand. I started for him, but he jumped back and +started shouting. + +I can't remember exactly what he shouted. But he said just enough to put +a noose around my neck. Every man and woman between the shacks and the +well swung about to stare at me. I saw shock and rage flare in the eyes +of men who usually had steady nerves. They were not calm now--not one of +them. + + +IV + +It all happened so fast I was caught off balance. In the harsh Martian +sunlight human emotions can be as unstable as a wind-lashed dune. + +A crazy thought flashed through my mind: Will Molly believe this too? +Will she join these madmen in their wild thirst for vengeance? My need +for her was suddenly overwhelming. Just seeing her face would have +helped, but now more men had emerged from the shacks and I couldn't see +beyond them. They were heading straight for me and I knew that even Bill +would be powerless to stop them. + +You can't argue with an avalanche. It was rolling straight toward me, +gathering momentum as it came--not one man or a dozen, but a solid wall +of human hate and unreason. + +Bill stood his ground. He had drawn his gun, and he started shouting +that the prints couldn't have been made by my shoes. I chalked that up +to his credit and resolved never to forget it. + +I knew I'd have to make a dash for it. I ran as fast as I could, keeping +my eyes on the glimmer of sunlight on rising dunes, and deep hollows +which a carefully placed bullet could have quickly changed into a burial +mound. + +A sudden crackling burst of gunfire ripped through the air. Directly in +my path the sand geysered up as the bullets ripped and tore at it. +Somebody wasn't a good marksman, or had let blind rage unnerve him and +spoil his aim. A lot of somebodies--for the firing increased and became +almost continuous for an instant, a dull crackling which drowned out the +whispering and the sighing of the wind. + +Then abruptly all sound ceased. Utter stillness descended on the +desert--an unnatural, terrifying stillness, as if nature herself had +stopped breathing and was waiting for someone to scream. + +I must have been mad to turn. A weaving target has a chance, but a +target standing motionless is a sitting duck and his life hangs by a +hair. But still I turned. + +Something was happening between the well and the shacks which halted the +pursuit dead in its tracks. One of the shacks was wrapped in darting +tongues of flame, and a woman was screaming, and a man close to her was +grappling with something huge and misshapen which loomed starkly against +the dawn glow. + +A human shape? I could not be sure. It seemed monstrous, with a bulge +between its shoulders which gave a grotesque and distorted aspect to the +shadow which its weaving bulk cast upon the sand. I could see the shadow +clearly across three hundred feet of sand. It lengthened and shortened, +as if an octopus-like ferocity had given it the power to distort itself +at will, lengthening its tentacles and then whipping them back again. + +But it was not an octopus. It had legs and arms, and it was crushing the +man in a grip of steel. I could see that now. I stared as the others +were staring, their backs turned to me, their blind hatred for me +blotted out by that greater horror. + +I suddenly realized that the shape was human. It had the head and +shoulders of a man, and a torso that could twist with muscular purpose, +and massive hands that could maul and maim. It threw the hapless man +from it with a sudden convulsive contraction of its entire bulk. I had +never seen a human being move in quite that way, but even as its +violence flared its manlike aspect became more pronounced. + +A frightful thing happened then. The woman screamed and rushed toward +the brutish maniac with her fingers splayed. The swaying figure bent, +grabbed her about the waist, and lifted her high into the air. I thought +for a moment he was about to crush her as he had crushed the man. But I +was wrong. She was hurled to the sand, but with a violence so brutal +that she went instantly limp. + +Then the brutal madman turned, and I saw his face. If ever monstrous +cruelty and malign cunning looked out of a human countenance it looked +out of the eyes that stared in my direction, remorseless in their hate. + +I could not tear my gaze from his face. The hate in it could be sensed, +even across a blinding haze of sunlight that blotted out the sharp +contours of physical things. But more than hate could be sensed. There +was something tremendous about that face, as if the evil which had +ravaged it had left the searing brand of Lucifer himself! + +For an instant the madman stood motionless, his ghastly brutality +unchallenged. Then Jeff Winters started for it. Jeff had come to Mars +alone and grown more solitary with every passing day. He was a brooding, +ingrown man, secretive and sullen, with a streak of wildness which he +usually managed to control. He went for the madman like a gigantic +terrier pup, shaggy and ferocious and contemptuous of death. + +The big figure turned quickly, raised his arm, and brought his closed +fist down on Jeff's skull. Jeff collapsed like a shattered plaster cast. +His body seemed to break and splinter, and he sprawled forward on the +sand. + +He did not get up. + +Frank Anders had guns on both hips, and he drew them fast. No one knew +what kind of man Anders was. He hardly ever complained or made a +spectacle of himself. A little guy with sandy hair and cold blue eyes, +he had an accuracy of aim that did his talking for him. + +His guns suddenly roared. For an instant the air between his hands and +the maniac was a crackling wall of flame. The brute swayed a little but +did not turn aside. He went straight for Anders with both arms spread +wide. + +He caught Anders about the waist, lifted him up, and slammed his body +down against the sand. A sickness came over me as I stared. The madman +bashed Anders' head against the ground again and again. Then suddenly +the big arms relaxed and Anders sagged limply to the ground. + +For an instant the madman swayed slowly back and forth, like a +blood-stained marionette on a wire. Then he moved forward with a +terrible, shambling gait, his head lowered, a dark, misshapen shadow +seeming to lengthen before him on the sand like a spindle of flame. + +The clearing was abruptly tumultuous with sound. The fury which had been +unleashed against me turned upon the monster and became a closed circle +of deadly, intent purpose hemming him in--and he was caught in a +crossfire that hurled him backwards to the sand. + +He jumped up and lunged straight for the well. What happened then was +like the awakening stages of some horrible dream. The madman shambled +past the well, the air at his back a crackling sheet of flame. The +barrage behind him was continuous and merciless. The men were organized +now, standing together in a solid wall, firing with deadly accuracy and +a grim purpose which transcended fear. + +The madman went clumping on past me and climbed a dune with his +shoulders held straight. With a sunset glare deepening about him, he +went striding over the dune and out of sight. + + * * * * * + +I turned and stared back at the camp. The pursuit had passed the well +and was headed for me. But no one paid the slightest attention to me. +Twelve men passed me, walking three abreast. Bill came along in their +wake, his eyes stony hard. He reached out as he passed me, gripping my +shoulder, giving me a foot-of-the-gallows kind of smile. + +"We know now who killed Ned," he whispered. "We know, fella. Take it +easy, relax." + +My head was throbbing, but I could see the big prints from where I +stood--the prints of a murderer betrayed by his insatiable urge to slay. + +I saw Kenny pass, and he gave me a contemptuous grin. He had done his +best to destroy me, but there was no longer any hate left in me. + +I took a slow step forward--and fell flat on my face.... + +I woke up with my head in Molly's lap. She was looking down into my +face, sobbing in a funny sort of way and running her fingers through my +hair. + +She looked startled when she saw that I was wide awake. She blinked +furiously and started fumbling at her waist for a handkerchief. + +"I must have passed out cold," I said. "It's quite a strain to be at the +receiving end of a lynching bee. And what I saw afterwards wasn't +exactly pleasant." + +"Darling," she whispered, "don't move, don't say a word. You're going to +be all right." + +"You bet I am!" I said. "Right now I feel great." + +My arm went around her shoulder, and I drew her head down until her +breath was warm on my face. I kissed her hair and lips and eyes for a +full minute in utter recklessness. + +When I released her her eyes were shining, and she was laughing a little +and crying too. "You've changed your mind," she said. "You believe me +now, don't you?" + +"Don't talk," I said. "Don't say another word. I just want to look at +you." + +"It was you right from the start," she said. "Not Ned--or anyone else." + +"I was a blind fool," I said. + +"You never gave me a second glance." + +"One glance was enough," I whispered. "But when I saw how it seemed to +be between you and Ned--" + +"I was never in love with him. It was just--" + +"Never mind, don't say it," I said. "It's over and done with." + +I stopped, remembering. Her eyes grew wide and startled, and I could see +that she was remembering too. + +"What happened?" I asked. "Did they catch that vicious rat?" + +She brushed back her hair, the sunlight suddenly harsh on her face. "He +fell into the canal. The bullets brought him down, and he collapsed on +the bank." + +Her hand tightened on my wrist. "Bill told me. He tried to swim, but the +current carried him under. He went down and never came up." + +"I'm glad," I said. "Did anyone in the camp ever see him before?" + +Molly shook her head. "Bill said he was a drifter--a dangerous maniac +who must have been crazed by the sun." + +"I see," I said. + +I reached out and drew her into my arms again, and we rested for a +moment stretched out side by side on the sand. + +"It's funny," I said after a while. + +"What is?" + +"You know what they say about the whispering. Sometimes when you listen +intently you seem to hear words deep in your mind. As if the Martians +had telepathic powers." + +"Perhaps they have," she said. + +I glanced sideways at her. "Remember," I said. "There were cities on +Mars when our ancestors were hairy apes. The Martian civilization was +flourishing and great fifty million years before the pyramids arose as a +monument to human solidarity and worth. A bad monument, built by slave +labor. But at least it was a start." + +"Now you're being poetic, Tom," she said. + +"Perhaps I am. The Martians must have had their pyramids too. And at the +pyramid stage they must have had their Larsens, to shoulder all the +guilt. To them we may still be in the pyramid stage. Suppose--" + +"Suppose what?" + +"Suppose they wanted to warn us, to give us a lesson we couldn't forget. +How can we say with certainty that a dying race couldn't still make use +of certain techniques that are far beyond us." + +"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said, puzzled. + +"Someday," I said, "our own science will take a tiny fragment of human +tissue from the body of a dead man, put it into an incubating machine, +and a new man will arise again from that tiny shred of flesh. A man who +can walk and live and breathe again, and love again, and die again after +another full lifetime. + +"Perhaps the Martian science was once as great as that. And the Martians +might still remember a few of the techniques. Perhaps from our human +brains, from our buried memories and desires, they could filch the key +and bring to horrible life a thing so monstrous and so terrible--" + +Her hand went suddenly cold in mine. "Tom, you can't honestly think--" + +"No," I said. "It's nonsense, of course. Forget it." + +I didn't tell her what the whispering had seemed to say, deep in my +mind. + +_We've brought you Larsen! You wanted Larsen, and we've made him for +you! His flesh and his mind--his cruel strength and his wicked heart! +Here he comes, here he is! Larsen, Larsen, Larsen!_ + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ January 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Man the Martians Made, by Frank Belknap Long + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN THE MARTIANS MADE *** + +***** This file should be named 29432.txt or 29432.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/3/29432/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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