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diff --git a/29965-h/29965-h.htm b/29965-h/29965-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9aed4c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/29965-h/29965-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7006 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Two Thousand Miles Below, by Charles Willard Diffin + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { border-width:1px; border-color:#000000; border-style:solid; width:60%; padding: 1em; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} +td { border-width:1px; border-color:#000000; border-style: dashed; } +.td1 { text-align:center; } + +.tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + +.f1 { font-size:smaller; } + +a[name] { position: static; } +a:link { border:none; color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } +a:visited {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } +a:hover { color:#ff0000; } + + +.sidenote { + width: 30%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + +.caption {font-weight: bold; font-size:smaller;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Two Thousand Miles Below, by Charles Willard Diffin + +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: Two Thousand Miles Below + +Author: Charles Willard Diffin + +Release Date: September 12, 2009 [EBook #29965] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Astounding Stories June, September, November 1932, January 1933. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p><p class="center">The Table of Contents +is not part of the original magazines.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="600" height="502" alt="" /><span class="caption"><i>The derrick was falling as he fired again.</i></span> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>Two Thousand Miles Below</h1> +<p> </p> +<h4><i>A Four-Part Novel</i></h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>By Charles Willard Diffin</h2> +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr> + <td class="f1 tocch">CHAPTER</td> + <td> </td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#PROLOGUE"></a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"> I</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">A Man Named Smith</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Gold!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Red Drops</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">The Light in the Crater</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Attack</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Into the Crater</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Ring</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">The Darkness</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">A Subterranean World</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Plumb Loco</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">The White-Hot Pit</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Dreams</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">"N-73 Clear!"</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Emergency Order</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"> XV</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Lake of Fire</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The Metal Shell</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Gor</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">The Dance of Death</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">The Voice of the Mountain</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"> XX</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Taloned Hands</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Suicide?</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">The Red-Flowering Vine</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Oro and Grah</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">The Bargain</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Smithy</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"> XXVI</a></td> + <td class="td1"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Power!</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>PROLOGUE</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> <p>n the gray darkness the curved fangs of a saber-toothed tiger gleamed +white and ghostly. The man-figure that stood half crouched in the mouth of +the cave involuntarily shivered.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Rawson learns to his cost that the life-spark of a fabled race glows in +the black heart of a dead, Western volcano.</div> + +<p>"Gwanga!" he said. "He goes, too!"</p> + +<p>But the man did not move more than to shift a club to his right hand. +Heavy, that club, and knotted and with a head of stone tied and wrapped +with leather thongs; but Gor of the tribe of Zoran swung it easily with +one of his long arms. He paid only casual attention as the great cat +passed on into the night.</p> + +<p>One leathery hand was raised to shield his slitted eyes; the wind from the +north struck toward the mouth of the cave, and it brought with it cold +driving rain and whirling flurries of frozen pellets that bit and stung.</p> + +<p>Snow! Gor had traveled far, but never had he seen a storm like this with +white cold in the air. Again a shiver that was part fear rippled through +his muscles and gripped with invisible fingers at his knotted arms.</p> + +<p>"The Beast of the North is angry!" he told himself.</p> + +<p>Through the dark and storm, animals drifted past before the blasts of +cold. They were fleeing; they were full of fear—fear of something +that the dull mind of Gor could not picture. But in that mind was the same +wordless panic.</p> + +<p>Gor, the man-animal of that pre-glacial day, stared wondering, stupidly, +into the storm with eyes like those of the wild pig. His arms were long, +almost to his knees; his hair, coarse and matted, hung in greasy locks +about his savage face. Behind his low, retreating forehead was place for +little of thought or reason. Yet Gor was a man, and he met the threat of +disaster by something better than blind, terrified, animal flight.</p> + +<p>A scant hundred in the tribe—men and women and little pot-bellied +brown children—Gor gathered them together in the cave far back from +the mouth.</p> + +<p>"For many moons," he told them by words and signs, "the fear has been upon +us. There have been signs for us to see and for all the +Four-feet—for Hathor, the great, and for little Wahti in his hole in +the sand-hill. Hathor has swung his long snout above his curved tusks and +has cried his fear, and the Eaters of the Dead have circled above him and +cried <i>their</i> cry.</p> + +<p>"And now the Sun-god does not warm us. He has gone to hide behind the +clouds. He is afraid—afraid of the cold monster that blows white +stinging things in his breath.</p> + +<p>"The Sun-god is gone—now, when he should be making hot summer! The +Four-feet are going. Even Gwanga, the long-toothed, puts his tail between +his legs and runs from the cold."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he naked bodies shivered in the chill that struck in from the +storm-wrapped world; they drew closer their coverings of fur and hides. +The light of their flickering fires played strange tricks with their +savage faces to make them still uglier and to show the dull terror that +gripped them.</p> + +<p>"Run—we must run—run away—the breath of the beast is on +us—he follows close—run...." Through the mutterings and growls +a sick child whimpered once, then was still. Gor was speaking again:</p> + +<p>"Run! Run away!" he mocked them. "And where shall the tribe of Zoran go? +With Gwanga, to make food for his cat belly or to be hammered to death +with the stones of the great tribes of the south?"</p> + +<p>There was none to reply—only a despairing moan from ugly lips. Gor +waited, then answered his own question.</p> + +<p>"No!" he shouted, and beat upon his hairy chest that was round as the +trunk of a tree. "Gor will save you—Gor, the wanderer! You named me +well: my feet have traveled far. Beyond the red-topped mountains of the +north I have gone; I have seen the tribes of the south, and I brought you +a head for proof. I have followed the sun, and I have gone where it +rises."</p> + +<p>In the half light, coarse strands of hair waved as hideous heads were +nodded in confirmation of the boast, though many still drooped +despairingly.</p> + +<p>"If Gor leads, where will he +go?" a voice demanded.</p> + +<p>Another growled: "Gor's feet have gone far: where have they gone where the +Beast cannot follow our scent?"</p> + +<p>"Down!" said Gor with unconscious dramatic effect, and he pointed at the +rocky floor of the cave. "I have gone where even the Beast of the North +cannot go. The caves back of this you have seen, but only Gor has seen the +hole—the hole where a strong man can climb down; a hole too small +for the great beast to get through. Gor has gone down to find more caves +below and more caves below them.</p> + +<p>"Far down is a place where it is always warm. There is water in lakes and +streams. Gor has caught fish in that water, and they were good. There are +growing things like the round earth-plants that come in the night, and +they, too, were good.</p> + +<p>"Will you follow Gor?" he demanded. "And when the Beast is gone and the +Sun-god comes back we will return—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he blast that found its way inside the cave furnished its own answer; the +echoing, "We follow! We follow!" spoken through chattering teeth was not +needed. The women of the tribe shivered more from the cold than from fear +as they gathered together their belongings, their furs and hides and crude +stone implements; and the shambling man-shape, called Gor, led them to the +hole down which a strong man might climb, led them down and still down....</p> + +<p>But, as to the rest—Gor's promise of safe return to the light of day +and that outer world where the Sun-god shone—how was Gor to know +that a mighty glacier would lock the whole land in ice for endless years, +and, retreating, leave their upper caves filled and buried under a valley +heaped with granite rocks?</p> + +<p>Even had the way been open to the land above, Gor himself could never have +known when that ice-sheet left. For when that day came and once more the +Sun-god drew steamy spirals from the drenched and thawing ground, Gor, +deep down in the earth, had been dead for countless years. Only the remote +descendants of that earlier tribe now lived in their subterranean home, +though even with them there were some who spoke at times of those legends +of another world which their ancestors had left.</p> + +<p>And through the long centuries, while evolution worked its slow changes, +they knew nothing of the vanishing ice, of the sun and the gushing waters, +the grass and forests that came to cover the earth. Nor did their +descendants, exploring interminable caves, learning to tame the internal +fires, always evolving, always growing, have any remote conception of a +people who sailed strange seas to find new lands and live and multiply and +build up a country of sky-reaching cities and peaceful farmlands, of +sunlit valleys and hills.</p> + +<p>But always there were adventurous souls who made their way deeper and +deeper into the earth; and among them in every generation was one named +Gor who was taught the tribal legends and who led the adventurers on. But +legends have a trick of changing, and instead of searching upward, it was +through the deeper strata that they made their slow way in their search +for a mystic god and the land of their fathers' fathers....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h2><i>A Man Named Smith</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div> +<p>eat! Heat of a white-hot sun only two hours old. Heat of blazing sands +where shimmering, gassy waves made the sparse sagebrush seem about to +burst into flames. Heat of a wind that might have come out of the fire-box +of a Mogul on an upgrade pull.</p> + +<p>A highway twisted among black masses of outcropping lava rock or tightened +into a straightaway for miles across the desert that swept up to the +mountain's base. The asphalt surface of the pavement was almost liquid; it +clung stickily to the tires of a big car, letting go with a continuous, +ripping sound.</p> + +<p>Behind the wheel of the weatherbeaten, sunburned car, Dean Rawson squinted +his eyes against the glare. His lean, tanned face was almost as brown as +his hair. The sun had done its work there; it had set crinkly lines about +the man's eyes of darker brown. But the deeper lines in that young face +had been etched by responsibility; they made the man seem older than his +twenty-three years, until the steady eyes, flashing into quick amusement, +gave them the lie.</p> + +<p>And now Rawson's lips twisted into a little grin at his own +discomfort—but he knew the desert driver's trick.</p> + +<p>"A hundred plus in the shade," he reasoned silently. "That's hot any way +you take it. But taking it in the face at forty-five an hour is too much +like looking into a Bessemer converter!"</p> + +<p>He closed the windows of his old coupe to within an inch of the top, then +opened the windshield a scant half inch. The blast that had been drawing +the moisture from his body became a gently circulating current of hot air.</p> + +<p>He had gone only another ten miles after these preparations for fast +driving, when he eased the big weatherbeaten car to a stop.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>n his right, reaching up to the cool heights under a cloudless blue sky, +the gray peaks of the Sierras gave promise of relief from the furnace +breath of the desert floor. There were even valleys of snow glistening +whitely where the mountains held them high. A watcher, had there been one +to observe in the empty land, might have understood another traveler's +pausing to admire the serene majesty of those heights—but he would +have wondered could he have seen Rawson's eyes turned in longing away from +the mountains while he stared across the forbidding sands.</p> + +<p>There were other mountains, lavender and gray, in the distance. And nearer +by, a matter of twenty or thirty elusive miles through the dancing waves +of hot air, were other barren slopes. Across the rolling sand-hills wheel +marks, faint and wind-blown, led straight from the highway toward the +parched peaks.</p> + +<p>"Tonah Basin!" Rawson was thinking. "It's there inside these hills. It's +hotter than this is by twenty degrees right this minute—but I wish I +could see it. I'd like to have one more look before I face that +hard-boiled bunch in the city!"</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch and shook his head. "Not a chance," he admitted. +"I'm due up in Erickson's office in five hours. I wonder if I've got a +chance with them...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="43" height="50" /></div><p>ive hours of driving, and Rawson walked into the office of Erickson, +Incorporated, with a steady step. Another hour, and his tanned face had +gone a trifle pale; his lips were set grimly in a straight line that would +not relax under the verdict he felt certain he was about to hear.</p> + +<p>For an hour he had faced the steely-eyed man across the long table in the +Directors Room—faced him and replied to questions from this man and +the half-dozen others seated there. Skeptical questions, tricky questions; +and now the man was speaking:</p> + +<p>"Rawson, six months ago you laid your Tonah Basin plans before +us—plans to get power from the center of the Earth, to utilize that +energy, and to control the power situation in this whole Southwest. It +looked like a wild gamble then, but we investigated. It still looks like a +gamble."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Rawson, "it is a gamble. Did I ever call it anything else?"</p> + +<p>"The Ehrmann oscillator," the man continued imperturbably, "invented in +1940, two years ago, solves the wireless transmission problem, but the +success of your plan depends upon your own invention—upon your +straight-line drills that you say will not wander off at a tangent when +they get down a few miles. And more than that, it depends upon you.</p> + +<p>"Even that does not damn the scheme; but, Rawson, there's only one factor +we gamble on. No wild plans, no matter how many hundreds of millions they +promise: no machines, no matter what they are designed to do, get a dollar +of our backing. It's men we back with our money!"</p> + +<p>Rawson's face was set to show no emotion, but within his mind were +insistent, clamoring thoughts:</p> + +<p>"Why can't he say it and get it over with? I've lost—what a +hard-boiled bunch they are!—but he doesn't need to drag out the +agony." But—but what was the man saying?</p> + +<p>"Men, Rawson!" the emotionless voice continued. "And we've checked up on +you from the time you took your nourishment out of a bottle; it's you +we're backing. That's why we have organized the little company of Thermal +Explorations, Limited. That's why we've put a million of hard coin into +it. That's why we've put you in charge of operations."</p> + +<p>He was extending a hand that Dean Rawson had to reach for blindly.</p> + +<p>"I'd drill through to hell," Dean said and fought to keep his voice +steady, "with backing like that!"</p> + +<p>He allowed his emotion to express itself in a shaky laugh. "Perhaps I will +at that," he added: "I'll certainly be heading in the right direction."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_u.jpg" alt="U" width="49" height="50" /></div><p>nder another day's sun the hot asphalt was again taking the print of the +tires of Rawson's old car. But this time, when he came to the almost +obliterated marks that led through the sand toward distant mountains, he +stopped, partially deflated the tires to give them a grip on the sand, and +swung off.</p> + +<p>"A fool, kid trick," he admitted to himself, "but I want to see the place. +I'll see plenty of it before I'm through, but right now I've got to have a +look; then I'll buckle down to work.</p> + +<p>"Thermal Explorations, Limited!" The name rang triumphantly in his mind. +"A million things to do—men, crews for the drills, derricks.... +We'll have to truck in over this road; I'll lay a plank road over the +sand. And water—we'll have to haul that, too, until we can sink a +well. We'll find water under there somewhere. I've got to see the +place...."</p> + +<p>The black sides of the mountains were nearer: every outcropping rock was +plainly volcanic, and great sweeping slopes were beds of ash and pumice; +the wheel marks, where they showed at all, wound off and into a canyon +hidden in the tremendous hills that thrust themselves abruptly from the +desert floor.</p> + +<p>The mountains themselves towered hugely at closer range, but the road that +Rawson followed climbed through them without traversing the highest +slopes. It was scarcely more than a trail, barely wide enough for the car +at times, but boulder-filled gullies showed where the hands of men had +worked to build it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e came at last into the open +where a shoulder of rock bent the road outward above a sea of sand far +below. And now the mountains showed their circular arrangement—a +great ring, twenty miles across. At one side were three conical peaks, +unmistakable craters, whose scarred sides were smothered under ash and +sand that had rained down from their shattered tops in ages past. Yet, so +hot they were, so clear-cut the irregularly rimmed cups at their tops, +that they seemed to have pushed themselves up through the earth in that +very instant. At their bases were signs of human habitation—broken +walls, scattered stone buildings whose empty windows gaped blackly. This +was all that remained of New Rhyolite.</p> + +<p>Rawson looked at the "ghost town" which had never failed to interest him, +but he gave no thought now to the hardy prospectors who had built it or to +the vein of gold that had failed them. His searching eyes came back to the +fiery pit, the Tonah Basin, a vast cauldron of sand and ash—great +sweeps of yellow and gray and darker brown into which the sun was pouring +its rays with burning-glass fierceness.</p> + +<p>But to Rawson, there was more than the eye could see. He was picturing a +great powerhouse, steel derricks, capped pipes that led off to whirring +turbines, generators, strings of cables stretching out on steel supports +into the distance, a wireless transmitter—and all of this the result +of his own vision, of the stream he would bring from deep in the earth!</p> + +<p>Then, abruptly, the pictures faded. Far below him on the yellow, +sun-blasted floor, a fleck of shadow had moved. It appeared suddenly from +the sand, moved erratically, staggeringly, for a hundred feet, then +vanished as if something had blotted it out—and Dean Rawson knew +that it was the shadow of a man.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he road widened beyond the turn. He had intended to swing around; he had +wanted only to take a clear picture of the place with him. But now the big +car's gears wailed as he took the downgrade in second, and the brakes, +jammed on at the sharp curves, added their voice to the chorus of haste.</p> + +<p>"Confounded desert rats!" Rawson was saying under his breath. "They'll +chance anything—but imagine crossing country like that! And he +hasn't a burro—he's got only the water he can carry in a canteen!"</p> + +<p>But even the canteen was empty, he found, when he stopped the car in a +whirl of loose sand beside a prone figure whose khaki clothes were almost +indistinguishable against the desert soil.</p> + +<p>Before Rawson could get his own lanky six feet of wiry length from the +car, the man had struggled to his feet. Again the little blot of shadow +began its wavering, uncertain, forward movement.</p> + +<p>He was a little shorter than Rawson, a little heavier of build, and +younger by a year or two, although his flushed face and a two days' +stubble of black beard might have been misleading. Rawson caught the +staggering man and half carried him to the shadow of the car, the only +shelter in that whole vast cauldron of the sun.</p> + +<p>From a mouth where a swollen tongue protruded thickly came an agonized +sound that was a cry for, "Water—water!" Rawson gave it to him as +rapidly as he dared, until he allowed the man to drink from the desert bag +at the last. And his keen eyes were taking in all the significant details +as he worked.</p> + +<p>The khaki clothes earned a nod of silent approval. The compact roll that +had been slung from the younger man's shoulders, even the broad shoulders +themselves, and the square jaw, unshaved and grimy, got Rawson's +inaudible, "O. K.!" But the face was more burned than tanned.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e introduced himself when the stranger was able to stand. "I'm Rawson, +Dean Rawson, mining engineer when I'm working at it," he explained. "I'm +bound north. I'll take you out of this. You can travel with me as far as +you please."</p> + +<p>The dark-haired youngster was plainly youthful now, as he stood erect. His +voice was recovering what must have been its usual hearty ring.</p> + +<p>"I'm not trying to say 'thank you,'" he said, as he took Rawson's hand. "I +was sure sunk—going down for the last time—taps—all that +sort of thing! You pulled me out—the good old helping hand. Can't +thank a fellow for that—just return the favor or pass it on to +someone else. And, by the way—you won't believe it—but my name +is Smith."</p> + +<p>Rawson smiled good-naturedly. "No," he agreed, "I don't believe it. But +it's a good, handy name. All right, Smithy, jump in! Here, let me give you +a lift; you're still woozy."</p> + +<p>Rawson found his passenger uncommunicative. Not but what Smithy talked +freely of everything but himself, but it was of himself that Rawson wanted +to know.</p> + +<p>"Drop me at the first town," said Smithy. "You're going north: I'm +south-bound—looking for a job down in Los. I won't take any more +short cuts; I was two days on this last one. I'll stick to the road."</p> + +<p>They were through the mountains that ringed in the fiery pit of Tonah +Basin. Smooth sand lay ahead; only the shallow marks that his own tires +had ploughed needed to be followed. Dean Rawson turned and looked with +fair appraisal at the man he had saved.</p> + +<p>"Drifter?" he asked himself silently. "Road bum? He doesn't look the part; +there's something about him...."</p> + +<p>Aloud he inquired: "What's your line? What do you know?"</p> + +<p>And the young man answered frankly: "Not a thing!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean sensed failure, inefficiency. He resented it in this youngster who had +fought so gamely with death. His voice was harsh with a curious sense of +his own disappointment as he asked:</p> + +<p>"Found the going too hard for you up north, did you? Well, it won't be any +easier—" But Smithy had interrupted with a weak movement of his +hand.</p> + +<p>"Not too hard," he said laconically; "too damn soft! I don't know what I'm +looking for—pretty dumb: got a lot to learn!—but it'll be a +job that needs to take a good licking!"</p> + +<p>"'Too damn soft!'" Dean was thinking. "And he tackled the desert alone!" +There was a lot here he did not understand. But the look in the eyes of +Smithy that met his own searching gaze and returned it squarely if a bit +whimsically—that was something he <i>could</i> understand. Dean Rawson +was a judge of men. The sudden impulse that moved him was founded upon +certainty.</p> + +<p>"You've found that job," he said. "The desert almost got you a little +while ago—now it's due to take that licking you were talking about. +I'm going to teach it to lie down and roll over and jump through hoops. +Fact is, my job is to get it into harness and put it to work. I'll be +working right out there in the Basin where I found you. It will be only +about two degrees cooler than hell. If that sounds good to you, Smithy, +stick around."</p> + +<p>He warmed oddly to the look in the younger man's deep-set, dark eyes, as +Smithy replied:</p> + +<p>"Try to put me out, Rawson—just try to put me out!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h2><i>Gold!</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ten miles down, drillers!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hell-bound, and proud of it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten miles down, drillers!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark to what I say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're pokin' through the crust of hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And braggin' too damn loud of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, when you get to hell, you'll find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The devil there to pay."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="43" height="50" /></div> <p>rom the black, night-wrapped valley, far below, the singer's voice went +silent with the slamming of a door in one of the bunkhouses. The song was +popular; some rimester in the Tonah Basin camp had written the parody for +the tormenting of the drill crews. And, high on the mountainside, Dean +Rawson hummed a few bars of the lilting air after the singer's voice had +ceased.</p> + +<p>"Ten miles down!" he said at last to his assistant, sprawled out on the +stone beside him. "That's about right, Smithy. And maybe the rest of the +doggerel isn't so far off either. 'Pokin' through the crust of +hell'—well, there was hell popping around here once, and I am +gambling that the furnaces aren't all out."</p> + +<p>They were on the outthrust shoulder of rock where the mountain road hung +high above the valley floor. Below, where, months before, Rawson had +rescued a man from desert death, was blackness punctured by points of +light—bunkhouse windows, the drilling-floor lights at the foot of a +big derrick, a single warning light at the derrick's top. But the +buildings and the towering steelwork of the derrick that handled the +rotary drills were dim and ghostly in the light of the stars.</p> + +<p>"We've gone through some places I'd call plenty warm," said Smithy, "but +you—you craves it <i>hot</i>! Think we're about due?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Rawson answered indirectly.</p> + +<p>"One great big old he-crater!" he said. His outstretched arm swept the +whole circle of starlit mountains that enclosed the Basin. "That's what +this was once. Twenty miles across—and when it blew its head off it +must have sprayed this whole Southwest.</p> + +<p>"Now, those craters"—he pointed contemptuously toward the three +conical peaks off to the right—"those were just blow-holes on the +side of this big one."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div><p>n the ragged ring of mountains, the throat of some volcanic monster of an +earlier age, the three cones towered hugely. Their tops were plainly +cupped; their ashy sloping sides swept down to the desert floor. At their +base, the gray walls of stone in the ghost town of Little Rhyolite gleamed +palely, like skeleton remains.</p> + +<p>"I've seen steam, live steam," Rawson went on, "coming out of a fissure in +the rocks. I know there's heat and plenty of it down below. We're about +due to hit it. The boys are pulling the drill now; they cut through into a +whale of a cave down below there—"</p> + +<p>He broke off abruptly to fix his attention on the dark valley below, where +lights were moving. One white slash of brilliance cut across the dark +ground; another, then a cluster of flood lights blazed out. They picked +the skeleton framework of the giant derrick in black relief against the +white glare of the sand. From far below; through the quiet air, came +sounds of excited shouting; the voices of men were raised in sudden +clamor.</p> + +<p>"They've pulled the drill," said Rawson. "But why all the excitement?"</p> + +<p>He had already turned toward their car when the crackle of six quick shots +came from below. His abrupt command was not needed; Smithy was in the car +while still the echoes were rolling off among the hills. Their own lights +flashed on to show the mountain grade waiting for their quick descent.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he sandy floor of this part of the Tonah Basin was littered with the +orderly disorder of a big construction job—mountains of casing, +tubular drill rod, a foot in diameter; segmental bearings to clamp around +the rod every hundred feet and give it smooth play. Dean drove his car +swiftly along the surfaced road that was known as "Main Street" to the +entire camp.</p> + +<p>There were men running toward the derrick—men of the day shift who +had been aroused from their sleep. Others were clustered about the wide +concrete floor where the derrick stood. Clad only in trousers and shoes, +their bodies, tanned by the desert sun, were almost black in the glare of +the big floods. They milled wildly about the derrick; and, through all +their clamor and shouting, one word was repeated again and again:</p> + +<p>"Gold! Gold! Gold!"</p> + +<p>The big drill head was suspended above the floor. Dean Rawson, with Smithy +close at hand, pushed through the crowd. He was prepared to see traces of +gold in the sludge that was bailed out through the hollow +shaft—quartz, perhaps, whose richness had set the men wild before +they realized how impossible it would be to develop such a mine. But +Rawson stopped almost aghast at the glaring splendor of the golden drill +hanging naked in the blinding light.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>iley, foreman of the night shift, was standing beside it, a pistol in his +hand. "L'ave it be," he was commanding. "Not a hand do ye lay on it till +the boss gets here." At sight of Rawson he stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"I shot in the air," he explained. "I knew ye were up in the hills for a +breath of coolness. I wanted to get ye here quick."</p> + +<p>"Right," said Rawson tersely. "But, man, what have you done with the +drill? It's smeared over with gold!"</p> + +<p>"Fair clogged wid it, sir," Riley's voice betrayed his own excitement. +"You remimber we couldn't pull it at first—the drill was jammed-like +after it bruk through at the ten-mile livil. Then it come free—and +luk at it! Luk at the damn thing! Sent down for honest work, it was, and +it comes back all dressed up in jewelry like a squaw Indian whin there's +oil struck on the reservation! Or is it gold ye were after all the time?" +he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Gold! Gold!" a hundred voices were shouting. Dean hardly heard the voice +of the foreman, made suddenly garrulous with excitement. He stared at the +big drill head, heaped high with the precious metal. It was jammed into +the diamond-studded face of the drill; it filled every crack and crevice, +a smooth, solid mass on top of the head and against the stem. A workman +had brought a singlejack and chisel; he was prying at a ribbon of the +yellow stuff. Riley went for him, gun in hand.</p> + +<p>"L'ave it be!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>"But, confound it all, Dean," Smithy's voice was saying in a tone of +disgust, "I thought we were working on a power plant. Not that a gold mine +is so bad; but we can't work it—we can't go down after it at ten +miles."</p> + +<p>"Gold mine!" Rawson echoed. "I'll say it's a gold mine—but not +because of the gold. Do you notice anything peculiar about that, Smithy?"</p> + + +<p>His assistant replied with a quick exclamation:</p> + +<p>"You're right, Dean! I knew there was something haywire with that. Solid +chunk—been cast around that stem—melted on. And that +means—"</p> + +<p>"Heat," said Rawson. "It means we've found what we're after. Give the gold +to the men; tell them we'll divide it evenly among them. There's more down +there, but there's something better: there's energy, power!"</p> + +<p>He snapped out quick orders. "Get the temperature. Drop a recording +pyrometer. Let me know at once. There'll be plenty doing now!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>rill rods and cables, all were made of the newest aluminum alloy. The long +tube that held the pyrometer was formed of the same metal. Smithy sent it +down to get a recording of the temperatures of that subterranean cave into +which their tools had plunged.</p> + +<p>He adjusted the recording mechanism himself and stood beside the +twenty-inch casing that held back the loose sand from the big bore. Then +he watched ten sections of cable, each a mile in length, each heavier than +the last, as they went hissing into the earth.</p> + +<p>From the cable control shed the voice of Riley was calling the depth.</p> + +<p>"Fifty-two thousand." Then by hundreds until he cried: "Fifty-two-seven. +We're into the big cave! Now another hundred feet."</p> + +<p>The cable was moving slowly. In the middle of Riley's call of +"Fifty-two-eight," a jangling bell told that the bottom of the pyrometer +carrier had touched.</p> + +<p>"Up with it," Smithy ordered. "Make it snappy. We'll see if we've got +another cargo of gold."</p> + +<p>There was an undeniable thrill in this reaching to a tremendous distance +underground, this groping about in a deep-hidden cave, where molten gold +was to be found. What had they tapped?—he asked himself. He saw +visions of some vast pool of hot, liquid gold. Perhaps Dean would have to +change his plans. They could rig up some kind of a bailer; they could +bring out thousands of dollars at a time.</p> + +<p>He was watching for the first sight of the metal carrier, far more +interested in what might be clinging to it than in the record of the +pyrometer it held. He saw it emerge—then he stared in disbelief at +the stubby mass at the cable's end, where all that remained of the long +tube he had sent down was a dangling two feet of discolored metal, warped +and distorted. The lower part, a full twenty feet in length, had been +fused cleanly off.</p> + +<p>Dean Rawson was there to watch the next attempt. Again Riley's roaring +bass rolled out the count, but this time the call stopped at +fifty-two-seven. The jangling bell told that the carrier had touched.</p> + +<p>"Divil a bit do I understand this," Riley was calling. "We're right at the +point where we dropped through into the clear. Right at the roof of the +big cave—fifty-two-seven, it says—and no lower do we go. The +bottom of the hole is plugged!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson made no reply. He was scowling while he stared speculatively at the +mouth of the twenty-inch bore—a vertical tunnel that led from the +drilling floor down, down to some inner vault. "Molten gold," he was +thinking. "It melted a cylinder of the new Krieger alloy—melted it +when its melting point is way higher than that of any rock that we've hit. +And now the bore is closed...."</p> + +<p>He was trying vainly to project his mental vision through those miles of +hard rock to see what manner of mystery this was into which he had probed. +He shook his head slowly in baffled speculation, then spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>"Drill it out!" he ordered. "We're into a hot spot sure enough, though I +can't just figure out the how of it. But we'll tame it, Smithy. Send down +the drill. Clean it out. Then we'll poke around down there and get the +answer to all this."</p> + +<p>Five days were needed to send down the big drill with a new drill-head +replacing the other too fouled with gold for any use. The tubular +sections, a hundred feet in length, were hooked together and lowered one +by one. Each joint meant the coupling of the air-pipe as well. Air, mixed +with water from the outer jacket, must come foaming up through the central +core to bring the powdered rock to the surface.</p> + +<p>Five days, then one hour of boring, and another five days to pull out the +drill before Rawson could hope for his answer. But he found it in the +severed shaft of the great drill where the head had been melted completely +off. The big stem that would have resisted all but electric furnace heat, +and been cut through like a tallow candle in the blast of an oxy-acetylene +flame.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h2><i>Red Drops</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> <p>he flat-roofed shack of yellow boards that was Dean Rawson's "office" had +a second canopy roof built above it and extending out on all sides like a +wooden umbrella. Thick pitch fried almost audibly from the fir boards when +the sun drove straight from overhead, but beneath their shelter the heat +was more bearable.</p> + +<p>By an open window, where a hot breeze stirred sluggishly, Rawson sat in +silent contemplation of the camp. His face was as copper-colored as an +Apache's and as motionless. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon a +distant derrick and the blasted stub of a big drill that hung unmoving +above the concrete floor.</p> + +<p>But the man's eyes did not consciously record the details of that scene. +He saw nothing of the derrick or of the heat waves that made the steel +seem writhingly alive; he was looking at something far more distant, +something many miles away, something vague and mysterious, hidden miles +beneath the surface of the earth.</p> + +<p>"Heat," he said at last, as if talking in a dream. "Heat, terrific +temperatures—but I can't make it out; I can't see it!"</p> + +<p>The younger, broad-shouldered man, whose khaki shirt, thrown open at the +neck showed a chest tanned to the black-brown of his face, stopped his +restless pacing back and forth in the hot room.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" he asked with a touch of irritation in his tone. "There's plenty of +heat there—heat enough to melt off the shaft of that high-temp +alloy! What the devil's the use of wondering about the heat, Dean? What +gets me is this: the shaft has been plugged again. Now, what kind of...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean Rawson's face had not moved a muscle during the other's outburst. His +eyes were still fixed on that place that was so far away, yet which he +tried to bring close in his mind, close enough to see, to comprehend the +mystery that should be so plain.</p> + +<p>"Lava wouldn't do it!" he said softly. "No melted stone would melt the +Krieger alloy, unless it was under pressure, which this was not. There was +no blast coming out of our shaft. Yet we dipped into that gold; we stuck +the drill right down into it. But what did we go into the next time? What +did we dip into?"</p> + +<p>He swung quickly, violently, toward Smithy who was facing him from the +middle of the room. He aimed one finger at him as if it were a pistol, and +his words cracked out as sharply as if they came from a gun:</p> + +<p>"That tube you sent down—that piece of casing! How was it burned? +Were there straggling ends, frozen gobs of metal? Did it look like an +old-fashioned molasses candy bar that's been melted? Did it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said Smithy. "It hadn't dripped any; it was cut off nice and +clean."</p> + +<p>"Cut!" Rawson almost shouted the word. "You said it, Smithy. So was the +shaft of the drill. And if you ever saw a piece of this alloy being melted +you know that it's as gummy as a pot of old paint. It was cut, Smithy! +Dipping into that melted gold threw us off the track; we were thinking of +ramming the drill down into a mess of lava. But we didn't. It was cut off +by a blast of flame so much hotter than lava that melted rock would seem +cold!"</p> + +<p>"And that helps us a lot, doesn't it," asked Smithy, scornfully, "when the +flame melts the end of the shaft shut as fast as we open it?"</p> + +<p>Dean Rawson's lean, muscular hands took Smithy's broad shoulders and spun +the younger man around. "Cheer up," Dean told him. "We've got it licked. +Why it doesn't blow out of that shaft like hell out for noon is more than +I can see; but the heat's there! We've won!"</p> + +<p>"But—" Smithy began. Rawson sent him spinning toward the door in a +good-natured showing of strength that his assistant had not yet guessed.</p> + +<p>"Soup!" he ordered. "Break out the nitroglycerine, Smithy. Get that Swede, +Hanson, on the job; he's a shooter. He knows his stuff. We'll blow open +the bottom end of our shaft so it'll never go shut!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>anson knew his stuff and did it. But he met Rawson's inquiring eyes with a +puzzled shake of his head when the open mouth of the twenty-inch bore gave +faint echo of the deep explosion and followed after a time with only a +feeble puff of air.</p> + +<p>"Like a cannon, she should have gone," Hanson stated. "And she yoost go +<i>phht</i>!"</p> + +<p>"It's open down below," said Rawson briefly. "This is a different kind of +a well from the kind you've been shooting."</p> + +<p>To the waiting Riley he said: "Hook a bailer onto that cable and send it +down. See what you can tell about the hole."</p> + +<p>Again ten miles of cable hissed smoothly down the gaping throat. Then it +slowed.</p> + +<p>"Fifty-two-seven," said Riley, "and she's open. Seven twenty-five! Seven +fifty, and we're on bottom!"</p> + +<p>"Up," Rawson ordered, "if there's anything left of the bailer. It's +probably melted into scrap."</p> + +<p>But strangely it was not. It hung from the dangling cable spinning lazily +until Riley stepped in to check its motion.</p> + +<p>There was a check valve in the bottom—a door that opened inwardly, +to take in water and fragments of rock when need arose. Riley, +disregarding the possible heat of the twirling bailer, reached for it with +bare hands. He drew them back, then held them before him—and a +hundred watching eyes saw what had been unseen before: the slow dropping +of red liquid from the bailer's end. The same drops were falling from +Riley's hands that had touched that end.</p> + +<p>"Blood!" The word came from the foreman's throat in one horrified gasp. It +ran in a whispering echo from one to another of the watching crew. From +far across the hot sands came the rattle of a truck that brought the first +of many loads of cement and steel for Rawson's buildings. Its driver was +singing lustily:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hark to what I say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're pokin' through the crust of hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And braggin' too damn loud of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, when you get to hell, you'll find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The devil there to pay!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But Rawson, looking dazedly into Smithy's eyes, said only: "It's +cold—the bailer's cold. There's no heat there."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h2><i>The Light in the Crater</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_o1.jpg" alt="O" width="60" height="54" /></div> +<p>f course it wasn't blood!" said Smithy explosively. "But try to tell the +men that. See how far you get. 'Devils!' That's been their talk since +yesterday when Riley got smeared up—and now that the bailer's gone +we can't prove a thing."</p> + +<p>Again he was pacing restlessly back and forth in the little board shack +that was Rawson's field head-quarters. Rawson, seated by the window, was +looking at tables of comparative melting points. He glanced up sharply.</p> + +<p>"You haven't found it yet?" he questioned. "A forty-foot bailer! Now +that's a nice easy little thing to mislay."</p> + +<p>Riley had followed the excited Smithy into the room; he stood silently by +the door until he caught Rawson's questioning glance.</p> + +<p>"Forty feet or forty inches," he said, "'tis gone! 'Twas there by the +derrick last night, and this marnin'—"</p> + +<p>"That's fine," Rawson interrupted with heavy sarcasm. "I haven't enough +down below ground to keep my mind occupied—I need a few mysteries up +top. Now do you really expect me to believe that a thing like that bailer +has been carried off?"</p> + +<p>This time it was Smithy who interrupted. "You can just practise believing +on that, Dean," he said. "When you get so you can believe a forty-foot +bailer can vanish into thin air, then you'll be ready for what I've got. +This is what I came in to tell you: that one truckload of steel grillage +beams for the turbine footings—they were put out where we surveyed +for the first power house—dumped on the sand...."</p> + +<p>"Well?" questioned Rawson, as Smithy paused. His look was daring Smithy to +say what he knew was coming.</p> + +<p>"Five tons of steel beams," said Smithy softly, "gone—just like +that! Just a hollow in the sand!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he big figure of the Irish foreman was still beside the door. Rawson saw +one clumsy hand make the sign of the Cross; then Riley held that hand +before him and stared at it in horror. "Divils' blood," he whispered. "And +I dipped my hands in it. Saints protect us all!"</p> + +<p>"That will be all of that!" Dean Rawson's usually quiet voice was as full +of crackling emphasis as if it had been charged with electrical energy. +"If anyone thinks that I have gone this far, just to be scared out by some +dirty sabotage....</p> + +<p>"I see it all. I don't know how they did it, but it's all come since the +gold was found. Someone else wants it. They think they can scare off the +men, maybe take a pot-shot at me, come back here and clean up later on, +pull up gold by the pailful, I suppose—"</p> + +<p>Riley leaped forward and banged his big fist down on the table. "Right ye +are!" he shouted, until loitering men in the open "street" outside stared +curiously. "Divils they are, but they're the kind of divils we know how to +handle. And now I'll tell ye somethin' else, sir: I know where they are +hidin'.</p> + +<p>"There was no work for anyone last night, but I'm used to bein' up. I +couldn't sleep. I was wanderin' around, thinkin' of nothin' at all out of +the way, and I thought I saw some shadows, like it might be men, way off +on the sand. Then later over to the old ghost town, d'ye mind! I saw a +light, a queer, green sort of light. Sure, a fool I was callin' meself at +the time, but now I believe it."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean Rawson had crossed +the room while the man was still speaking. He dragged a wooden case from +beneath his cot and smashed at the lid with a wrecking bar. Then he +reached inside and drew forth a blue-black .45.</p> + +<p>He tossed the pistol to Riley. "Know how to use one of these?" he asked. +The manner in which the big Irishman snapped open the side ejection was +sufficient answer. Dean handed another gun to Smithy, then pulled out more +and laid them on his cot together with a little pile of cartridge boxes.</p> + +<p>"You're all right, Riley," he said. "Just keep your head. Don't let your +damned superstitions run away with you, and I wouldn't ask for a better +man to stand alongside of in a scrap."</p> + +<p>The foreman beamed with pleasure: Rawson went on in crisp sentences:</p> + +<p>"Take these guns. Take plenty of ammunition. Pick five or six men you know +you can depend on. Mount guard around this camp to-night. I'll post an +order saying you're in charge—and I'm telling you now to use those +guns on anything you see.</p> + +<p>"Smithy," he said to the other man who had been quietly listening, "you +and I are going to start for town. Only Riley will know that we're gone +for the night. We'll have a little listening post of our own up here in +the hills."</p> + +<p>But Rawson postponed their going. More material was arriving; one casting +in particular needed all the men and Rawson's supervision to place it on +the sand where an erection crew could swing it into place at some later +date. And then, when he and Smithy had driven away from camp with the +distant city as their announced destination, Rawson still did not go +directly to the mountain grade. He swung off instead where rolling +sand-hills blocked all view from the camp, and he headed the car into a +gusty wind that brought whirling clouds of dust; they almost obscured the +crumbling walls at the volcano's base.</p> + +<p>The ghost towns that are found here and there in the forsaken wilderness +of the West are depressing to one who walks their empty streets. Little +Rhyolite was no exception. In gray, ghostly walls, empty windows stared +steadily, disconcertingly like sockets of dead eyes in tattered, +weatherbeaten skulls.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean and Smithy walked +among the roofless ruins. Lizards, the color of the cold, gray walls, +slipped from sight on silent, clinging feet. Once a sidewinder, almost +invisible against the sand, looped away from the intruders with smooth +deliberation.</p> + +<p>"No marks here," said Rawson at last. "Even an Indian can't read sign in +this ashy sand when the wind has dusted it off."</p> + +<p>He turned his head from a whirl of fine ash where the wind, sweeping +around a wall of stone, was scouring at a sand dune's sloping side.</p> + +<p>"Dean," said Smithy, "old Riley may have been looking for banshees when he +saw these lights. Superstitious old cuss, Riley! Maybe there wasn't +anything here. But, Dean, there's some confoundedly funny things happening +around here."</p> + +<p>"Are you telling me?" Rawson asked grimly. "But we want to remember one +thing," he added: "We've punched a hole in the ground, and we've got into +a place that is hot enough to melt Krieger alloy one minute and is stone +cold the next. That's disturbing enough, but we don't want to get that +mixed up with what's happening up top. There's dirty work going on—"</p> + +<p>He stopped. His eyes, that had never ceased to search for some mark of +special meaning, had come to rest upon an object half hidden in the sand. +He stooped and picked it up.</p> + +<p>"Now what the devil is this?" Smithy began. But Rawson was staring at the +smooth lava block that was in his hand. It was tapered; it was pierced +through with a straight, smooth hole, and its base was round and ringed as +if it had been held in a clamp.</p> + +<p>"That," he said at last, "was brought in from outside. Outside, +Smithy—get that."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean Rawson's face was +wreathed in a sudden smile of pure pleasure. "No, I don't know what the +darn thing is," he admitted. "And I don't care. But I know that someone, +or some bunch of someones—outsiders—are trying to horn in. I +might even go so far as to say that I suspect the power monopoly +gentlemen. I think they have started in on us, plan to run off our men, +interfere in every way and drive me out of the field with the boring a +failure. Smithy, I begin to think I'm going to enjoy this job!"</p> + +<p>Again the hot wind, only beginning to cool with the setting of the sun, +swept around the building where they stood and tore at the hill of sand. +"Come on," said Rawson. "It's getting dark. We'll get up to our +lookout—"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" called Smithy sharply.</p> + +<p>Rawson turned. Smithy was rubbing his eyes when the whirl of wind-borne +sand had passed; he was staring at the sand dunes.</p> + +<p>"I'm seeing things, I guess," he said. "I thought for a minute there was +a hole there, and the sand was slipping. I'm getting as bad as Riley."</p> + +<p>The two went back through the gathering shadows to their waiting car. And +Smithy's involuntary shiver told Rawson that he was not the only one to +feel a sense of relief at the sound of the exhaust as their car took them +away from the dead bones of a dead city in a barren, trackless waste.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he shoulder of rock, where +the mountain road swung out, gave a comprehensive view of camp and desert +and the encircling mountains. Above in a vault of black was the dazzling +array of stars as the desert lands know them; so low they were, the +ragged, broken tops of the three ancient craters seemed touching the warm +velvet of the sky on which the stars were hung. Beyond their smooth slopes +a spreading glow gave promise of the rising moon.</p> + +<p>Rawson headed the car downgrade in readiness for a quick return; he ran it +close to the inner wall of rock out of which the road had been carved, +then seated himself on the outer rim without thought of the thousand-foot +sheer drop beneath his dangling legs. With a glass he was sweeping the +foreground where the scattered lights of the camp were like vagrant +reflections of the stars thrown back to them from the dead sea of sand.</p> + +<p>"Riley's on the job," he told Smithy when he passed over the glass later +on. "And I've got my pocket portable." He took the little radio receiver +from his pocket as he spoke. "Riley will signal me from my office if he +sees anything."</p> + +<p>The moon had cleared the mountains; its flood of light poured across their +rugged heights and filled the bowl of Tonah Basin as some master of a +great theatrical switchboard might have flooded a dark stage with magic +illumination, half concealing, transforming whatever things it touched.</p> + +<p>All the hard brilliance of sunlit sands was gone. The rolling dunes were +softly mellow; the more distant mountains were dream-peaks. Half real, +they seemed, and half imagined in a veil of haze. Even the buildings, the +scattered piles of material, the gaunt skeleton of the derrick—their +stark blackness of outline and clear-cut shadow were gone; the whole land +was drenched in the mystery and magic of a desert moon.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson and the man beside him were silent. Even a mind perplexed by +unanswerable problems must pause before the witchery of nature's softer +moods.</p> + +<p>"If Riley were here," said Smithy softly at last, "he wouldn't be seeing +any devils. Fairies, pixies, the 'little people'—he'd be seeing them +dancing."</p> + +<p>Rawson shot his companion a sidelong, appraising glance. He had never +penetrated before to this sub-stratum of Smithy's nature. He had never, in +fact, felt that he knew much about Smithy, whose past was still the one +topic that was never mentioned. He saw his thick mop of black hair and the +profile of his face as Smithy stared fixedly down toward the sleeping +camp. It was a matter of a minute or so before he knew that the head was +outlined against an aura of red light.</p> + +<p>Smithy was seated at his right. Off beyond him the three extinct craters +made a dark background where the moonlight had not yet reached to their +inner slopes. Smithy's head was directly in line with the largest crater's +irregularly broken top; and about it was the faintest tinge of red.</p> + +<p>For a moment the light flamed close; it seemed to be hovering about the +head of the silent, seated man. Then Rawson moved, looked past, and found +a true perspective for the phenomenon. One rugged cleft in the rim of the +crater's cup made a peephole for seeing within. It was plainly +red—the light came from inside the age-old throat.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="37" height="52" /></div> <p>t's alive!" Rawson whispered in quick consternation. Almost he expected +to see billowing clouds of smoke, the fearful pyrotechnics of volcanic +eruption.</p> + +<p>He sensed more than saw that Smithy had not turned his head. "Look!" he +was shouting by now. "Wake up, Smithy! Good Lord!"</p> + +<p>He stopped, open-mouthed. The red glow had meant volcanic fires; to have +it change abruptly to a green radiance was disconcerting.</p> + +<p>Green—pale green. Only through the gap, like a space where a tooth +was missing in the giant jaw, could Dean Rawson see the changed light. +Only from this one point could the view be had—there would be +nothing visible from the camp below. And as quickly as it had come all +thought of volcanic fires left him; he knew with quick certainty that this +was something that concerned him, that threatened, and that was linked up +with the other threatening, mysterious happenings of the recent nights and +days.</p> + +<p>Still Smithy had not turned. Rawson felt one quick flash of annoyance at +his helper's dullness—or indifference; then he knew that Smithy's +dark-haired head was reached forward, that he was bending at a precarious +angle to stare below him into the valley. Then:</p> + +<p>"They're there!" said Smithy in a hushed voice, as if someone or something +on that desert floor far below might hear and take alarm. "Look, Dean. +Where's your glass? What are they?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>is cautious whispering was unnecessary. Below them a thin line of light +pierced the darkness; another; then three more in quick succession before +the sharp crack of pistol fire came to the men a thousand feet above. +Rawson had snatched up his binoculars.</p> + +<p>"To the left," Smithy was directing. "Off there, by the big casting. Great +Scott! what's that light?"</p> + +<p>Rawson got it in the glass—a single flash of green that cut the +blackness with an almost audible hiss. It was gone in an instant while a +man's voice screamed once in fear and agony, one scream that broke like +brittle steel in the same instant that it began.</p> + +<p>Dean found the big casting in the circle of his glass. There were black +figures moving near it; they were indistinct. He changed the +focus—they were gone before he could get their images sharp.</p> + +<p>But the casting! Plainly he saw its great bulk that many men had worked to +ease down to the sand. It was outlined clearly now until its edge became a +blur, until the sand rolled in upon it, and its black mass became a circle +that shrank and shrank and vanished utterly at the last.</p> + +<p>"It's gone!" Rawson shouted. "It sank into the sand! I saw it...."</p> + +<p>He was running for the car. A clamor of voices was coming from below; the +sound died under the thunder of the car's exhaust as Rawson gave it the +gun and sent the big machine leaping toward the waiting curves.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h2><i>The Attack</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="44" height="50" /></div> <p>very light of the camp was on as Rawson and his assistant approached. A +shallow depression in the sand marked the place where the big casting had +been. Beyond it a hundred feet was a black swarm of men that parted as the +car drew near. They had been gathered about a figure upon the sand.</p> + +<p>Dean sensed something peculiar about that figure as the big car ploughed +to a stop. He leaped out and ran forward.</p> + +<p>He knew it was Riley there on the ground, knew it while still he was a +score of feet away. Only when he was close, however, did he realize that +the body ended in two stubs of legs; only when he leaned above him did he +know that the Irish foreman's big frame had been cut in two as if by a +knife.</p> + +<p>The severed legs lay a short distance beyond the body; they had fallen +side by side in horrible awkwardness, their stumps of flesh protruding +from charred clothing—and suddenly, shockingly, Rawson knew that the +flesh of body and legs had been seared. The knife had been hot—its +blade had been forged of flame!</p> + +<p>He heard Smithy cursing softly, unconsciously, at his side.</p> + +<p>"The green light," Smithy was saying in horrified understanding. "But who +did it? How did they do it? Where did they go?"</p> + +<p>"Quiet!" ordered Rawson sharply. He dropped to his knees beside the +mutilated body. Riley's eyes had opened in a sudden movement of +consciousness.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he voice that came from his lips was a ghastly whisper at first, but in +that stricken thing that had been the body of Riley, foreman of the night +drilling crew, some reservoir of strength must still have remained +untapped.</p> + +<p>He drew upon it now. His voice roared again as it had done so many times +before through the Tonah Basin camp. It reached to every listening ear +where crowding men stood hushed and motionless; and the overtone of terror +that altered its customary timber was apparent to all.</p> + +<p>"Devils!" said Riley. "Devils, straight out o' hell!... I saw 'em—I +saw 'em plain!... I shot—as if hot lead could harm the imps of +Satan....</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir,"—his eyes had found those of Dean Rawson who was leaning +above—"for the love of hivin, Mister Rawson, do ye be quittin' +drillin'. The place is damned. L'ave it, sir; go away...."</p> + +<p>His eyes closed. But he started up once more; he raised his head from the +sand with one final convulsive movement, and his voice was high and +shrill.</p> + +<p>"The fire! The fire of hell! He's turnin' it on me! God help...."</p> + +<p>But Riley, before his failing mind could recall again that torturing jet +of flame, must have slipped away into a darkness as softly enveloping as +the velvet shadow world behind the low-hung stars. Rawson's hand that felt +for a moment above the heart, confirmed the message of the closed eyes and +the head that fell inertly back.</p> + +<p>He came slowly to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Keep the floods on!" he ordered. "Take command of the armed guard, +Smithy; keep the whole camp patrolled."</p> + +<p>Then to the men:</p> + +<p>"Boys, Riley was wrong. He believed what he said, all right, but Smith and +I know better. Don't worry about devils. These're just some dirty, +skulking dogs who got away with murder this time but who won't do it +again. We know where they're hiding. I'm checking up on them right now. +After that you'll all get a chance to square accounts for poor old Riley!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_b1.jpg" alt="B" width="46" height="52" /></div> <p>ut the casting!" Smithy protested when he and Rawson were alone. "You +can't explain that disappearance so easy, Dean."</p> + +<p>"No, I can't explain that," Rawson's words came slowly. "They've got +something that we don't understand as yet—but I'm going to know the +answer, and I'm going to find out to-night!"</p> + +<p>He was seated behind the wheel of his old car.</p> + +<p>"I'm as good a desert man as there is in this crowd," he told Smith. "And +it's my fight, you know. I'm going alone. But there'll be no fighting this +trip; I'll just be scouting around."</p> + +<p>He leaned from the car to grip Smithy's shoulder with a hand firm and +steady.</p> + +<p>"You didn't see the crater when the show was on. You think that I'm crazy +to believe it, but up in that crater is where I'll find the answer to a +lot of questions. Lord knows what that answer will be. I've quit trying to +guess. I'm just going up there to find out."</p> + +<p>He was gone, the rear wheels of the car throwing a spray of sand as he +started heedless of Smithy's protests against the plan. Rawson was in no +mood to argue. He must climb the mountain while it was night; under the +sun he would never reach the top alive. He would go alone and unseen.</p> + +<p>He swung wide of the deserted town at the mountain's base. The spectral +walls of Little Rhyolite still showed their empty windows that stared like +dead eyes, and the man guided his car without lights along a hidden +stretch of hard, salt-crusted desert. He felt certain that other eyes were +watching.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e began his climb at a point five miles away. The slopes that seemed +smooth and hard from a distance became, at closer range, a place of +wind-heaped, sandy ash, carved and scoured into fantastic forms. But its +very roughness offered protection, and Rawson fought the dragging sand, +and the gray, choking ash that dried his throat and cut it like emery, +without fear of being observed.</p> + +<p>He fought against time, too. Above Little Rhyolite, whatever mysterious +men were making the ascent would find the going easy. There were windswept +areas, long fields of pumice; a man could make good time there. Rawson had +none of these to aid him. He cast anxious glances toward the eastern sky +as he struggled on, till he saw gray light change to rose and +gold—but he stood in the titanic cleft in the crater's rim as the +first straight rays of the sun struck across.</p> + +<p>The volcano's top had been stripped clean by the winds of countless years. +Rocks, black, brown, even blood-red, were naked to the pitiless glare of +the sun. Their colors were mingled in a weird fantasy of twisted lines +that told of the inferno of heat in which they had been formed.</p> + +<p>They towered high above the head of Dean Rawson as he stood, panting and +trembling with exhaustion. The cleft before him had become enormous: it +was a canyon, half filled with pumice and coarse ash.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson stood for long minutes +in quiet listening. At the canyon's end would lie the crater, and in that +crater he would find.... But there was no slightest picture in his mind of +what he might see. He knew only that he himself must remain unseen. He +went forward cautiously.</p> + +<p>Rocky walls; a floor of sand where his feet left no mark. He was watching +ahead and above him. His gun was ready in his hand; he did not propose to +be ambushed. He moved with never a sound.</p> + +<p>The silence persisted; no living thing other than himself lent any flicker +of motion to the scene. Not even a lizard could hope for existence amid +these dead and barren heights. He was alone—the certainty of it had +driven deeply into his mind before the canyon end was reached. And, desert +man though he was and accustomed to traveling the waste places of the +earth, Rawson learned a new meaning and depth of solitude.</p> + +<p>Here was no voiceless companionship of trees or brush or cactus; no +little living things scuttled across the rocks—he was alone, the +only speck of life in a place where life seemed forbidden.</p> + +<p>So sure of this was he that he stepped boldly from the canyon's end. He +knew before he looked that he would see only more of the same desolation. +And his mind was filled equally with anger and disappointment.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>omething was opposing him! Something had come into their camp—had +killed old Riley. And he, Rawson, had been so sure he would find traces +here that would allow him to give that opposing force a name....</p> + +<p>He stared out from the rocky cleft into a sun-blasted pit. Already the +rising sun was pouring its energy ever the jagged rim of bleak rocks and +down into the vast throat, choked and filled with ash.</p> + +<p>It sloped gently from all sides, the gray-brown powder that had been +coughed from within the earth. It made a floor where Rawson could have +walked with safety. But he did not go on.</p> + +<p>"Damn it!" he said with sudden savagery. "What a fool I was to think of +finding anyone here. Who would ever pick out a spot like this for a base +of operations?"</p> + +<p>He stared angrily at the floor of ash, at the black, outcropping masses of +tufa. He was angry with himself, angry and baffled and tired from his +climb. Far down in the vast, shallow pit blazing sunlight glinted from +massive blocks whose sides were mirror-smooth. A whirl of wind eddied +there for a moment and lifted the dust into a vertical gray +column—the only sign of motion in the whole desolate scene. Rawson +turned and tramped back toward the long hot descent to the floor of the +Basin.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e tried to maintain an air of confidence before the men. He kept them busy +placing and stacking materials; to all appearances the work would go on +despite the mysterious happenings of the night.</p> + +<p>Dean even prepared to resume drilling operations. He sent down another +bailer on the end of the ten-mile cable, but he left it there; he did not +care to raise it and risk more inexplicable results with the consequent +destruction of the men's morale.</p> + +<p>"Too late to do any more," he said to Smithy that afternoon. "We'll drop +all work—let the men get a good night's sleep. I'll take guard duty +to-night, and you can run the job to-morrow."</p> + +<p>There were men of the drilling crew standing near, though Rawson was +handling the hoisting drums himself. A ratchet release lever hooked its +end under a ring on Rawson's hand and pinched the flesh. Dean made this an +excuse for waiting a moment while the drillers walked away.</p> + +<p>"Ought not to wear it, I suppose," he said, and dabbed at a spot of blood +under the gold band. "But it's an old cameo—it belonged to my Dad."</p> + +<p>He was showing the ring to Smithy as the men passed from hearing.</p> + +<p>"Don't want to be seen talking," he explained tersely. "Mustn't let the +men know we are on edge—they're about ready to bolt. But you be +ready for a call. Have your men armed. I am looking for more trouble +to-night."</p> + +<p>The two were laughing loudly as they followed the men toward the building +where the cook was banging on an iron tire that served as a bell.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>ome three hours later Rawson was not smiling as he climbed the steel +ladder of the great derrick; he was grimly intent upon the job at hand.</p> + +<p>All thought of his drilling operations had gone from him. He was not +anxious about the project. This was merely an interruption; the work would +go on later. But right now there was an enemy to be met and a mystery to +be solved.</p> + +<p>A rifle slung from his shoulder bumped against him satisfyingly as he +climbed. A man was on duty at a master switch—he would flood the +camp with light at the rifle's first crack.</p> + +<p>Dean seated himself at the top of the derrick. The cylinder of a huge +floodlight was beside him. Beyond was the massive sheave block; the cables +ran dizzily down to the concrete drilling floor so far below. And on every +side the quiet camp spread out dark and silent in the night. Dean surveyed +it all with satisfaction. Nothing would get by him now.</p> + +<p>But his further reflections were not so satisfying.</p> + +<p>"Who did it? How? Where did they go?" He was echoing Smithy's questions +and finding no ready answers. And that flame-thrower that had cut down old +Riley—how was that worked? Its one green flash had been almost +instantaneous.</p> + +<p>He was puzzling over such futile questioning when he saw the first sign of +attack.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>t the foot of the derrick was the hoisting shed. Except for that, there +was clear sand for a radius of fifty feet around the derrick's base. Dean +was staring suspiciously at that open space almost directly underneath.</p> + +<p>Moving sand! He hardly knew what he had seen at first. Then the sand at +one point bulged upward unmistakably.</p> + +<p>For one instant Dean's thoughts shot off at a tangent. It was like the +work of a huge gopher—he had seen the little animals break through +like that. Then the sand parted, and something, indistinct, blurred, dark +against the yellow background, broke from cover.</p> + +<p>Rawson swung the rifle's muzzle over and down. Below him the vague shadow +had moved. Dean caught the blurred mass beyond his sights, then swung the +weapon aside. Who was it? He would have a look first.</p> + +<p>The thin crack of his rifle ripped the silence of the sleeping camp. Dean +had aimed to one side and he regretted it in the instant of firing. For, +in the same second, there had come from the moving shadow the gleam of +starlight reflected upward from polished metal.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean swung the rifle back. He fired quickly a second time. Beside him the +big light hissed into action and the whole camp sprang to sudden, blazing +light. And through the quick brilliance, more dazzling even than the white +glare itself, was one blinding line of green flame.</p> + +<p>Dean saw it as it began. It came from the dim shadow that had sprung +suddenly into sharp outline as the big lights came on. He saw the figure. +He sensed that it was a man, though he knew vaguely that the figure was +grotesque and hideous in some manner he had no time to discern.</p> + +<p>The thin line of green flame ripped straight out, swinging in a quick, +sweeping trajectory, slashing through the steelwork of the great derrick +itself!</p> + +<p>Dean knew he was lost in the blinding instant while that fiery jet was +sweeping in a fan-shaped sector of vivid green. A knife of flame! It had +destroyed a man: it was now cutting down a framework of steel as well!</p> + +<p>The derrick was falling as he fired again. There came a crushing jar +downward as the metal melted and failed, and the wild outward swing in the +beginning of the toppling fall. In the mind of Dean Rawson was but one +thought: the sights—and a something blurred beyond—a trigger +to be pressed.</p> + +<p>He was still firing when the shriek of torn steel went to thundering +silence, and even the lights of Tonah Basin Camp were swallowed up in the +whirling night....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h2><i>Into the Crater</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> <p>mithy's agonized face was above him when he came back to life. "God!" +Smithy was breathing. "I thought you were gone, Dean! I thought you were +dead!"</p> + +<p>As it had been with Riley, there was one thought uppermost in Rawson's +bewildered mind: "The fire!" he choked. "He's swinging it...."</p> + +<p>Then, after a time: "The derrick—it's falling! I went down with +it!... I hit—"</p> + +<p>"I'll say you did," said the relieved Smithy. "The derrick smashed across +the bunkhouse, snapped you off, sent you skidding down the side of a sand +dune. It darned near scoured the clothes off you at that."</p> + +<p>Slowly Rawson began to feel the return flow of life through his body; the +shock had jarred every nerve to insensibility. Slowly he remembered and +comprehended what had happened.</p> + +<p>He was in his little office; he recognized his surroundings now. The +windows were open. Outside the sun was shining. He realized at last the +utter silence of that outer world.</p> + +<p>He tried to raise himself from the cot, but fell back as his surroundings +began to spin. "The camp!" he gasped weakly. "The men—I don't hear +them."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" Smith told him, while his eyes narrowed at some recollection and +his hand came up unconsciously to a bruise of his cheek. "They beat +it—went last night after the derrick fell. I tried to stop them. The +fools were crazy with fear—devils, hell, all that kind of stuff. It +all wound up in a fight—I couldn't hold 'em.</p> + +<p>"You've got to get better kind of fast," he told Rawson. "We've got to get +out of here ourselves—that flame-throwing stuff is too strong for me +to take."</p> + +<p>Rawson suddenly remembered the vague figure that had directed that flame. +"Did I get him?" he demanded eagerly.</p> + +<p>"You got him, yes, but then a whole swarm of things boiled up out of +nowhere and carried him off! We weren't any of us close enough to see. The +men said they were devils; I'm not sure they were wrong, either. Dean, old +man, we're up against something rotten. We've got to get fixed for a +fight; we can't handle this by ourselves."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson was silent. He spoke slowly at last:</p> + +<p>"You mean we've got to quit—quit without knowing what we're up +against. Can you imagine what they'll say to me back in town? Scared out, +licked by something I've never even seen!"</p> + +<p>"Scared?" Smithy inquired. "You couldn't find a better word for it if you +hunted through the whole dictionary. Scared? Why, say, I'm so damn scared +I'm shaking yet, and the only thing that will cure me of it is to look at +those devils along the top of a machine gun! We'll go catch us some +equipment and a few service men—"</p> + +<p>"You're a good guy, Smithy," Rawson reached out and gripped one brown +hand. "And we'll do as you say; but first I've got to get a line on +things. I'm becoming as irrational as the men. I'm imagining all sort of +crazy things."</p> + +<p>"You don't have to imagine them." Smithy's voice was strained; it showed +the tension under which he was laboring. "Men or beasts—God knows +what they are!—but when they come up from nowhere—"</p> + +<p>"Out of the sand," Rawson explained.</p> + +<p>Smithy stared at him. "Out of the sand," he repeated. "Then, when they +cut a man in two, melt steel as if it were butter, pull a few tons of +metal down out of sight as easy as we would sink it in the ocean, flash +their lights over in the ghost town, up on top of a volcano—"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" shouted Rawson unexpectedly. Some sudden gleam of understanding +had flashed through his mind. He dragged himself to his feet and staggered +to the doorway where he clung until the nausea of a whirling world had +passed. "The dust! The dust!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>Smithy put a hand on his shoulder. Plainly he thought Rawson out of his +mind. "Easy, old-timer," he cautioned. "We'll get out of here. I hate to +make you walk in the shape you're in, but the dirty cowards ran off with +the trucks. They even took your car; there isn't a thing here on wheels."</p> + +<p>But Rawson did not hear. He was staring off across the sand, and he was +muttering bitter words.</p> + +<p>"Fool! Oh, you utter fool!" he said. "The dust—the dust." Then he +let the roughly tender hands of Smithy guide him back to the cot where he +fell into a troubled sleep.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he comparative coolness of dusk was tempering the feverish midday heat +when Rawson awoke. And, strangely, his troubles and all his conflicting +plans had been simplified by the magic of sleep. His course was entirely +plain. He was going to the crater again.</p> + +<p>"What's there?" Smithy demanded. "What do you think that you'll find?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"Then why—what the devil's the idea?"</p> + +<p>"It's my job. They put it up to me, Erickson and his crowd. I've got to +go."</p> + +<p>And nothing Smithy could say seemed able to reach Rawson and swerve him +from his single idea.</p> + +<p>"You'll be safe on the road," Rawson told him, while he filled a canteen +with water in preparation for his own trip. "You can get to the highway by +morning."</p> + +<p>Smithy did not trouble to reply. Was Rawson out of his mind? He could not +be sure. Certainly he had got an awful bump, but there were no bones +broken. However, it might be that he was still dazed—a crack on the +head might have done it.</p> + +<p>But there was no use in further argument, he admitted to himself. Dean was +going to the crater again—there was no stopping him—but he was +not going alone; Smithy could see to that.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>gain Rawson took the more difficult ascent. They went first to the ghost +town: the slope above Little Rhyolite would save weary miles. But, once +there, they knew that the route was not a place where they would care to +be in the night. The realization came when Smithy, walking where they had +been the day before, passing the sand dune where the wind had been +scouring, seized Rawson's arm.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," he said softly. "I thought I saw something there the other +day, but the sand fell in and hid it. I didn't know the old-timers went in +for subways in Little Rhyolite."</p> + +<p>And Rawson looked as did Smithy, in wondering amazement, at the roughly +round opening in the sand, a tunnel mouth, driven through the shifting +sands—a tunnel, if Rawson was any judge, lined with brown glistening +glass.</p> + +<p>Understanding came quickly.</p> + +<p>"The jet of flame!" he exclaimed half under his breath. "They melted their +way through; the sand turned to glass; they held it some way for an +instant while it hardened." He walked cautiously toward the dark entrance +and peered inside.</p> + +<p>Darkness but for the nearer glinting reflections from walls that had once +been molten and dripping. The tunnel dipped down at a slight angle, then +straightened off horizontally. Rawson could have stood upright in it with +easily another two feet of headroom to spare.</p> + +<p>"And that," said Smithy, "is how the dirty rats got over to the camp. Like +moles in their runway. No wonder they could pop up from nowhere. But, +Dean, old man, I'm thinkin' we're up against something we haven't dared +speak of to each other. Don't tell me that it's just men we've got to +meet—"</p> + +<p>"Wait," Rawson begged in a hushed whisper. "Wait till we know. That's why +I didn't dare go out without something definite to report. We'll go +up—but not here. We'll get a line on this up top."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e led the way from the crumbling walls and skirted the mountain's base to +the place where he had climbed before. And, with the help of a supporting +arm at times, he found himself again in the great cleft in the rocks.</p> + +<p>Darkness now made the passageway a place of somber shadows. The broad +cupped crater lay beyond in silent waiting; the vast sand-filled pit +seemed, under the starlight, to have been only that instant cooled. The +twisted rocks that formed the rim had been caught in the very instant of +their tortures and frozen to deep silence and eternal death: the black +masses of tufa, protruding from the packed ashy sand might have been +buried by the smothering mass but a moment before. It was a place of +death, a place where nothing moved—until again the breeze that +whirled gustily over the saw-tooth crags snatched at the sand in that +lowest pit and drew it up in a spiral of dust.</p> + +<p>The word was on Rawson's lips. "Dust—dust in the crater. Fool! I +said I could read sign; I thought I was a desert man."</p> + +<p>"Dust? And why shouldn't there be dust? How do you usually have your +volcanoes arranged, old man?"</p> + +<p>"Fine dust!" Rawson interrupted in the same whisper. He was glancing +sharply about him as if in fear of being overheard. "See, the wind is +blowing it. Coarse sand and pumice—that's to be expected; but light +dust in a place that the winds have been sweeping for the last million +years! I don't have them arranged that way, Smithy—not unless the +sand has been recently disturbed!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e moved soundlessly across the sand. There was no chance for concealment; +the surface was too smooth for that. Yet he wished, as he moved onward +down the long, gentle slope, that he had been able to keep under cover. In +all the wide bowl of the great crater top was nothing but dead ashes of +fires gone long centuries before, coarse, igneous rock—nothing to +set the little nerves of one's spine to tingling. Rawson tried to tell +himself he was alone. Even the gun in his hand seemed an absurd +precaution. Yet he knew, with a certainty that went beyond mere seeing, +that invisible eyes were upon him.</p> + +<p>The blocks were massive when he drew near to them. They were buried in the +sand, their sides like mirrors, their edges true and straight. "Crystals," +Rawson tried to tell himself, but he knew they were not.</p> + +<p>Gun in hand, he moved among the great rocks. Open sand lay beyond, running +off at a steeper pitch to make a throat—a smaller pit in the great +pit of the crater itself. Rawson noted it, then forgot it as he stooped +for something that lay half hidden, its protruding end shining under the +light of the stars, as he had seen it gleam before at the derrick's base.</p> + +<p>He snatched up the metal tube, noting the lava tip, and that it was like +the one Smithy had found in the ghost town. The tube, clearly, was part of +some other mechanism, and Rawson realized with startling suddenness that +he was holding in his hand the jet of a flame-thrower—the same one, +perhaps, that had almost sent him to his death.</p> + +<p>The thought, while he was still thinking it, was blotted from his mind. He +was thrown suddenly to the sandy earth; the sand was slipping swiftly from +beneath his feet; he was scrambling on all fours, clawing wildly for some +anchorage that would keep him from being swept away.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e touched a corner of shining stone, drew himself to it, reached its +slanting side, then scrambled frenziedly to the top and threw himself +about to face the place of slipping sands. But where the sand had been, +his wildly glaring eyes found only a black hole—a vertical bore, +like the ancient throat of the volcano; and this, like the tunnel in the +sand, was lined with smooth and glistening glass.</p> + +<p>It was black at first, a yawning, ominous maw, till the polished sides +caught a reflection from below and blazed red with the glare of hidden +fires.</p> + +<p>No time was needed for Dean's quick searching eyes to grasp the meaning of +the change. Whatever had menaced the camp had set this trap. He swung +sharply to leap from the block, but stopped at the sight of Smith's chunky +figure coming slowly across the sand.</p> + +<p>"Back!" he shouted. His voice was almost a scream, shrill and crackling +with excitement. "Get back, Smithy! I'm coming!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e would have leaped. Below the block the sand bulged upward as a yellow +animal-thing came clawing up into the night. Dimly he saw it—saw +this one and the others that must have been hidden in the sand. They were +between him and Smithy! A blaze of red came from behind him—there +must be others there! He snatched his gun from its holster as he turned.</p> + +<p>Flames were hissing into the darkness, five or six of them in lines of hot +crimson fire. They changed to green as he watched, and the livid light +spread out in ghastly illumination over the creatures that directed them.</p> + +<p>He saw them now—saw them in one age-long instant while he stood in +horror on the black shining rock. He saw their heads, red-skinned, +pointed, their staring eyes as large as saucers—owl-eyes. They were +naked, and their bodies, that would have been almost crimson in the light +of day, were blotched and ghastly in the green light. And each one held in +long clawlike hands a thing of shining metal—a lava tip like the one +he had found projected and ended in the hissing line of green.</p> + +<p>A flame slashed downward. For one sickening second he waited to feel the +heat of it, though it was many feet away; in his mind he cringed +involuntarily from the ripping knife-cut of the fiery blade that would +blast the life from him; then he knew that the flame had passed—it +was tearing at the rock beneath his feet. And the cold stone turned to +liquid fire at that touch.</p> + +<p>It leaped in a splashing fountain to the sand. The blaze turned the whole +pit to flame. On even the farthest rugged crag of the crater's rim the red +light glowed. Before Rawson could raise his own weapon the blast had torn +the rock from beneath his feet. The great mass tipped, rolled. Rawson's +arms were flung wide in an effort to save himself. Then below him was the +black throat with its walls of glass: he was plunging headlong into it, +turning as he fell—and somewhere, far down in that throat, was the +red glow of waiting fires. He saw it again and again as he fell....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h2><i>The Ring</i></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="600" height="525" alt="One of them pointed at the shaft Rawson had drilled." /> +<span class="caption">One of them pointed at the shaft Rawson had drilled.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_s1.jpg" alt="S" width="45" height="57" /></div> +<p>mithy," Rawson had called him when he found the youngster fighting gamely +with death in the heat of Tonah Basin. And Gordon Smith was the name on +the company records. Yet he remained always "Smithy" to Rawson, and the +name, which Rawson never ceased to believe was assumed, became a mark of +the affection which can spring up between man and man.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Town after town is fired by the emerging Red Ones as Rawson +lies helpless, a prisoner, far down in their home within the earth.</div> + +<p>And now Smithy stood like a rigid carven statue in the midst of a barren +sandy waste in the vast cup of a towering volcano top—sand that was +in reality coarse pumice and ash. This was a place of death, a place where +raging fires had left nothing for plant or animal life. And, over all, the +desert stars shone down coldly and added to the desolation with their own +pale light.</p> + +<p>Smithy had seen Rawson pull himself to the top of the great square-edged +rock. Sensing that danger of some sort was threatening, he had started to +run to the aid of the struggling man. Then came Rawson's cry.</p> + +<p>"Back!" he shouted. "Get back, Smithy! I'm coming—"</p> + +<p>But he did not come; and Smithy, halted by the command, was frozen to +sudden, panic-stricken immobility by that which followed.</p> + +<p>He saw the leaping things, like grotesque yellow giants. They came from +the sand; then red ones leaped up from the open throat that had suddenly +formed. They held flame throwers, the red ones; and the green lines of +fire melted the rock from beneath Rawson's feet. All in the one second's +time, it was done, and Rawson's body, his arms wide flung, was hurtling +downward into the waiting throat and the threatening red glow from within. +Then the carriers of the flame throwers vanished again into the pit, and +there was left only a huddle of giant figures that tore at the loose sand +and ash with their hands.</p> + +<p>They threw the material in a continuous stream; the air was full of +cascading sand. To Smithy they were suddenly inhuman—they were +almost animals; men like moles. And they and their companions had captured +Dean Rawson—sent him to his death. Slowly the watching man raised +himself from the crouched position that had kept him hidden.</p> + +<p>They were through with their work, these great yellow-skinned naked +men—or mole-men. Six of them—Smithy counted them slowly before +he took aim—and two were armed with flame-throwers.</p> + +<p>Smithy rested his arm across the little hummock of gritty ash that had +sheltered him and sent six flashes of flame through the night toward the +cluster of bodies.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e made no attempt to aim at each individual—the shapes were too +shadowy for that. And he had no knowledge of what other weapons they might +have. One thing was sure: he must take no chances on facing the red ones +single-handed. He rammed his empty pistol back into its holster as he +turned and ran—ran with every ounce of energy he possessed to drive +his flying feet across the crater floor, out through the cleft in the +rocks and down the steep mountainside.</p> + +<p>He was stunned by the suddenness of the catastrophe that had overtaken +them. The horror of Dean Rawson's going; the fearful reality of those +"devils from hell" that old Riley had seen—it was all too +staggering, too numbing, for easy acceptance. Time was required for the +truth to sink in; and through the balance of the night Smithy had plenty +of time to think.</p> + +<p>He dared not go back to the camp where ripping flashes of green light told +him the enemy was at work. And then, even had it been possible to creep up +on them in the darkness, that one chance vanished as the desert about the +camp sprang into view. One after another the buildings burst into flame, +and Smithy was thankful for the concealment of the vast, empty desert.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he embers were still glowing when he dared go near. This enemy, it seemed, +worked only at night, and Smithy waited only for the sun to show above +distant purple ranges. It had been their enemy once, that fiercely hot +sun; they had fought against the heat—but never had the sun wrought +such destruction as this.</p> + +<p>Smithy looked from haggard, hopeless eyes upon the wreckage of Rawson's +camp. For the men who had worked there, this had meant only a job; to +Smithy it had been a fight against the desert which had defeated him once. +But to Rawson it meant the fruit of years of effort, the goal of his +dreams brought almost within his reach.</p> + +<p>Smithy looked at the smoldering heaps of gray where an idle wind puffed +playfully at fluffy ash or fanned a bed of coals to flame. Twisted steel +of the wrecked derrick was still further distorted; the enemy had ripped +it to pieces with his stabbing flames. Even the unused materials, the +steel and cement that had been neatly stacked for future use—the +flames had been turned on it all.</p> + +<p>And Smithy, though his voice broke almost boyishly from his repressed +emotion, spoke aloud in solemn promise:</p> + +<p>"It's too late to help you, Dean. I'll go back to town, report to the men +who were back of you, and then.... They're going to pay, Dean! +Whoever—whatever—they are, they're going to pay!"</p> + +<p>He turned away toward the mountains and the ribbon of road that wound off +toward the canyon. Then, at some recollection, he swung back.</p> + +<p>"The cable's still down—he would have wanted it left all shipshape," +he whispered.</p> + +<p>Where the derrick had stood was the mouth of the twenty-inch casing. The +cable that ran from it was entangled with the wreckage of the derrick, but +it had not been cut. Smithy set doggedly to work.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p> little gin-pole and light tackle allowed him to erect a heavier +tripod of steel beams; it hoisted the big sheave block into place, and +gave Smithy's two hands the strength of twenty to rig a temporary hoist. +The juice was still on the main feed line, and the hoisting motors hummed +at his touch. The ten miles of cable wound slowly onto the drums.</p> + +<p>"It's nonsense, I suppose," he told himself silently. But something drove +him to do this last thing—to leave it all as Rawson would have had +it.</p> + +<p>The long bailer came out at last; there was just room to hoist it clear +and let it drop back upon the drilling floor. A glint of gold flashed in +the sunlight as Smithy let the long metal tube down, and he broke into +voluble cursing at sight of the bit of metal that was caught near the +bailer's top.</p> + +<p>The gold had started it all! That first finding of the gold on the big +drill had begun it.... He crossed swiftly to the gleaming thing that +seemed somehow to symbolize his loss.</p> + +<p>He stooped to reach for it, intending to throw it as far as he could. +Instead he stood in an awkward stooping attitude—stood so while the +long uncounted minutes passed....</p> + +<p>His eyes that stared and stared in disbelief seemed suddenly to have +turned traitor. They were telling him that they saw a ring—a +cameo—jammed solidly into the shackle at the bailer's end. And that +ring, when last he had seen it, had been on Dean Rawson's hand! Dean had +caught it; he had hooked it over a lever in this very place—and now, +from ten miles down inside the solid earth, it had returned. It +meant—it meant....</p> + +<p>But the stocky, broad-shouldered youngster known as Smithy dared not think +what it meant. Nor had he time to follow the thought; he was too busily +engaged in running at suicidal speed across the hot sand toward barren +mountains where a ribbon of road showed through quivering air.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h2><i>The Darkness</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div> +<p>arkness; and red fires that seemed whirling about him as his body twisted +in air. To Dean Rawson, plunging down into the volcano's maw, each second +was an eternity, for, in each single instant, he was expecting crashing +death.</p> + +<p>Then he knew that long arms were wrapped about him, holding him, +supporting him, checking his downward plunge ... and at last the glassy +walls, where each bulbous irregularity shone red with reflected light, +moved slowly past. And, after more eons of time, a rocky floor rose slowly +to meet him.</p> + +<p>His body crashed gently; he was sprawled face downward on stone that was +smooth and cold. The restraining arms no longer touched him.</p> + +<p>He lay motionless for some time, his mind as stunned and uncomprehending +as if he had truly crashed to death upon that rocky floor. Then, at last, +he forced his reluctant nerves and muscles to turn his body till he lay +face upward.</p> + +<p>Darkness wrapped him as if it were the soft swathing of some black cocoon. +The world about him was at first a place of utter night-time blackness; +and then, far above him, there shone a single star ... until that feeble +candle-gleam, too, was snuffed out.</p> + +<p>A hand was gripping his shoulder; it seemed urging him to arise. He felt +each separate finger—long, slender, like bands of steel. The nail at +each finger-end was more nearly a claw, the whole hand a thin, clutching +thing like the foot of some giant ape. And, even as he shrank +involuntarily from that touch, Rawson wondered how the creature could +reach out and grip him so surely in the dark. But he came to his feet in +response to that urging hand.</p> + +<p>The night was suddenly sibilant with eery, whistling voices. They came +from all sides at once; they threw themselves back and forth in endless +echoes. To Rawson it was only a confused medley of conflicting sounds in +which no one voice was clear. But the creature that held him must have +understood, for he heard him reply in a sharp, piercing tone, half +whistle, half shriek.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="65" height="50" /></div><p>hat had happened? Where was he? What was this thing that pushed him, +stumbling, along through the dark? With all his tumultuous questioning he +knew only one thing definitely: that it would be of no use to struggle. He +was as helpless as any trapped animal.</p> + +<p>He was inside the earth, of course; he had fallen he had no least idea how +far; and, in some strange manner, this long-armed thing had supported him +and eased him gently down. But what it meant or what lay ahead were +matters too obscure for him to try to see clearly.</p> + +<p>He held his hands protectingly before him while the talons gripping into +his shoulder hurried him along. He stumbled awkwardly as his foot struck +an obstruction. He would have fallen but for the grip that held him erect.</p> + +<p>For that creature, whatever it was, the darkness held no uncertainty. He +moved swiftly. His shrill shriek and the jerk of his arm both gave +evidence of his astonishment that his captive should walk so blunderingly.</p> + +<p>Then it seemed that he must have comprehended Rawson's blindness. A green +line of light passed close behind Dean's head. It was cold—there was +no radiant warmth—but, when it struck the face of a wall of stone +some twenty feet away, the solid rock turned instantly to a mass of +glowing yellow-red.</p> + +<p>The cold green ray swung back and forth, leaving a path of radiant rock +behind it wherever it touched. And the rock was hot! Once the green light +held more than an instant in one place, and the rock softened at its +touch, then splashed and trickled down to make a fiery pool.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>bruptly Rawson was able to see his surroundings. Also, he knew the source +of the red glow that had seemed like volcanic fires. There had been others +like his captor; they had been down below, and had played their flames +upon the rocks deep in the volcano. It was thus that they made light.</p> + +<p>With equal suddenness, and with terrible clearness, Dean found the answer +to one of his questions. He wrenched himself about to stare behind him at +the creature that held him in its grip. And, for the first time, the wild +experience became something more than an unbelievable nightmare; in that +one horrifying instant he knew it was true.</p> + +<p>Only a few minutes before, he had been walking across the cindery sand of +the crater top, walking under the stars and the dark desert sky—Dean +Rawson, mining engineer, in a sane, believable world. And now...!</p> + +<p>He squinted his eyes in the dim light to see more plainly the beastly +figure, more horrible for being so nearly human. He had seen them briefly +up above; the closer view of this one specimen of a strange race was no +more pleasing. For now he saw clearly the cruelty in the face. It was +there unmistakably, even though the face itself, under less threatening +circumstances, might have been a ludicrous caricature of a man's.</p> + +<p>Red and nearly naked, the creature stood upright, straps of metal about +its body. It was about Rawson's height; its round, staring eyes were about +level with his own, and each eye was centered in a circular disk of +whitish skin. The light went dim for a moment, and Dean, staring in his +turn, saw those other huge eyes enlarge, the white covering of each +drawing back like an expanding iris.</p> + +<p>Some vague understanding came to him of the beast's ability to see in the +dark. They used these red-hot stones for illumination, but this thing had +seemed to see clearly even when the stones had ceased to glow. And again, +though indistinctly, Dean knew that those eyes might be sensitive to +infra-red radiations—they might see plainly by the dark light that +continued to flood these rocky chambers, though, to him, the rocks had +gone lightless and black.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="44" height="50" /></div><p>ven as the quick thoughts flashed through his mind, he was thinking other +thoughts, recording other observations.</p> + +<p>The rest of the face was red like the body; the head was sharply pointed, +and crowned with a mass of thin, clinging locks of hair. The mouth, a +round, lipless orifice, contracted or dilated at will; from it came +whistling words.</p> + +<p>Out of the darkness, giant things were leaping. They clutched at Rawson, +while the first captor released his hold and drew back. Taller, these +newcomers were, bigger, and different.</p> + +<p>In the red light from the hot rocks Dean saw their faces, in which were +owl eyes like those of the first one, but yellow, expressionless and +stupid. Their great bodies were yellow: their outstretched hands were +webbed.</p> + +<p>For one instant, as Rawson's hand touched his pistol in its holster, a +surge of fighting rage swept through him. His whole being was in a spasm +of revolt against all this series of happenings that had trapped him; he +wanted to lash out regardless of consequences. Then cooler judgment came +to his aid.</p> + +<p>Other figures, with faces red and ugly, expressive of nameless evil, were +gathered beside the one who still played the jet of cold fire upon the +walls. Like him they were naked save for a cloth at the waist and the +metal straps encircling their bodies. They, too, had +flame-throwers—he saw the long metal jets and their lava tips. Yet +the temptation to fire into that group as fast as he could pull trigger +was strong upon him.</p> + +<p>Instead he allowed these other giant things to grip him with their webbed +hands and lead him away.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he wavering light had shown many passages through the rock. Glazed, all of +them. Either they had been blown through molten rock which had then +solidified to give the glassy surfaces, or else—and this seemed more +likely—the flame-throwers had done it. Rawson, scanning the +labyrinth for some recognizable strata, had a quick vision of these +caverns being cut out and enlarged, and of their walls melted just as they +were being melted now—melted and hardened again innumerable times by +succeeding generations of red and yellow-skinned men.</p> + +<p>Yes, they were men. He admitted this while he walked unresistingly between +two of the giants. Another went before them and lighted the way with the +green ray of a flame-thrower on the melting rock. These were men—men +of a different sort. Evolution, working strange changes underground, had +made them half beasts, diggers in the dark, mole-men!</p> + +<p>They were passing through a long tunnel that went steadily down. Cross +passages loomed blackly; ahead of them the leader was throwing his flame +upon the walls of a great vault.</p> + +<p>Rawson had ceased to take note of their movements. What use to remember? +He could never escape, never retrace his steps.</p> + +<p>He tried to whip up a faint flicker of hope at thought of Smithy. Smithy +had seen him go, had seen the red mole-men, of course. And he had got +away—he must have got away! He would go for help....</p> + +<p>But, at that, he groaned inwardly. Smithy would go for help, and then +what? He would be laughed out of any sheriff's office; he would be locked +up as insane if he persisted. Why should he persist—for that matter, +why should he go at all? Smithy would not believe for a single minute that +Rawson was still alive.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>is thoughts ended. Webbed hands, wrapped tightly about his arms, were +thrusting him forward into a great room. The green flame had been snapped +off. One last hot circle on the high wall showed only a dull red. But +before it faded, Dean saw dimly the outlines of a tremendous cavern. He +saw also that these walls were unglazed, raw; they had never been melted.</p> + +<p>Below the rough and shattered sides heaps of fragments were piled about +the room.</p> + +<p>Fleetingly he saw the shadowed details; then darkness swallowed even that +little he had seen. Clanging metal told of a closing door; a line of red +outlined it for an instant to show where it was welded fast. He was a +prisoner in a cell whose walls were the living rock.</p> + +<p>For a long time he stood motionless, while the heavy darkness pressed +heavily in upon his swimming senses; he sank slowly to the floor at last. +He was numbed, and his mind was as blank as the black nothingness that +spread before his staring eyes. In a condition almost of coma, he had no +measure or count of the hours that passed.</p> + +<p>Then a fever of impatience possessed him; his thoughts, springing suddenly +to life, were too wildly improbable for any sane mind, were driving him +mad. He forced himself to move cautiously.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>n the floor he had seen burnished gold, shining dully as he entered. +There had been a thick vein of yellow in the rock. The floor, at that +place, was rough beneath his feet, as if the hot metal had been spilled.</p> + +<p>His hands groped before him as he remembered the heaps of rock fragments. +Then his feet found one of them stumblingly, and he turned and moved to +one side. He remembered having seen a dim shape off there that had made a +straight slanting line. His searching hands encountered the object and +kept him from walking into it.</p> + +<p>The feeling of helplessness that drove him was only being increased by his +blind and blundering movements. He told himself that he must wait.</p> + +<p>Silently he stood where he had come to a stop, hands resting on the object +that barred his way—until suddenly, stiflingly, his breath caught in +his throat. Some emotion, almost too great to be borne, was suffocating +him.</p> + +<p>Slowly he moved his hands. Inch by inch he felt his way around the smooth +cylinder, so hard, so coldly metallic. Then, with a rush, he let his hands +follow up the slanting thing, up to a rounded top, to a heavy ring and a +shackle that was on the end of a cable, thin and taut. And, while his +hands explored it feverishly, the metal moved!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e clung to the smooth roundness as it slipped through his hands. It was +the bailer, part of his own equipment. That slender cable reached up, +straight up to the world he knew. And Smithy was there—Smithy was +hoisting it!</p> + +<p>He clung to the cylinder desperately. The bore, at this depth, had been +reduced to eight inches; the bailer fitted it loosely. And Rawson cursed +frantically the narrow space that would let this inanimate object return +but would hold him back, while he wrapped his arms about the cold surface +of the metal messenger from another world.</p> + +<p>It lifted clear, then settled back. This time it dropped noisily to the +floor. And suddenly Dean was tearing at the ring on one of the swollen +fingers of his left hand.</p> + +<p>It came free at last; it was in his hand as the cable tightened again. +Swiftly, surely, he worked in the darkness to jam the ring through the +shackle at the bailer's top. Then the bailer lifted, clanged loudly as it +entered the shattered bore in the rocks above, and scraped noisily at the +sides. The sound rose to a rasping shriek that went fainter and still +fainter till it dwindled into silence.</p> + +<p>But Dean Rawson, standing motionless in the darkness of that buried vault, +dared once more to let himself think and <i>feel</i> as he stared blindly +upward.</p> + +<p>Up there Smithy was waiting. Smithy would know. And with Smithy fighting +from the outside and he, Rawson, putting up a scrap below.... He smiled +almost happily as his hand rested upon his gun.</p> + +<p>Hopeless? Of course it was hopeless. No use of really kidding +himself—he didn't have the chance of a pink-eyed rabbit.</p> + +<p>But he was still smiling toward that dark roof overhead as the outlines of +a metal door grew cherry red. They were coming for him! He was ready to +meet whatever lay ahead....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h2><i>A Subterranean World</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> +<p>he metal plate that had sealed him in this tomb fell open with a crash. +Beyond it the passageway was alive with crowding red figures. Above their +heads the nozzles of a score of flame-throwers spat jets of green fire. +Rawson drew back in sudden uncontrollable horror as they came crowding +into the room.</p> + +<p>The familiar feel of the bailer's cold metal had given him a momentary +sense of oneness with his own world. Now this inrush of hideous, demoniac +figures beneath the flare of green flames was like a fevered vision of the +infernal regions come suddenly to actuality.</p> + +<p>Rawson retreated to the shattered, rocky wall and prepared for one last +fight, until he realized that the evil black eyes in their ghastly circles +of white skin were fixed upon him more in curiosity than in active hatred.</p> + +<p>They formed a semicircle about him—a wall of red bodies, whose +pointed heads were craned forward, while an excited chatter in their +broken, whistling speech filled the room with shrill clamor. Then one of +them pointed above toward the open shaft that Rawson had drilled, the +shaft up which the bailer had gone. And again their voices rose in weird +discord, while their long arms waved, and red, lean-fingered hands +pointed.</p> + +<p>Only a moment of this, then one of them gave an order. Two of the red +figures came toward Rawson where he was waiting. They were unarmed. They +motioned that he was to go with them. And Dean, with a helpless shrug of +his shoulders, allowed them, one on each side, to take him by the arms and +hurry him through the open door. Two others went ahead, the green jets of +flame from their weapons lighting the passage.</p> + +<p>The system of communicating tunnels seemed at first only the vents and +blow-holes from some previous volcanic activity. And yet, at times they +gave place to more regular arrangement that plainly was artificial. The +air in them was pure, though odorous with a pungent tang which Dean could +not identify. Through some of the passages it blew gently with +uncomfortable warmth.</p> + +<p>The guard of wild red figures hurried him along through a vast world of +caverns and winding passages which seemed one great mine. The richness of +it was amazing. Dean Rawson was a man, a human being, facing death in some +form which he could not yet know, and, so fast had his wild experiences +crowded in upon him, he seemed numbed to all normal emotions; yet through +it all the mind of the engineer was at work, and Dean's eyes were flashing +from side to side, trying to see and understand the ever-changing panorama +of a subterranean world.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div><p>ole-men, both red and yellow, were everywhere. But it was apparent at a +glance that the yellow giants were a race of toilers—slaves, driven +by the reds.</p> + +<p>Their great bodies glowed orange-colored with the reflected heat of the +blasts of flame used to melt the metals from their ores. Gold and silver, +other metals that Rawson could not distinguish in the half light—the +glow of the molten stuff came from every distant cave that the passages +opened up.</p> + +<p>The sheer marvel of it overwhelmed him. His own danger, even the death +that waited for him, were forgotten.</p> + +<p>A world within a world—and who knew how far it extended? Mole-men, +by scores and hundreds, the denizens of a great subterranean world, of +which his own world had been in ignorance. Here was civilization of a +sort, and now the barriers that had separated this world from the world +above had been broken down; the two were united. Suddenly there came to +Rawson's mind a flashing comprehension of a menace wild and terrible that +had come with the breaking of those barriers.</p> + +<p>They were passing through a wider hall when the whistling chatter of +Dean's escort ceased. They were looking to one side where a cloud of smoke +had rolled from a slope beyond. One of the red figures staggered, choking, +from the cloud. Two yellow mole-men followed closely after.</p> + +<p>The red mole-man was unarmed; each yellow one had a flame-thrower that was +now so familiar a sight to Dean. His own escort was silent; they had +halted, watching those others expectantly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div><p>n the silence of that rocky room the single red one whistled an order. One +of the two yellow men placed his weapon on the floor. Another shrill order +followed, and the remaining worker, without a moment's hesitation, turned +the green blast of his own projector upon his comrade.</p> + +<p>It was done in a second—a second in which the giant's shriek ended +in a flash of flame for which his own flesh was the fuel. A wisp of +drifting smoke, and that was all. And the red creatures who had Rawson in +their charge, after a moment of silence, filled the room with +shrill-voiced pandemonium, while they shrieked their approval of the +spectacle.</p> + +<p>But Dean Rawson's lips were forming half-whispered words, so intently was +he thinking the thoughts. "The damned red beast! That poor devil's flame +hit some sulphur, I suppose—burned it to SO_2—then he got +his!"</p> + +<p>But, even while he searched his mind for words to describe the evil of +this red race, he was realizing another fact. These yellow giants, +countless thousands of them, perhaps, were held in subjection by their red +masters. They would do as they were told. Dimly, vaguely, through his +horrified mind, came the picture of a horde of red and yellow beasts +turned loose upon the world above.</p> + +<p>There were fears now which filled Dean Rawson, shook him with horrors as +yet only half comprehended. But the fears were not for himself, one +solitary man in the grip of these red beasts—he was fearing for all +mankind.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>is guard was hurrying him on, but now Dean hardly saw the scenes of +feverish activity through which they passed. Another thought had come to +him.</p> + +<p>That shaft, the hole which he himself had drilled—what damage had it +done? It was he who had broken down the barriers. His drill had told these +beasts that there was other life above. It had guided them. They had +realized that they were near to some other place where men worked and +drove tunnels through the rocks. They had followed up these forgotten +passages that led to the old craters, had ascended inside the volcano, +made their way through the top and emerged into another world—a +clean and sunlit world.</p> + +<p>Now Rawson's eyes found with new understanding the activity about him.</p> + +<p>The mining operations had been left behind. Here were branching passages, +great cavelike rooms—a world within a world, in all truth. +Throughout it, demoniac figures were hurrying, driving thousands of giant +yellow slaves where the light shone sparkling from innumerable heaps of +metal weapons—flame-throwers and others, the nature of which Rawson +could not determine. And everywhere was the shouting and hurry as of a +nation in the throes of war.</p> + +<p>His speculations ended abruptly. They were approaching a room, a vast open +place. High on the farther wall was a recess in the rock in which tongues +of flame licked hungrily upward. The heat of the fires struck down in a +ceaseless hot blast. Close to the fires, unmindful of the heat, a barbaric +figure assumed grotesque and horrible postures, while its voice rose in +echoing shrillness.</p> + +<p>Below were crowding red ones who prostrated themselves on the rocky floor.</p> + + +<p>"Fire worshipers!" The explanatory thought flashed through Dean Rawson's +mind. "Here was one of their holy places, a place of sacrifice, perhaps, +and he was being taken there, helpless, a captive!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h2><i>Plumb Loco</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> <p>he sheriff of Cocos County was reacting exactly as Rawson had +anticipated. Smithy stood before him, a disheveled Smithy, grimy of face +and hands. He had made his way to the highway and caught a ride to the +nearest town, and now that he had found Jack Downer, sheriff, that +gentleman leaned back in his old chair behind the battered desk and +regarded the younger man with amused tolerance.</p> + +<p>"Now, that's right interesting, what you say," he admitted. "Tonah Basin, +and the old crater, and red devils settin' fire to everything. I've heard +some wild ones since this Prohibition went into effect and some of the +boys started makin' their own, but yours sure beats 'em all. Guess likely +I'll have to take a run up Tonah way and see what kind of cactus liquor +they're makin'."</p> + +<p>"Meaning I'm drunk or a liar." Smithy's voice was hot with sudden anger, +but the sheriff regarded him imperturbably.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd let you off on one count, son. You do look sort of sober."</p> + +<p>Smithy disregarded the plain implication and fought down the anger that +possessed him.</p> + +<p>"May I use your phone, Mr. Downer?" he asked.</p> + +<p>He called the office of Erickson and his associates in Los Angeles and +told, as well as he could for the constant interruptions from his +listener, the story of what had occurred. And Mr. Erickson at the other +end of the line, although he used different words, gave somewhat the same +reply as had the sheriff.</p> + +<p>"I refuse to listen to any more such wild talk," he said. "If our property +has been destroyed, as you say, there will be an accounting, you may be +sure of that. And now, Mr. Smith, get this straight, you tell Rawson, +wherever he is hiding, to come and see me at once."</p> + +<p>"But I tell you he has been captured," said Smithy desperately. "He's +gone."</p> + +<p>"I rather think we will find him," was the reply. "He had better come of +his own accord. His connection with us will be severed and all drilling +operations in Tonah Basin will be discontinued, but Mr. Rawson will find +that his responsibility is not so easily evaded."</p> + +<p>The sheriff could not have failed to realize the unsatisfactory nature of +the conversation; he must have wondered at the satisfied grin that spread +across Smithy's tired face.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean you're through?" he demanded. "You're abandoning Rawson's +work?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," was Mr. Erickson's crisp response.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>mithy, as the telephone clicked in his ear, turned again to the sheriff. +"That unties my hands," he said cryptically. "One more call, if you +please."</p> + +<p>Then to the operator: "Get me the offices of the Mountain Power and +Lighting Corporation in San Francisco. I will talk with the president."</p> + +<p>The sheriff of Cocos County chuckled audibly. "You'll talk to the +president's sixteenth assistant secretary, son," he told Smithy. "And I +take back what I said before—now I know you're plumb loco. By the +way, son, it costs money for telephone calls like that. I hope you ain't, +by any chance, overlookin'—"</p> + +<p>But Smithy was speaking into the telephone unmindful of the sheriff's +remarks.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Smith in his office?" he was inquiring. "Yes, President Smith.... +Would you connect me with him at once, please? This is Gordon Smith +talking."</p> + +<p>"Hello, Dad," he said a moment later. "Yes, that's right. It's the +prodigal himself. Now, listen, Dad, here's something important. Can you +meet me in Sacramento and arrange for us to see the Governor—get his +private, confidential ear? I'll beat it for Los Angeles—charter the +fastest plane they've got...."</p> + +<p>There was more to the conversation, much more, although Smithy refrained +from giving details over the phone. An operator was breaking in on the +conversation as he was about to hang up.</p> + +<p>"Emergency call," the young woman's voice was saying. "We must have the +line at once."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>mithy handed the telephone to the sheriff. "Someone's anxious to talk to +you," he said. He searched his pockets hurriedly, found a ten-dollar bill +which he laid on the sheriff's desk. "That will cover it," he said with a +new note in his voice. "Perhaps you're not just the man for this job, +sheriff. It's going to be a whole lot too hot for you to handle."</p> + +<p>He had turned quickly toward the door, but something in the sheriff's +excited voice checked him. "Burned? Wiped out, you say?"</p> + +<p>Halfway across the room Smithy could hear another hoarse voice in the +telephone. The sheriff repeated the words. "Red devils! They wasn't +Injuns? The whole town of Seven Palms destroyed!"</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Smithy softly to himself, "that we'd have to go down +<i>there</i> to find <i>them</i>, and instead they're out looking for us. Yes, I +think this will be decidedly too hot for you to handle, sheriff." He +turned and bolted out the door.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>n attentive audience was awaiting Gordon Smith on his arrival in +Sacramento. Smithy's father was not one to be kept waiting even by the +Governor of the state. Also, Smithy was coming from the Tonah Basin +region, and the news of the destruction of the desert town of Seven Palms +had preceded him. Even the swift planes of the Coastal Service could not +match the speed of the radio news.</p> + +<p>There were only two men in the room when Smithy entered. One of them, +tall, heavily built, as square-shouldered as Smithy, came forward and put +his two hands on the young man's shoulders. Their greetings were brief.</p> + +<p>"Well, son?" asked the older man, and packed a world of questioning into +the interrogation.</p> + +<p>"O. K., Dad," said Smithy simply.</p> + +<p>His father nodded silently and turned to the other man. "Governor, my son, +Gordon. He got tired of being known as the 'Old Man's son'—started +out on his own—not looking for adventure exactly, but I judge he has +found it. He's got something to tell us."</p> + +<p>And again Smithy told his wild, unbelievable tale. But it was not so +incredible now, for, even while Smithy was talking, the Governor was +glancing at the report on his desk which told of the destruction of the +little town of Seven Palms.</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you what it means," Smithy concluded. He paused before +venturing a prediction which was to prove remarkably accurate. "But I saw +them—I saw them come up out of the earth, and I'm betting there are +plenty more where they came from. And now that they've found their way +out, we've got a scrap on our hands. And don't think they're not fighters, +either. They're armed—those flame-throwers are nothing we can laugh +off, and what else they've got, we don't know."</p> + +<p>He leaned forward earnestly across the Governor's desk. "But that's your +job," he said. "Mine is to find Dean Rawson. He's alive, or he was. He +sent up his ring as proof of it. I've got to find him—I've got to go +down in that pit and I want your help."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h2><i>The White-Hot Pit</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div> <p>ow far his guard of wild, red man-things had taken him Dean Rawson could +not know. Many miles, it must have been. And he knew that the air had +grown steadily more stiflingly hot. But the heat of those long tunneled +passages was like a cool breeze compared with the blasting breath of the +room into which he was plunged.</p> + +<p>It seared his eyeballs; it struck down from the tongues of flame that +played in red fury in the recess high up on the farther wall. And the vast +room, the fires, the hundreds of kneeling figures, all blurred and swam +dizzily before him.</p> + +<p>The hot air that he breathed seemed crisping his lungs. Vaguely, for the +stupefying, brain-numbing heat, he wondered at the figure he saw dimly in +its grotesque posturing close to the flames. And the hundreds of +others—how could they live? How could he himself go on living in +this inferno?</p> + +<p>They had been chanting in unison, the kneeling red ones. Dean heard the +regular beat of their repeated words change to an uproar of shrill, +whistling voices. But he could neither see nor hear plainly for the +unbearable, suffocating heat.</p> + +<p>The clamor was deafening, confusing; it echoed tremendously in the rocky +room and mingled with the steady, continuous roar of the flames. The mass +of bodies that surged about him made only a blurring impression; he tried +to make himself see clearly. He must fight—fight to the last! Only +this thought persisted. He was striking out blindly when he knew that his +red guard had cleared a way through the mob and was dragging him forward.</p> + +<p>He knew when they reached the farther wall. Somewhere above him was the +deep-cut niche in which the fires roared. And then, when again he could +see from his tortured eyes, he found directly ahead another doorway in the +solid rock. Beyond it all was black; it gave promise of coolness, of +relief from the stifling air of the room. Red hands were thrusting him +through.</p> + +<p>The burst of water, icy cold, that descended upon him from above shocked +him from the stupor that claimed his senses. He was drenched in an +instant, strangling and gasping for breath. But he could think! And, as +the lean hands seized him again and hurried him forward, he almost dared +to hope.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>o his eyes the passageway was a place of utter darkness, but the red ones, +their great owl eyes opened wide, hurried him on. His stumbling feet +encountered a flight of steps. With the red guard he climbed a winding +stair where the tunnel twisted upward.</p> + +<p>That icy deluge had set every nerve aquiver with new life. He hardly dared +ask himself what might lie ahead. Yet he had been saved from that mob; it +might be his life would be spared, that in some way he could learn to +communicate with these people, learn more of this subterranean +world—which must be of tremendous extent. Without any sure knowledge +of their plans, he still was certain in his own mind that they intended to +swarm out upon the upper world. He might even be able to show them the +folly of that.</p> + +<p>A thousand thoughts were flashing through his mind when the tunnel ended. +Beyond a square-cut opening the air was aglow with red. An ominous thunder +was in his ears. Then a score of hands lifted him bodily and threw him out +upon a rocky floor that burned his hands as he fell.</p> + +<p>Heat, blistering, unbearable, beat upon him. He was wrapped in +quick-rising clouds of steam from his wet clothes.</p> + +<p>The platform ended. Far below was a sea of red faces, grotesque and +horrible, where each held two ghastly white disks, and at the center of +each disk a mere pinpoint eye.</p> + +<p>He saw it all in the instant of his falling—the inhuman, shrieking +mob, the blast of hot flame not forty feet away at the back of the rocky +niche, and, between himself and the flame, a giant figure that leaped +exultantly, while its body, that appeared carved from metallic copper, +reflected the red fires until it seemed itself aflame.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div><p>ean knew in the fraction of a second while he scrambled to his feet, that +the great room had gone silent. The roaring of the flames ceased; even the +clamor of shrill voices was stilled. He had thrown one arm across his face +to shield his eyes; the heat still poured upon him like liquid fire. But +his instant decision to throw himself out and down into the waiting mob +was checked by the sudden stillness.</p> + +<p>To open his eyes wide meant impossible torture, yet he forced himself to +peer through slitted lids beneath the shelter of his arm.</p> + +<p>The flame was gone. Where it had been was a wall of shimmering red rock +above a gaping throat in the floor, whose rim was quivering white with +heat. Here the blast from some volcanic depth had come.</p> + +<p>Then he saw it, saw the great coppery figure leaping upon him—and +saw more plainly than all this the end that had been prepared for him.</p> + +<p>Fire worshipers! Demons of an under world paying tribute to their god. And +he, Dean Rawson, was to be a living sacrifice, cast headlong to that +waiting, white-hot throat!</p> + +<p>The coppery giant was upon him in the instant of his realization. Somehow +in that moment Dean Rawson's wracked body passed beyond all pain. With the +inhuman, maniacal strength of a man driven beyond all reason and restraint +he tore himself half free from those encircling arms and drove blow after +blow into the hideous face above him.</p> + +<p>Only his left arm was free. That, too, was clamped tightly against his +body an instant later.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he giant had been between him and the glowing rocks. Now he felt himself +whirled in air, and again the blast of heat struck upon him. He was being +rushed backward; and there flashed through his mind, as plainly as if he +could actually see it, the scintillant whiteness of that hungry throat.</p> + +<p>He tried to lock his legs about the big body to prevent that final heave +and throw that would end a ghastly ceremony. The rocks were close, their +radiant heat wrapped about him like a living flame. Abruptly his strength +was gone—the fight was over—he had lost! His heart sent the +blood pounding and thundering to his brain; his lungs seemed on fire.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he high priest of the red ones had his priestly duty to perform—the +sacrifice must be offered. But even the high priest, it would seem, must +have been not above personal resentment. Sacrilege had been done—a +fist had smashed again and again into the holy one's face. This it must +have been that made him pause, that brought one big hand up in a grip of +animal rage about Dean's throat.</p> + +<p>Only a moment—a matter of seconds—while he vented his fury +upon this white-skinned man who had dared to oppose him. Dean felt the +hand close about his throat. So limp he was, so drained of strength, he +made no effort to tear it loose. He was <i>dead</i>—what mattered a few +seconds more or less of life? And then a thrill shot through him as he +knew his right hand was free.</p> + +<p>That hand made fumbling work of drawing a gun from its smoking, leather +holster. He could hardly control the numbed, blistered fingers, yet +somehow he crooked one about the trigger; and dimly, as from some great +distance, he heard the roar of the forty-five.... Then, from some deep +recess within him, he summoned one last ounce of strength that threw him +clear of the falling body.</p> + +<p>Instinctively he had heaved himself away from the fiery rocks; the same +effort had sent his big coppery antagonist staggering, stumbling, +backward. And Dean, sprawled on the stone floor, whose heat where he lay +was just short of redness, heard one long, despairing shriek as the giant +figure wavered, hung in air for a moment in black outline against the +fierce red of a rocky wall above a white-hot pit, then toppled, pitched +forward, and vanished.</p> + +<p>Sick and giddy, he forced himself to draw his body up on hands and knees. +Then he straightened, came to his feet, and staggered forward.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="42" height="50" /></div><p>elow him was pandemonium. The sea of faces wavered and blurred before his +eyes. From a distant archway other figures were coming. He saw the gleam +of metal, heard the wild blare of trumpets, and knew that the hundreds of +red ones below him were standing stiffly, both hands raised upright in +salute as another barbaric figure entered. The air was clamorous with a +shrill repeated call. "Phee-e-al!" the red ones shrieked. "Phee-e-al!"</p> + +<p>But Rawson did not wait to see more. Behind him, the flames that had been +fed with human flesh—if indeed these red ones were +human—roared again into life. He had returned the pistol to its +holster when first he came to his feet; his weak hands had seemed unable +to hold it. And now his two hands were thrust outward before him as he +staggered blindly toward the tunnel mouth.</p> + +<p>It was where he had emerged upon the platform. His reaching hands found +the side entrance where the stairs led down to the main hall. In the +darkness he made his way past. Stumbling weakly he pushed on down the long +tunnel whose floor slanted gently away.</p> + +<p>Ahead of him was a light. The comparative coolness of these rocks had +served to revive him somewhat. He had no hope of escape, yet the light +seemed comforting, somehow.</p> + +<p>He stopped. His stinging eyes were wide open. He stared incredulously at +the glowing spot on a distant wall, where a flame must have touched, and +at the figure beneath it.</p> + +<p>The figure of a woman! A young woman, tall, slender, fair-haired, whose +skin was white, a creamy white, whiter than snow.</p> + +<p>A woman? It was a mere girl, slender and beautiful, her graceful young +body poised as if, in quick flight, she had been caught and held for a +moment of stillness.</p> + +<p>What was she doing here? His exhausted brain could not comprehend what it +meant. He had seen women of the Mole-men tribe mingling with the men. Like +them their heads were pointed, their faces grotesque and hideous. Rawson +gave an inarticulate cry of amazement and staggered forward.</p> + +<p>Between him and the distant figure a crowd of Reds swarmed in. They came +from a connecting passage. Above their heads the lava tips of +flame-throwers were spitting jets of green fire. Every face was turned +toward him at his cry.</p> + +<p>Beyond them the white figure vanished. Dean, leaning weakly against the +wall, told himself dully that it had been a phantom, a product of his own +despairing brain and his own weakness. Then that weakness overcame him; +and the red Mole-men, their white and hideous eyes, the threatening jets +of green flame, all vanished in the quick darkness that swept over him....</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h2><i>Dreams</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> <p>he black curtain of unconsciousness which descended so quickly upon +Rawson was not easily thrown off. For hours, days or weeks—he never +knew how long he lay in the citadel of the Reds—it was to wrap him +around.</p> + +<p>Nor was his waking a matter of a moment. Many and varied were the +impressions which came to him in times of semiconsciousness, and which of +them were realities and which dreams, he could not tell.</p> + +<p>He was being tortured with knives, lances tipped with pain that dragged +him up from the black depths in which he lay. Dimly he realized that his +clothes were being stripped from him and that the piercing knives were +none the less real for being only the touch of hands and rough cloth upon +his blistered body. Then from head to foot he was coated with a substance +cool and moist. The pain died to a mere throbbing and again he felt +himself sinking back into unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>There were other visions, many others, some of them plain and distinct, +some blurred and terrifying to his fevered brain trying vainly to bring +order and reason into what was utterly chaotic.</p> + +<p>Once a bedlam of shrieking voices roused him. He tried to open his eyes, +whose lids were too heavy for his strength. And by that he knew he was +dreaming. Yet from under those lowered lids he seemed to see a wild medley +of red warriors, their faces blotched and ghastly in the green light of +their weapons. They were carrying a charred body which they threw heavily +upon the floor beside him as if to compare the two. He saw the face which +the flames had not touched, the face of Jack Downer—Downer, the +sheriff of Cocos County. His sandy hair had been scorched to the scalp.</p> + +<p>Dreams ... and the steady beat of metal-shod feet of marching men. He saw +them passing some distance away. The repeated <i>thud-thud</i> of metal on +stone echoed maddeningly through his brain for hours.... Dreams, all of +them.</p> + +<p>And once there came to him a vision which beyond all doubt was unreal.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>ilence had surrounded him. For what seemed hours not one of the red +mole-men had come near. And then, in the silence, he heard whisperings and +the sound of stealthy feet; and, for a moment, the same white figure that +had met him in his flight stood where he could see.</p> + +<p>Only the merest trace of dim light relieved the utter darkness of the +room. The girl's figure was ghostly, unreal. Yet he saw the dull sparkle +of jeweled breast-plates against her creamy white skin. Loose folds of +cloth were gathered about her waist; her golden hair was drawn back except +for vagrant curls that only accentuated the perfect oval of her face.</p> + +<p>There were others with her, dim shapes of men; how many Rawson could not +tell. They looked down at him, whispering softly, excitedly, amongst +themselves; but their words were like nothing he had ever heard.</p> + +<p>For an instant Dean felt his stupefied mind coming almost to wakefulness. +Phantom figures, ghostly and unreal—but the faces were human, and +the eyes looked down upon him pityingly. He tried to rouse himself, tried +to call out, then settled limply back, for the girl was speaking—or +he was catching her thoughts. It seemed almost that he heard her whispered +words:</p> + +<p>"They take him to <i>Gevarro</i>, to the Lake of Fire which never dies! Gor +told me—he overheard their plans. But, by the Mountain I swear...." +Then footsteps echoed in a far-off passage, and the white ones vanished +like drifting smoke.</p> + +<p>Dreams, all of them. Yet the time came when Dean knew that he was +awake—knew too that further experiences awaited him in this demoniac +land.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>gain red guards came. The wicked breath of their weapons filled the great +room where Rawson had been with green, flickering light. Dean, dragged to +his feet, was unable to stand. One of the giant yellow workers came +forward at a whistled order and held him erect. Another brought a bowl +carved from rock crystal and filled with a liquid golden-green with +reflected light. He put it to Rawson's lips and with the first touch Dean +knew that he must have been filled with a burning thirst beyond anything +he had ever known. He gulped greedily at the liquid, drained the bowl to +the last drop, then marveled at the thrilling fire of strength that flowed +through him.</p> + +<p>"Wine," he thought, "wine of the gods—or devils." He came to himself +with a start. He knew that he was naked and that his body was encased in a +coating of stiff gray plaster. It was this that prevented his arms and +legs from flexing.</p> + +<p>Another order and the giant worker picked him up in his arms and carried +him where the others led to a distant room. A stream trickled through a +cut in the rocky floor. At the center of the room was a pool. Unable to +resist, Dean felt the giant arms toss him out and down.</p> + +<p>The water was warm. At its first touch the hard plaster melted like snow. +Sputtering and choking for breath, Rawson came to the surface. He found he +could move freely, then reaching hands hauled him out upon the floor, and +through all his dread he found time to marvel at his own firm muscles and +the healthy white of his skin that had been seared and blistered.</p> + +<p>He obeyed when the red guards pointed and motioned him into a dark +passageway. He tried to keep up with them as they hurried him on. +Evidently his pace was too slow, for again the big worker picked him up, +swung him into the air and seated him firmly on one broad shoulder, and, +with red guards ahead and behind them, hurried on.</p> + +<p>To find himself a child in the hands of this big yellow man was +disconcerting. To be calmly lugged off was almost humiliating. No one who +was not a good sport could have grinned as Rawson did at his own +predicament.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly a triumphal procession," he told himself, then his lips set +grimly. "They've got my gun," he thought, "and now, whatever comes, all I +can do is stand and take it. Still, they've saved my life. But what for?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>lways the way led downward, and Rawson, perched on his strange, half-human +steed, let his gaze follow up every branching tunnel and widespread cave. +Not all of these were as dark as the broad thoroughfare they followed. In +some, strange lights glowed, and Rawson saw weird, towering plant growths +that yellow workers were harvesting.</p> + +<p>Life, life, everywhere, and seemingly this underground world was endless.</p> + +<p>Troops of red warriors passed them, upward bound. The dancing flames of +their weapons, where occasional ones were in action, glowed from afar. +They bobbed and waved like green fireflies as the Mole-men came on at a +half-run.</p> + +<p>"And this means trouble up top," he thought. "There's going to be hell to +pay up there."</p> + +<p>But workers, fighters, everyone they met stood aside to let the red guard +pass. Again Rawson heard the strange word or call that had come to him in +the temple of fire. One of the guides would give a whistling call that +ended in the same strange shrill cry of "Phee-e-al," and instantly the way +was cleared.</p> + +<p>A wild journey, incredible, unreal. Rawson, as he met the countless +staring white eyes of the creatures they passed, found his thoughts +wandering. He had had wild dreams. Surely this was only another in that +succession of phantom pictures. Then, seeing the cold, implacable hatred +in those staring eyes, he would be brought back with sickening abruptness +to a full knowledge of his own hopeless situation.</p> + +<p>"Gevarro, the lake of fire which never dies"—what was it the white +ones had said? But no, that certainly was a dream like that other in which +he had seemed to see the charred body of a man, the sheriff who had called +to see him at his camp in Tonah Basin.</p> + +<p>Dreams—reality—his brain was confused with the wild +kaleidoscope of unbelievable pictures.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e was suddenly aware that through it all he had been mentally tabulating +their route, remembering the outstanding features when there was light +enough to see. He knew that unconsciously his mind had been thinking of +escape. Wilder than all the other visions, he had been picturing himself +retracing his route, alone, free. He did not know that he had laughed +aloud, harshly, hopelessly, until he saw the curious eyes of his red guard +upon him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he told himself in silent bitterness, "I could find my way back, +if...."</p> + +<p>The guard had swung off from the great tunnel which must have been one of +the main thoroughfares of the Mole-men's world. They crowded through a +narrower passage and again Rawson found himself in one of the great, +high-ceilinged caves like the others he had seen. But unlike the others +this was brightly lighted.</p> + +<p>Massive limestone formation. His eyes squinted against the glare and +caught the character of the rock before he was able to distinguish +details, and in the black limestone big disks of gray mineral had been +set. Jets of flame played upon them and turned them to blazing, brilliant +white.</p> + +<p>The big yellow Mole-man who had carried him dropped him roughly to the +floor and backed away. About him the red guard was grouped. Rawson caught +a glimpse of hundreds of other thronging figures. The crowd about him +separated. A space was cleared between him and the farther end of the +room, a lane lined on either side by solid masses of savage Reds. And +beyond them, more barbaric than any figure in the foreground, was another +group.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>cross the full width of the room a low wall was raised three or four feet +from the floor. It was capped with rude carvings. The whole mass gleamed +dully golden in the bright light. Beyond the wall in semicircular +formation, resembling a grouping of bronze statues, were men like the one +with whom Rawson had fought. Priests, tenders of the fires. He knew in an +instant that here were more of the red one's holy men. They stood erect, +unmoving. At their center was another seated man-shape that might have +been cast from solid gold.</p> + +<p>His naked body was yellow and glittering, contrasting strongly with the +black metal straps like those the warriors wore. On his head a round, +sharply-pointed cap was ablaze with precious stones.</p> + +<p>Rawson took it all in in one quick glance. He knew that those copper +bodies were not encased in metal, for the flesh of the one he had fought +with had sunk under his blows. Their skin was coated with a preparation, +heat resistant without a doubt, and the golden one must have been treated +in somewhat the same way.</p> + +<p>His thoughts flashed quickly over this. It was the face of that seated +figure that riveted his attention, a white face, milk-white, so white it +seemed almost chalky!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="43" height="50" /></div><p>or one breathless second Rawson was filled with a wordless hope. Those +white ones of his dream had looked upon him with kindly eyes. They were +human—men of another race, but men. Then beneath the chalky +whiteness of the face he found the hideous features of the red Mole-men, +and knew that the white color of the face was as false as that of the +golden body.</p> + +<p>But he was their leader. He was someone of importance. Rawson had started +forward impetuously when he saw the figure rise. At the first motion the +hands of every red one in the room were flung in air. They stood stiffly +at salute. Even the priests' coppery arms flashed upward. And "Phee-e-al!" +a thousand shrill voices were shouting. "Phee-e-al! Phee-e-al!"</p> + +<p>Rawson stopped, then walked slowly forward, one defenseless, naked man of +the upper world, between two living walls formed by men of a hidden race.</p> + +<p>"Phee-e-al," he was thinking. "He's the one I saw coming into their temple +back there. They got out of our way when they knew we were coming to see +him. He's the big boss here, all right."</p> + +<p>He did not pause in his steady, forward progress until his hands were +resting upon the golden barrier. Strange thoughts were racing through his +mind. Phee-e-al, he was facing Phee-e-al, king of a kingdom ten miles or +more beneath the surface of the earth, a place of devils more real and +terrible than any that mythology had dared depict. And he, Dean Rawson, a +man, just one of the millions like him up there in a sane, civilized +world, was down here, standing at a barrier of gold before a tribunal that +knew nothing of justice or mercy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>houghts of communicating with them had mingled with other half-formed +plans in his racing mind. Sign language—he had talked with the +Indians; he might be able to get some ideas across. He met the other's +fierce scrutiny fearlessly, then, waiting for him to make the first +advance, let his gaze dart about at closer range. He could not restrain a +start of surprise at sight of his own clothing, his pocket radio receiver +and his pistol spread out on a metal stand.</p> + +<p>They had been curious about them. Rawson took that as a good sign. Perhaps +he had been mistaken in his interpretation of what he had seen. For +himself, he could have no real hope, but it might be that the outpouring +of these demons into his own world was a threat that lay only in his own +imagination.</p> + +<p>His eyes came back to meet that gaze which had never left him. The eyes +were mere dots of jet in a white and repulsive face. The rounded mouth +opened to emit a shrill whistled order.</p> + +<p>In the utter silence of the great room one of the copper-skinned priests +moved swiftly toward the rear. There were chests there, massive metal +things afire with the brilliance of inlaid jewels. The priest flung one of +them open with a resounding clang.</p> + +<p>The room had been warm, and the chill which abruptly froze Rawson's +muscles to hard rigidity came from within himself. Dreams! He had thought +them dreams, those marching thousands, and the others who returned. He had +dared to hope he might avert an invasion by this inhuman horde.</p> + +<p>And now he knew his worst imaginings were far short of the truth. He saw +clearly his own fate. For the priest returning was holding an object +aloft, a horrible thing, a naked body, scorched and charred. And above it +a head lopped awkwardly. The hair was sandy; half of it had been burned to +the scalp in a withering flame. Below, staring from sightless eyes, was +the face of the man who had once been sheriff of Cocos County.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h2>"<i>N-73 Clear!</i>"</h2> + +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_y1.jpg" alt="Y" width="62" height="58" /></div> +<p>ou fly, of course?" demanded Governor Drake.</p> + +<p>Smithy nodded. "Unlimited license—all levels."</p> + +<p>They had spent the night in the executive mansion, and now the Governor +had burst precipitately into the room where Smithy and his father had just +finished dressing. The two had been deep in an earnest conversation which +the Governor's entrance had interrupted.</p> + +<p>"I am drafting you for service," said the Governor. "I want you to go out +to Field Number Three. A fast scout plane—National Guard +equipment—will be ready for you—"</p> + +<p>He broke off and stared doubtfully at a paper in his hand, a radiophone +message, Smithy judged. "I'm in a devil of a fix," the Governor exclaimed, +after a pause. Then:</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt your sincerity," he told Smithy. "Never saw you till +yesterday, but your father's 'O.K.' goes a hundred per cent with me. Old +'J. G.' and I have been through a lot of scraps together." His frowning +eyes relaxed for a moment to exchange twinkling glances with the older +man.</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't that," he added, "but...." Again he stared at the flimsy +piece of paper.</p> + +<p>"What's on your mind, Bill?" asked Smith senior. "That stuff the boy told +us was pretty wild"—he laid one hand affectionately upon Smithy's +shoulder—"but he's a poor liar, Gordon is, and, knowing his +weakness, he usually sticks to the truth. And there's no record of +insanity in the family, you know. If there's something sticking in your +crop, Bill, cough it up."</p> + +<p>And the Honorable William B. Drake obeyed. "Listen to this," he commanded, +and read from the paper in his hand:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"'Replying to your inquiry about the doings at Seven Palms. Some Indians +did that job. No help needed. I can handle this. Posse organized and we +are leaving right now.—Signed, Jack Downer, Sheriff, Cocos County.'"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"That sounds authentic," said Smithy drily. "I've met the sheriff."</p> + +<p>"Now, if it <i>was</i> Indians that got tanked up and came down off the +reservation, burned Seven Palms and cleaned up your camp—" began +Governor Drake.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't!" Smithy interrupted hotly. "I told you—" He felt his +father's hand gripping firmly at his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Steady," said Smith, senior. "Let him talk, son."</p> + +<p>"There's an election three months from now, J. G.," said the Governor, +"and you know they're riding me hard. Let me make one false +move—just one—anything that the opposition can use for a +campaign of ridicule, and my goose is cooked to a turn."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>ordon Smith shook off his father's restraining hand and took one quick +forward step. His face, even through the tan of the desert sun, was +unnaturally pale.</p> + +<p>"Election be dammed!" he exploded. "Dean Rawson has been captured by those +red devils—he's down there, the whitest white man I ever met! I've +been to the sheriff; now I've come to you! Do you mean to tell me there +isn't any power in this state to back me up when—"</p> + +<p>He stopped. There was a tremble in his voice he could not control.</p> + +<p>"Good boy," said Governor Drake softly. "Now I know it's the truth. Yes, +you'll be backed up, plenty, but for the present it will be strictly +unofficial. Now pull in your horns and listen.</p> + +<p>"You know the lay of the land. I want your help. Go out to Field Three; +there'll be a man there waiting for you. Don't call him +'Colonel'—he's also strictly unofficial to-day. The sheriff and his +posse will be there at Seven Palms inside an hour; I want you to be there, +too, about five thousand feet up.</p> + +<p>"Tell Colonel Culver—I mean Mr. Culver—your story; tell him +everything you know. He'll be in charge of operations if we have to send +in troops; he'll give you that private and unofficial backing I spoke of +if we don't.</p> + +<p>"Now get down there; keep your eye on the sheriff's crowd and see +everything that happens!"</p> + +<p>But Smithy's parting remark was to his father; it was a continuation of +the subject they had been discussing before.</p> + +<p>"You can buy at your own price," he said. "They've got rights to the whole +basin. But they've quit; I'm not treating them to a double-cross."</p> + +<p>And he added as he went out of the room: "Buy it for me if you don't want +it yourself."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> +<p>t was a two-place, open-cockpit plane that Smithy found had been set aside +for him. Dual control—the stick in the forward cockpit carried the +firing grip that controlled the slim blue machine guns firing through the +propeller. Behind the rear cockpit a strange, unwieldy, double-ended +weapon was recessed and streamlined into the fuselage. The scout seemed +quite able to protect itself in an emergency.</p> + +<p>Beside the plane a tall, slender man in civilian attire was waiting. He +stuck out his hand, while the gray eyes in his lean, tanned face scanned +Smithy swiftly.</p> + +<p>"I'm Culver. Understand I'm to be your passenger to-day. How about +it—can you fly the ship? Seven hundred and fifty DeGrosse +motor—retractable landing gear, of course. She hits four-fifty at +top speed—snappy—quick on the trigger."</p> + +<p>Smithy shook his head dubiously. "Four-fifty—I'm not accustomed to +that. But you can take the stick, Mr. Culver, if I get in a hurry and jump +out and run on ahead. You see I'm used to my own ship, an +<i>Assegai</i>—special job—does five hundred when I'm pressed for +time."</p> + +<p>The lean face of Mr. Culver creased into a smile. "You qualify," he said. +"But keep your hands off the dead mule."</p> + +<p>At an inquiring glance he pointed to the heavy, half-hidden weapon that +Smithy had noticed. "Can't kick," he explained, "—hence 'dead mule.' +It's the new Rickert recoilless; throws little shells the size of your +thumb—but they raise hell when they hit."</p> + +<p>"Sounds interesting." Smithy climbed into the rear cockpit and strapped +himself in. "Show me how it works, then I won't do it."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p> pistol grip moved under Culver's reaching hand and the strange +weapon sprang from concealment like something alive. The pistol grip moved +sideways, and the gun swung out and down, its muzzle almost touching the +ground. Smithy was suddenly aware that a crystal above his instrument +board was reflecting that same bit of sun-baked earth. A dot of black hung +stationary at the crystal's center.</p> + +<p>"That's your target." Culver's voice held all the pride of a child with a +new toy, but he released the grip, and the ungainly gun swung smoothly +back to its hiding place.</p> + +<p>He settled himself in the forward cockpit. "You will find a helmet there," +he said. "It's phone-equipped; you can tell me all about that wild +nightmare of yours while we jog along."</p> + +<p>The white beam from the despatcher's tower had been on them while they +talked. Other planes were waiting on the field. Smithy smiled as he +settled the helmet over his head. "For a strictly unofficial flight," he +thought, "we're getting darned good service."</p> + +<p>He taxied past a hangar where uniformed men pointedly paid them no +attention. He swung the ship to the line as Airboard regulations required.</p> + +<p>"N-73" was painted on the monoplane's low wings that seemed scraping the +ground. "N-73 Clear!" the despatcher's voice radioed into Smithy's ears. +Then the seven-hundred-and-fifty-horsepower DeGrosse let loose its voice +as Smithy gunned her down the field.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="65" height="50" /></div><p>hatever doubts Colonel Culver may have had of Smithy's ability were +dissipated as they made their way cautiously through the free-flying area +under five thousand. Everywhere were mail planes, express and passenger +ships taking off for the transcontinental day run, and private planes +scattering to the smaller landing areas among the flashing lights of the +flat-topped business blocks. Among them Smithy threaded his way toward the +green-lighted transfer zone, where he spiraled upward.</p> + +<p>At ten thousand he was on his course. He set the gyro-control which would +fly the ship more surely than any human hands, and the air-speed indicator +crept up to the four hundred and fifty miles an hour that Culver had +promised. Not till then did he give the man in the forward cockpit the +details of his "nightmare."</p> + +<p>He had not finished answering the other's incredulous questions when he +throttled down to slow cruising speed and nosed the ship toward a distant +expanse of sage-blurred sand.</p> + +<p>Outside the restricted metropolitan area he had already dropped out of the +chill wind that struck them at ten thousand. Behind them and off to the +right was the gray rampart of the Sierra. Ahead a rough circle of darker +hills enclosed the great bowl he had learned to know as Tonah Basin.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>ome feeling of unreality in his own experiences must have crept into his +mind; unconsciously he had been questioning his own sanity. Now, at sight +of the sandy waste where he and Rawson had labored, with the dark slopes +of desolate craters looming ahead and a blot of burned wreckage directly +below to mark the site of their camp, the horrible reality of it gripped +him again.</p> + +<p>He could not speak at first. The air of the five-thousand level was not +uncomfortably warm, but Smithy was feeling again the baking heat of that +desert land; again he was with Rawson in the volcanic crater; Dean was +calling to him, warning him....</p> + +<p>A sharp question from Culver was repeated twice before Smithy could reply.</p> + +<p>He side-slipped in above the crater's ragged rim, heedless of +down-drafts—the power of the DeGrosse motor would pull them out of +anything in a ten-thousand-foot vertical climb if need arose. Smithy was +pointing toward a confusion of shining black rock.</p> + +<p>"Over there," he told Culver. Then he was shouting into the telephone +transmitter. "It's open," he said. "That's where Dean went down—and +there they are! Look, man, there—there!"</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h2><i>Emergency Order</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> <p>he throat of the old volcano was a pit of blackness in the midst of gray +ash and the red-yellow of cinders. Beside it were other flecks of color: +red, moving bodies; metal, that twinkled brightly under the desert +sun—and in an instant they were gone. Nor did Smithy, throwing the +thundering plane close over that place, know how near he had passed to +sudden, invisible death. Rugged pinnacles of rock were ahead. The plane +under Smithy's hands vaulted over them and roared on above the desert.</p> + +<p>"Did you see them?" Smithy was shouting.</p> + +<p>The man in the forward cockpit turned to face his pilot. "I am +apologizing, Smith, for all the things I have been thinking and haven't +said. We've got a job on our hands. Now let's find that fool sheriff who +thinks he's hunting for drunken Indians. We must warn him."</p> + +<p>Smithy wondered at the wisps of blue smoke still rising from the ruins of +Seven Palms as he drove in above it. It seemed years since he had left the +Basin, yet the wreckage of this little town, only five miles outside, +still smoldered.</p> + +<p>Colonel Culver was shouting to him. "East," he said. "Swing east. There's +fighting over there." Then, in his usual cool tone: "I'll take the ship, +Smith. Give then a burst or two from up here—perhaps the sheriff can +use a little help."</p> + +<p>Across the yellow sand ran a desert road. Ten miles away black smoke +clouds were lifting. Smithy knew there had been a little settlement there. +A dozen houses, perhaps, and a gasoline station. At half that distance the +clear sunlight showed moving objects on the sand: automobiles, smaller +dots that were running them. They came suddenly to sharp visibility as the +plane drew near. Tiny bursts of white meant rifle fire.</p> + +<p>They were a thousand feet up and close when Smithy saw the first car +vanish in flame. Others followed swiftly. Men were falling. A dozen of +them had made up the sheriff's posse, and now, like the cars, they, too, +burst into flame and either vanished utterly or, like living torches, were +cast down upon the sand.</p> + +<p>Still no sign of the enemy, more than the ripping stab of green fire from +a sand dune at one side. They were over and past before Smithy, looking +back, saw the red ones leap out into view.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_c.jpg" alt="C" width="46" height="50" /></div><p>ulver must have seen them in the same instant. He throttled down to a safe +banking speed. Opened full, the DeGrosse would have whipped them around in +a turn that would have meant instant death. From five miles distant they +shot in on a long slant. Smithy's hands were off the stick. It was +Culver's ship now.</p> + +<p>He saw the man peering through his sights, then the roar of the motor +held other, sharper sounds. Thin flames were stabbing through the +propeller disk, and he knew that the bow guns were sending messengers on +ahead where red figures waited on the sand.</p> + +<p>Their trajectory flattened. Culver half rolled the ship as they sped +overhead. "He wants a look at them," Smithy was thinking. Then a blast of +heat struck him full in the face.</p> + +<p>It was Smithy's hand on the stick that righted the ship; only the instant +response of the big DeGrosse motor tore them up and away from the sands +that were reaching for those wings.</p> + +<p>His face was seared, but the pain of it was forgotten in the knowledge +that their drunken, twisting flight had whipped out the fire licking back +from the forward cockpit. He saw Culver's head, fallen awkwardly to one +side. The helmet in one part was charred to a crisp.</p> + +<p>He leveled off. He was thinking: "Another man gone! Can't I ever fight +back? If I only had a gun!" Then he knew he was looking at the pistol +grip, where Colonel Culver's brown hand had brought an awkward weapon to +life. His lips twisted to a whimsical smile, though his eyes still held +the same cold fury, as he whispered: "And I don't even know that the damn +thing's loaded—but I'm going to find out!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey were clustered on the sands below him as he roared overhead. He was +flying at two thousand, the throttle open full. Beside the ship a gun +swung its long barrel downward. It sputtered almost soundlessly—but +where it passed, the sand rose up in spouting fountains.</p> + +<p>But his wild speed made the gunfire almost useless. The shell-bursts were +spaced too far apart; they straddled the blot of figures.</p> + +<p>He came back at five thousand feet, slowly—until the ship lurched, +and he saw the right wing tip vanish in a shower of molten metal. He +threw the ship over and away from the invisible beam; the plane writhed +and twisted across the last half mile of sky. He was over them when he +pulled into a tight spiral, then he swung the pistol grip that controlled +the gun until the dot in the crystal was merged with the target of +clustering red forms. The gun sputtered.</p> + +<p>Below the plane, the quiet desert heaved its smooth surface convulsively +into the air. Even above the roar of the motor Smithy heard the terrific +thunder of that one long explosion.</p> + +<p>Above the rim of the forward cockpit Culver's head rolled uneasily; his +voice, thick and uncertain, came back through the phone; and +later—only a matter of minutes later, though fifty miles +away—Smithy set the plane down on a level expanse of sand and tore +frantically at his belt. Colonel Culver was weakly raising his head.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_w1.jpg" alt="W" width="78" height="54" /></div> <p>hat hit us?" he demanded when Smithy got to him. "Did I crash?" He +looked about him with dazed eyes from which he never would have seen +again, but for the protection of his goggles.</p> + +<p>"Fire," said Smithy tersely. "They did it, the devils, and it wasn't a +flame-thrower, either. There wasn't a flash of their cursed green light. +It just flicked us for a second. You got the worst of it. Your half roll +saved us. That thing, whatever it was, would have ripped our left wing off +in a second."</p> + +<p>He was looking at the forward cockpit where the metal fuselage was melted. +The leather cushioning around the edge was black and charred. Culver's +helmet had protected him, but half of his face was seared as if it had +been struck by a white flame.</p> + +<p>"But we got some of them: they know we can hit back...." Smithy began, but +knew he was speaking to deaf ears. Again his passenger had lapsed into +unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>Quickly he disconnected their own radio receiver and threw on the +emergency radio siren. Ahead of them for a hundred miles an invisible beam +was carrying the discordant blast. Then, with throttle open full, +regardless of levels and of air traffic that tore frenziedly from his +path, he drove straight for the home field.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div><p>n the office of the Governor, the radio newscaster was announcing +last-minute items of interest. The Governor switched off the instrument as +Smithy entered, supporting the tall figure of Colonel Culver, whose face +and head were swathed in bandages. Culver had insisted upon accompanying +him for the rendering of their report, though Smithy had to do the talking +for both of them.</p> + +<p>He outlined their experience in brief sentences. "And now," he was saying +grimly, "you can go as far as you please, Governor. You've got a man's +sized fight on your hands. We don't know how many there are of them. We +don't know how fast they'll spread out, but—"</p> + +<p>A shrill wail interrupted him. From the newscasting instrument came a +flash of red that filled the room. The crystal, the emergency call, +installed on all radios within the past year and never yet used, was +clamoring for the country's attention.</p> + +<p>Governor Drake sprang to switch it on, and tried to explain to Smithy as +he did so. "It's out of my hands now," he said. "Washington has—" +Then the radio came on with a voice which shouted:</p> + +<p>"Emergency order. All aircraft take notice. Mole-men"—Smithy started +at the sound of the word; it was the name he had given them +himself—"Mole-men are invading Western states. A new race. They have +come from within the earth. In Arizona, three ships of the +Transcontinental Day Line, Southern Division, have been destroyed with the +loss of all passengers and crew. Shattered in air.</p> + +<p>"It is war, war with an unknown race. Goldfield, Nevada, is in ruins. +Heavy loss of life. Federal Government taking control. Air-Control Board +orders traffic to avoid following areas...."</p> + +<p>There followed a list of locations, while still the red crystal blazed its +warning across the land and to all aircraft in the skies. Southern +California, Arizona, Nevada—Southern Transcontinental Routes closed; +all except military aircraft grounded in restricted areas.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>mithy's excitement had left him. In his mind he was looking far off, deep +under the surface of the world. "They've been there," he said quietly, +"thousands of years. A new race—and they've just now learned of this +other world outside. Three ships downed! They picked them off in the air +just as they tried to do with us. I knew we had a fight on our hands."</p> + +<p>His voice died to silence in the room where now the new announcer was +giving a list of the dead—a room where men were speechless before an +emergency no man could have foreseen. But Smithy's eyes, gazing far off, +saw nothing of that room. Again he was seated on an outthrust point of +rock, Dean Rawson beside him, and from the black depths beneath a man's +voice was rising clearly, mockingly it seemed, in song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"You're pokin' through the crust of hell<br /></span> <span class="i0">And braggin' too damn loud of +it,<br /></span> <span class="i0">For, when you get to hell, you'll find<br /></span> <span class="i0">The devil there to pay!"<br /></span> </div></div> + +<p>"The devil is there to pay," Smithy repeated softly. He leaned across and +placed one hand on Colonel Culver's knee. "With your assistance, Colonel, +I'd like to go down there and find him. You and I, we know the +way—we'll organize an expedition. Maybe we can settle that debt."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h2><i>The Lake of Fire</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="42" height="50" /></div> <p>efore a barrier of gold, waist-high, Dean Rawson stood tense and rigid. +Behind him the great cave-room swarmed with warriors, leaders, doubtless, +of the unholy hordes. But beyond the barrier were the real leaders of the +Mole-men tribes—Phee-e-al, ruler in chief, and his clustering guard +of high priests. In the flooding light from the wall, their eyes were +circles of dead-white skin. A black speck glinted wickedly in the center +of each.</p> + +<p>Phee-e-al was speaking. His artificially whitened face grimaced hideously; +the shrill whistling voice made no comprehensible sound. But in some +manner Rawson gathered a dim realization of what his gestures meant.</p> + +<p>Phee-e-al pointed at the captive; and one lean hand, with talons more +suggestive of a bird of prey than of a human hand, pointed downward. +"Gevarro," he said. The word was repeated many times in the course of his +whistling talk.</p> + +<p>"Gevarro"—what did it mean? Then Rawson remembered. It was the word +he had heard in his dreams, the name of the lake of fire.</p> + +<p>The voices of the priests rose in a shrill chorus of protests, and even +Phee-e-al stood silent. They crowded about their ruler, and Rawson knew +they were demanding him for themselves. Then the one who still held a +human body in his arms sprang forward and his long talons worked +unspeakable mutilation upon the body and face.</p> + +<p>Rawson averted his eyes from the ghastly spectacle. For, swiftly, he was +seeing something more horrifying than this desecration of a dead body; he +was seeing himself, still living, tortured and torn by those same beastly +hands. The dead face of Sheriff Downer was staring at him from red, +eyeless sockets as with one leap Rawson threw himself over the golden +wall. Ten leaping strides away was his gun. In that instant of +realization, he knew why his life had been spared.</p> + +<p>In the room of fire he had destroyed their priest. They had saved him for +further torture.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>o get his hands on the gun, to die fighting—the thought was an +unspoken prayer in his mind. Behind him the room echoed with demoniac +shrieks. Before him was the metal stand. His outstretched hands fell just +short of the blue .45 as he crashed to the floor. The copper ones were +upon him.</p> + +<p>Half stunned by the fall, he hardly knew when they dragged him to his +feet. He was facing the golden figure of Phee-e-al, but now the ruler's +indecision had vanished. He was exercising his full authority and even +Rawson's throbbing brain comprehended the doom that was being pronounced.</p> + +<p>"Gevarro!" he was shrieking. "Gevarro!"</p> + +<p>Beside him a priest swept the metal table clear. Rawson's clothing, the +gun, the radio receiver, all were snatched up and hurled into one of the +massive chests. Phee-e-al was still shouting shrill commands. An instant +later Rawson was lifted in air, rushed to the barrier and thrown bodily +from the sacred premises he had invaded. Then the hands of the red guard +closed about him before he could struggle to his feet. A shining object +swung down above his head. It was the last he knew.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>is dreams were of falling. Always when he half roused to consciousness he +was aware of that smooth, even descent, and he knew it had continued for +hours.</p> + +<p>Once he saw black walls slipping smoothly past, upward, always upward. +Gropingly he tried to marshal his facts into some understandable sequence. +He was falling, falling toward the center of the earth, and this that he +saw was not rock, or any metal such as he knew.</p> + +<p>"It's all different," he told himself dully, "new kind of matter. Rock +would flow; this stands the pressure." But he knew the air pressure had +built up tremendously. The blood was pounding in his ears. He wanted to +sleep.</p> + +<p>It was the heat that awakened him. The air was stifling him, suffocating. +He was struggling to move his heavy body, fighting against this nightmare +of heat when he opened his eyes and knew that he was in a place of light. +First to be seen were walls, no longer black, no longer even with the +characteristics of rock, or even metal. Here, as Rawson had sensed, was +new material to form the core of a world. It would have been red in an +ordinary light. It was transformed to orange, strangely terrifying in the +blazing flood of yellow brilliance that came from the tunnel's end.</p> + +<p>Rawson's brain was not working clearly. An unendurable weight seemed +pressing upon him—the air pressure, he thought, to which he had not +yet become accustomed. And the air, itself, hot—hot!</p> + +<p>A breeze blew steadily past toward that place of yellow horror at the +tunnel's end. Yellow, that reflected light; but its source was a searing, +dazzling white in the one brief instant when Rawson dared turn his eyes.</p> + +<p>Hands held him erect, red, gripping hands. One, whose body seemed molten +copper in that fierce glare, approached. His hand described a circle over +Rawson's bare chest. Straight lines radiated out from the circle, lines +of stabbing pain for the helpless man. He had seen the same emblem in the +temple of fire, again in the big room where Phee-e-al had stood.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he living sacrifice was prepared. Burned into his bare flesh was the +emblem of their legendary sun-god. The priests, their bodies coated with a +flashing coppery film that must somehow be heat-resistant, had him in +their grasp.</p> + +<p>The red warriors had fallen back. Then Phee-e-al appeared; he joined the +march of death of which Dean Rawson formed the head. Voices were +chanting—somewhere a trumpet blared. Then Rawson, moving like one in +a dream, knew the priests were guiding him toward that waiting, incredible +heat.</p> + +<p>The tunnel's end was near. About him was an inferno where heat and hot +colors blended. The whole world seemed aflame, but beyond the tunnel's end +was a seething pit upon which no human eyes could look and live.</p> + +<p>One glimpse only of the unbearable whiteness beneath which was the lake of +fire, then the chains of his stupor broke and Dean Rawson struggled +frenziedly in the grip of two copper giants.</p> + +<p>They had been chanting a shrill monotonous refrain. They ceased now as +they fought to throw the man out past that last ten paces where even they +dared not go.</p> + +<p>Rawson was beyond conscious thought. Eyes closed against the unendurable +heat, he fought blindly, desperately, then knew his last strength was +going from him. Still struggling he opened his eyes; some thought of +meeting death face to face compelled him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p> hideous coppery face glared close into his own. Miraculously it +vanished, disappeared in a cloud of white. Then the blazing walls were +gone—there was nothing in all the world but rushing clouds of +whiteness, shrieking winds, the roar of an explosion—and cold, so +biting that it burned like heat.</p> + +<p>Vaguely he wondered at the hands that still clutched at him. Dimly he +sensed other bodies close to his, other hands that tore him free where he +lay, still struggling with the priests, upon the floor. A narrow opening +was in the wall, a blur of darkness in the billowing white clouds. They +were dragging him into it, those others who held him, and they were +white—white as the vapor that whirled about him.</p> + +<p>Ahead, the girl of his former dreams was guiding him, her hand cool and +soft in his. Others helped him; he ran stumblingly where they led down a +steep and narrow way.</p> + +<p>The White Ones! In a vision they had reached out to him before. Was this, +too, a dream? Was it only the delirium of death? That burst of +cold—had it truly been liquid fires, wrapping him around?</p> + +<p>Dean Rawson could not be sure. He knew only that his fate lay wholly in +the hands of these White Ones—and that hideous eyes in the coppery +face of a priest had glared at them as they fled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h2><i>The Metal Shell</i></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_003.jpg" width="500" height="585" alt="She was motioning for him to follow." /> +<span class="caption">She was motioning for him to follow.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="57" height="56" /></div> +<p>ean Rawson had passed through a nerve-racking experience. It was not a +question of courage—Rawson had plenty of that—but there are +times when a man's nervous system is shocked almost to insensibility by +sheer horror. Not at once did he realize what was happening.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">The Voice of the Mountain heralds Rawson's Messianic coming to the White +Ones in their hour of need.</div> + +<p>Perhaps it was the sound of pursuit that jarred him out of the fog +clouding all his thoughts and perceptions. It was like the sound of +fighting animals—cat-beasts—whose snarls had risen to +screaming, squalling shrieks of rage. It was sheer beastliness, the din +that echoed through that narrow passage.</p> + +<p>Ahead of him the girl was running. She held a light in her hand. Soft +wrappings of cloth hung loosely from her waist; like her golden hair, it +was flung backward in the strong draft of air against which they were +struggling. She was outlined clearly before the red, rock-like masses +where her light was falling; she was running swiftly, gracefully, like a +wild, woodland nymph.</p> + +<p>Two men, their milk-white bodies naked but for the thick folds of their +loin cloths, were beside Rawson, helping him along. Two others followed. +And, by their haste and their odd whispered words of alarm, he knew that +pursuit had not been expected; they must have thought to get away +unobserved.</p> + +<p>Rawson felt his strength returning. He shook himself free from those who +tried to aid him. He was amazed at how easily he ran: his weight was a +mere nothing; his efforts were expended in driving his body against the +blast of wind. The air seemed dense, thick; he had almost the feeling of +forcing himself through water.</p> + +<p>Ahead of him the girl darted abruptly through a narrow crack in the wall. +Rawson followed—and then began a wild race through a network of +connecting passages, a vast labyrinth of caves, more like fractures in +this strange red substance which Rawson could think of only as rock, for +lack of a more accurate name, until at last there was no sound except that +of their own hurrying feet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey stopped and stood panting in one of the wider passages. He heard +nothing but the endless rush of the wind. For the first time Rawson became +aware of his own almost naked condition.</p> + +<p>The mole-men had prepared him for the sacrifice. They had decked him with +a loin cloth of woven gold. It felt cold to the touch, and Rawson did not +doubt its being made of fine threads of the precious metal. About his neck +hung a gold chain with a heavy object suspended; he tore it off, and found +again a representation of a golden sun. The copper priests had arrayed him +to meet their fire-god, and again Rawson wondered at the emblem they +employed.</p> + +<p>"What in the name of the starlit heavens," he demanded silently of +himself, "could this buried race know of the sun?"</p> + +<p>The others were watching him. In the glow of that strange light held by +the girl he saw them smiling. They were congratulating one another with +odd, soft-syllabled words. And Rawson, ignorant of their tongue, was mute, +when his whole soul cried out to thank them.</p> + +<p>He gripped the hands of the men. They were as tall as himself, their gaze +level with his own. Their faces were human, friendly; their eyes sparkled +and smiled into his. Then he turned to the girl.</p> + +<p>She had seen the method of greeting this stranger employed. She extended +her hand—a white hand, slim, soft, cool. And Rawson, choking with +emotion, knowing that here was the one who had first seen him and who had +returned to save him, a stranger, bent low above that hand, held in his +own so rough and burned, and pressed his lips to the slender fingers in a +quick caress.</p> + +<p>When he raised his head she was looking at him oddly; her eyes were deep, +serious and unsmiling. He wondered if, blunderingly, he had offended her. +He could not know; he did not know their customs.</p> + +<p>Again the slim girlish figure turned; her jeweled breast-plates flashed as +she led the others on where always the way led upward and the wind pressed +against them unceasingly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he White Ones wore sandals that seemed woven of glass. Rawson's bare feet +were bruised and sore, for those narrower clefts had been paved only with +broken fragments of the red walls. He moved less easily now. The heavy, +beating air tired him; the lightness of his body made it all the more +difficult to fight the steady wind. Still he followed the white figure of +the girl where her light was flashing on endless walls of red.</p> + +<p>In his ears a new sound was registering. Above the rush of the air, that +now was soft and warm, a new note had risen to a hollow, unremitting roar. +He knew that for some time he had been hearing it faintly. It grew louder, +one long, steady, unchanging note, as they advanced. It was a deafening +reverberation that seemed shaking the whole earth when they came at last +to an open room.</p> + +<p>It beat upon him thunderously. As deep as the deepest tone of a mighty +organ, like a thousand gigantic organs welded in one, it roared and shook +him through and through with its single note.</p> + +<p>Exhausted by his wild flight, surrounded by this maelstrom of sound, he +sank to the floor and let his laboring lungs have their way. But his eyes +were searching the big room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he great cave was too regularly formed to have had a natural origin. The +light that the girl had carried gave only feeble illumination in so great +a space that had so evidently been hollowed out of the solid red matter.</p> + +<p>The light flashed here and there as the girl and her companions moved +away. They were circling the room. Rawson saw the irregular outlines of +entrances to many dark passages like the one through which they had come. +The red rock-mass seemingly had been riven and torn, and apparently in +front of each opening the white figures fought against the rush of +outgoing air. Rawson felt the same current sweeping and whirling gustily +about him.</p> + +<p>Now his companions were across the room, and between him and them in the +center of the floor he saw the mouth of a black well, a pit some twenty or +more feet across. Directly above, where the red rock stuff formed a domed +ceiling, he found a counterpart of the pit below—another great bore +or open shaft, roughly circular. Apparently it went straight on up and was +a continuation of that lower pit.</p> + +<p>"This room was cut out," Rawson was thinking, "by the white people or the +mole-men—Lord knows who, or when, or why. Cut out around this big +shaft...."</p> + +<p>His thoughts trailed off. Even thinking seemed impossible under the +battering of the roaring noise that pounded about him. Then another +thought pierced through the bedlam. He had found the source of the uproar.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hat upper shaft, the hole that went on up, must be plugged. There was no +outlet that way, and this air that drove endlessly upward from the room +must be coming from the lower shaft. It was striking up into that upper +cavity.</p> + +<p>An organ pipe, truly. But whence came the unending blast of air to keep +that gigantic instrument in operation? Rawson dropped to his knees and +crept slowly across the floor toward the pit. He must test his +theory—see if that was where the air was driving in.</p> + +<p>Just short of the brink he stopped. The girl had called—a cry of +alarm. She was running swiftly toward him, circling the pit. And Rawson, +as she tugged at him, trying to draw him back, knew that she had mistaken +his motive. She had thought he was going to cast himself down.</p> + +<p>He did not need to go farther. He was close to the edge. And now, even +above that roaring sound he heard the rush of the column of air. He seated +himself on the stone floor and smiled up at the girl reassuringly. Her +eyes that had been dark with fear changed swiftly to a look so sweetly, +beautifully tender that Dean Rawson found himself thrilled and shaken by +an emotion that set his nerves to quivering even more than did the +sonorous vibration from above.</p> + +<p>Her companions had joined her. Dean saw her eyes regarding them steadily. +Then, as if reaching some sudden final conclusion in her own mind, she +dropped swiftly to her knees beside him, raised one of his hands in hers +and pressed her soft lips against it.</p> + +<p>And Dean, even had he known their language, could not in that moment have +spoken. There had been something in the look of her eyes and the soft +touch of her lips that of themselves went far beyond words.</p> + +<p>"You darling," he was whispering softly to himself as the girl sprang to +her feet and walked swiftly away, the others following.</p> + +<p>"An angel, no less—down in this damned place!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e wondered, as he watched the flickering light far across the room, what +destination they could be bound for. Surely no one so radiantly beautiful +could inhabit a world of endless dungeons like that where the mole-men +lived. But if not that, then what? Where would their next journey take +them? And in what direction would they go?</p> + +<p>Again Rawson's thoughts were submerged beneath his own weariness. This air +that beat about him had seemed cool after the terrific heat that drove in +off the Lake of Fire. Now he realized that the air itself was hot. His one +spurt of strength and energy had been expended.</p> + +<p>He watched the men disappear into one of the passages, but he roused +himself when they returned. They were clinging to a strange device, a +metal cylinder that floated in air above their heads like a dirigible on +end. It was about eight feet in diameter and some fourteen feet in height; +both upper and lower ends were rounded. A cage of parallel bars enclosed +it from end to end; like springs of steel they extended from top to bottom +where they curved in and were attached to the rounded ends.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson sat up quickly and stared in startled amazement at the thing +glinting like polished aluminum in the light. And his engineer's mind +responded as much to that smooth finish and the evident workmanship that +had entered into the making of this thing as it did to the object itself.</p> + +<p>The girl placed her light on the floor. She, too, reached up and gripped a +bar of the protecting cage to which the others were holding. With her +added weight and strength they drew it down almost to the floor. Rawson +knew by their efforts that they were dealing with something actually +buoyant, a metal balloon. One of the men, still putting his weight on the +bars, reached in and opened a door in the smooth shell. He stepped inside, +and a moment later the big shell dropped to the floor and, still vertical, +stood on the lower rounded end of the protecting cage, rocking gently as +the hot whirling wind hit it.</p> + +<p>They were communicating among themselves by signs. Rawson saw them +motioning. Speech was useless in that roaring, pandemonium-filled room.</p> + +<p>She was motioning for him to follow. One of the men circled that central +pit, came beside Rawson and helped him to his feet, steadying him as they +crossed the room. The girl had entered the big metal shell. Dean saw the +glow of her torch shining through the open doorway and through two other +windows of crystal glass.</p> + +<p>The big room had grown dimmer. The high ceiling was lost in murky shadows. +All the room was dark save where that light struck upon walls and floor to +make them glow blood-red. The waiting lighted shell seemed a haven of +refuge. To get inside, close the door, lock out some of this unendurable, +battering sound—it was all Rawson asked, all he could think.</p> + +<p>The door closed. He was within the shell, standing on a smooth metal +floor. The others were beside him. Dully he wondered what wild adventure +was ahead.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e had expected—he hardly knew what. But there should have been +machinery of some sort. If this weird balloon thing was actually to carry +them, there must be some mechanism, some propelling power. And instead he +saw nothing but the shining walls of the circular room and at the exact +center, reaching from floor to ceiling, a six-inch metal post that +thickened to a boxlike form on a level with his eyes. There was a plate on +the side of that box, a cover, and clamps that held it in place, and on an +adjoining side two little levers, one near the top of the box, the other +near the bottom.</p> + +<p>His one all-inclusive glance showed him bull's-eye windows in the ceiling. +There were more of them in the floor. One curved bar, circling the room, +was mounted on brackets against the wall. They were telling him by signs +that he was to put his hands on it and hang on. One of the men was beside +that central post. He too gripped at a projecting hand-hold. His other +hand was on the lower lever.</p> + +<p>Rawson knew his disappointment was unreasonable, but his weary mind was +tired of mysteries. Some understandable bit of machinery would have been +reassuring. And then in his next thought he asked himself what difference +did it make. If this childish balloon thing were really capable of +carrying them somewhere, what of it? It could only mean more of this +hideous inner world that grew more unbearably fantastic with each new +experience.</p> + +<p>His life had been saved. True, but for what end? The girl's eyes were upon +him, reading the expression on his face. She smiled encouragingly. Then +Rawson's hands tightened upon the metal bar. The man who stood by the +central post had moved one lever the merest trifle. Rawson felt the floor +lifting beneath him. Then the shell, like a bubble of metal, pitched and +tossed as the powerful air currents caught it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>is own lightness saved him from injury. He gripped the bar and held +himself free of the wall. The round top of their strange craft grated +against the domed roof. Then again the ship steadied and seemed +motionless, and Rawson knew they had slipped up into the still air of that +upper shaft.</p> + +<p>For one wild instant, filled with impossible hope, Rawson saw this as a +means of ascent to his own world. Then reason tore those wild hopes to +shreds.</p> + +<p>"It's closed up above," he thought. "It must be. That's why it sounded +that way. That's why the air drove off through those side passages."</p> + +<p>The next instant held no time for thought. Rawson's whole attention was +concentrated upon the bar to which he clung. For, quicker than thought, +the metal shell, the little cylindrical world in which he and these +others were, fell swiftly beneath them.</p> + +<p>His body twisted in mid-air. He knew the others were being thrown in the +same manner. Then, what an instant before had been the ceiling was now a +floor beneath his feet, pressing up against him and giving him +weight—and by the whistling rush of the air that tore past their +shell he knew they had fallen with marvelous swiftness straight down +through the throat of that lower shaft.</p> + +<p>And now what had been down was up. The ceiling of this strange room was +now their floor, but Rawson was not deceived. "Acceleration," he said. +"It's crowding us. The shell tends to fall faster than we do. It's like an +elevator traveling downward at a swifter rate than a free falling body."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e had glimpsed the glassy-side of that well into which he knew they had +been flung. He knew that the shrieks that filled the room time and again +were caused by the touching of their shell's guiding and protecting bars +against one glassy wall. Those sounds came always from the same side and +Rawson found momentary satisfaction in his own understanding of the +phenomenon.</p> + +<p>"We're falling free," he argued within his own mind, "falling toward the +center of the earth. And a falling body wouldn't follow a vertical course. +It would tend to hug against one wall." And by that he knew something of +their speed. The necessity for it was apparent a moment later.</p> + +<p>Above his head the bull's-eyes pointing forward in the direction of their +flight were faintly red. Swiftly they changed to crimson. Rawson was +standing beside a window in the wall of their craft. That, too, grew +quickly to an area of dazzling brightness. Slowly the heat struck in. The +air in the little room was stifling. He saw the girl turn her head and +give a sharp order.</p> + +<p>The man by the central post responded with another slight movement of the +lever. Beneath Rawson's feet the floor pressed upward in a surge of speed +that bent his knees and bore him downward. Under his hands the rod to +which he clung was hot. The shining walls were dimly glowing. They were +being hurled through the very heart of hell....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>nd then it was past. The crimson horror beyond those windows grew dull and +then black. In the blunt nose of their craft a tiny crevice must have +opened. The one who drove that projectile in its shrieking flight had +touched another control that Rawson had not before seen. And with a +piercing shriek a thin jet of cold air drove down into the hot room.</p> + +<p>No wine could have been one-half so potent. That thin jet filled the room +with buffeting whirlwinds that grew quickly cold.</p> + +<p>Then their speed was checked. Abruptly Rawson was weightless, his body +hanging in air, moved only as he moved his hand upon the bar. Only a few +feet away was the body of the girl floating weightless like himself. The +others were shouting loud words of satisfaction, but her face was turned +toward Rawson, her eyes were smiling into his; while, outside the little +shell that fell in meteor flight, were only shrieking winds and the +blackness into which they plunged.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h2><i>Gor</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> <p>hrough an ordinary experience, Dean Rawson, like any other man, would +have kept unconscious measurement of the passing time. An hour, no matter +how crowded, would still have been an hour that his mind could measure and +grasp. But now he had no least idea of the hours or minutes that had +marked their flight. Each lagging second was an age in passing. Even the +flashing thoughts that drove swiftly through his mind seemed slow and +laborious. Painstakingly he marshaled his few facts.</p> + +<p>"They know what they're about, that's one thing dead sure. They're onto +their job, and they've got something here that beats anything we've ever +had." He mentally nailed that one fact down and passed on to the next. +"And that's the bow end of our ship, up there." He looked above him at a +dented place in the ceiling, the ceiling that had been the floor of the +room when first he stepped into it. "There isn't any up or down any more. +I've been flipped back and forth every time we slowed down or accelerated +until I don't know where I'm at, but I saw that dented plate in the floor +when I got in and we started falling in that direction. But whether we're +falling toward the center of the earth still or whether we passed the +center back there at that hot spot and now this crazy, senseless shell is +flying on and up, perhaps these people know—I don't!"</p> + +<p>Then fact No. 3. "They live somewhere inside here. They're taking me +there, of course. It must mean there's a race of them—and they don't +like the mole-men. They know the way back, too, and if they'll help me.... +Perhaps the fighting's not over yet!"</p> + +<p>Through more endless, age-long seconds there passed through Rawson's mind +entrancing visions. An army of men like these White Ones, himself at their +head. They were armed with strange weapons; they were invading the +mole-men's world....</p> + +<p>The girl was reaching toward him. She laid one hand upon his, then +pointed overhead.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson looked quickly above. The glowing bull's-eyes startled him, then he +knew it was white-light he was seeing, not the red threat of glowing rock. +Their speed had been steadily cut down as the air pressure lessened. +"They're decompressing," he thought. "They're working slowly into the +lesser pressure."</p> + +<p>The passing air no longer shrieked insanely. Above its soft rushing sound +he heard the girl's voice; it was clear, vibrant with happiness. Her hand +closed convulsively over his; her eyes beneath their long lashes smiled +unspoken words of welcome, of comradeship, and of something more.</p> + +<p>Within their room her light, which at close range seemed only a slender +bar of metal with a brilliantly glowing end, had been clamped in a bracket +against the wall. The illumination had seemed brilliant, now suddenly it +was pale and dim.</p> + +<p>Through the bull's-eyes above, a brighter light was shining, clear and +golden, like the light of the sun on a brilliant and cloudless day. And to +Rawson, who felt that he had spent a lifetime in the gloomy dungeons of +that inner world, that flooding brilliance was more than mere light. It +was the promise of release, the very essence of hope. His eyes clung to +these little round windows; then the larger glass beside him blazed forth +with the bright sunlight of an open world that was unbearable to one who +had lived so long in darkness.</p> + +<p>He held tightly to that slim hand that remained so confidingly within his +own.</p> + +<p>"It isn't true," Rawson was telling himself frantically. "It can't be +true. It must be a delusion, another dream."</p> + +<p>He gripped the girl's hand in what must have been a painful clasp. He told +himself that she at least was real. Her lovely face was before him when at +last he could bear to open his eyes.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>bout him were the others. The cylinder rested firmly upon a surface of +pale-rose quartz. Inside the shell he saw the floor where he had stood, +and with that he added one more fact to the few he had gotten together. +There was no dent in the floor. The shell's position was reversed. What +had been up was now down. Rawson knew he was standing firmly, with what +seemed his normal earth weight, upon a smooth surface of rock; he knew +that he was standing head down as compared with his position at the +beginning of their flight—as compared, too, with the way he had +stood in the mole-men's world and in his own world up above.</p> + +<p>"I've passed the center of the world." The words were ringing in his +brain. And then reason shot in a quick denial. "You're as heavy as you +were on earth," he told himself. "You'd have to go through and on to the +other side, the opposite surface of the world, before your weight would +come back like that!"</p> + +<p>"What could it mean?" he was demanding as his eyes came back from the +machine and swept around over a gorgeous, glittering panorama of crystal +mountains, rose and white. Fields of strange plants, vividly green; a +whole world that rioted madly in a luxury of color. Before him the girl +stood smiling. Every line of her quivering figure spoke eloquently of her +joy in seeing this world through Rawson's eyes.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p> man was approaching, a man like the others, yet whose oval face +strangely resembled that of the girl. She led Rawson toward him, then +Rawson, stopping, jerked backward in uncontrollable amazement, for the +tall man drawing near had spoken. His lips were open, moving, and from +them came sounds which to Rawson were absolutely unbelievable:</p> + +<p>"Stranger," said the newcomer, "in the name of the Holy Mountain, and in +the Mountain's language and words, I bid you welcome."</p> + +<p>And Rawson, too stunned for coherent thought, could only stammer in what +was half a shout: "But you're speaking my language. You're talking the way +we talk on earth. Am I crazy? Stark, raving crazy?"</p> + +<p>But even the sound of the man's voice could not have prepared him for what +followed. There was amazement written on the face of the man. And the girl +who stood beside him—her eyes that had been smiling were wide and +staring in utter fear. Then she and the man and the other white figures +nearby dropped suddenly to kneel humbly before him. Their faces were +hidden from him, covered by their hands as they bent their heads low. He +heard the man's voice:</p> + +<p>"He speaks with the tongue of the Mountain! He comes from the Land of the +Sun, from Lah-o-tah, at the top of the world! And I, Gor, am permitted to +hear his voice!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h2><i>The Dance of Death</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> <p>hrough an airplane's thick windows of shatter-proof glass, so tough and +resilient that a machine-gun bullet would only make a temporary dent, the +midday sun flashed brightly as the big ship rolled. Along each side of the +small room, high up under the curve of the cabin roof, windows were +ranged. Others like them were in the floor. And, above, the same glass +made a transparent dome from which an observer could see on all sides.</p> + +<p>Outside was the thunderous roar of ten giant motors, but inside the +cabin—the fire-control room of a dreadnought of the air—that +blast of sound became more a reverberation and a trembling than actual +noise.</p> + +<p>Certainly the sound of motors and of slashing propellers, as the battle +plane roared up into the sky, did not prevent free conversation among the +three men in the room. Yet there was neither laughter nor idle talk.</p> + +<p>At a built-in desk, before a battery of instruments, sat Farrell, the +captain of the ship. Farther aft, in solidly anchored chairs, Colonel +Culver and Smithy were seated. Occasionally the captain spoke into a +transmitter, cutting in by phone on different stations about the ship.</p> + +<p>"Check up on that right-wing gun, Sergeant—number two of the top +wing-battery. Recoil mechanism is reported stiff.... Tell Chicago, +Lieutenant, we will want one thousand gallons in the air—gas +only—no oil needed.... Gun room? Have the gun crews get some sleep. +They'll have to stand by later on...."</p> + +<p>Colonel Culver spoke musingly. "Guerilla warfare, the hardest kind to +meet."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>mithy nodded absently. He rose and stared from one of the side windows +that was just level with his eyes. He could see nothing but the broad +expanse of wing, a sheet of smooth gray metal. Along its leading edge was +a row of shimmering disks where great propellers whirled. From the top of +the wing a two-inch Rickert recoilless thrust forth its snout; it rose in +air till the whole weapon was visible, then settled again and buried +itself inside the wing.</p> + +<p>They were testing a gun. Smithy knew that inside that wing section were +other guns, and men, and smoothly running motors. The whole ship was only +a giant flying wing of which their own central section was merely a +thickening.</p> + +<p>He looked down through a bull's-eye in the floor. The city they had just +left was beneath them. Washington, the nation's capital; the golden dome +of the Capitol Building was slipping swiftly astern. Only then did he make +a belated reply to Culver's statement.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said shortly, "they'll have to meet it their own way. We told +them all we knew. And a lot of good that did—not!"</p> + +<p>"Five days!" said Culver. "It seems more like five years since the devils +first came out. Nobody knows where they will hit next. But they're working +north—and there's no trouble in telling where they've been."</p> + +<p>Smithy's voice was hot in reply, hot with the intense anger of a young, +aggressive man when confronted by the ponderous motion of a big +organization getting slowly under way.</p> + +<p>"If only we'd gone down underground," he exclaimed; "carried the fight to +them! They live there—there must be a whole world underground. We +could have carried in power lines, lighting the place as we went along. We +could have fought 'em with gas. We'd have paid for it, sure we would, but +we'd have given them enough hell to think of down below so they wouldn't +raise so much of it up above.</p> + +<p>"But no! We had to fight according to the textbooks. And those red devils +don't fight that way; they never learned the rules."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_g1.jpg" alt="G" width="63" height="53" /></div> <p>uerilla warfare," Colonel Culver repeated. "There are certain +difficulties about fighting enemies you can't see."</p> + +<p>"They're clever," Smithy admitted. "We taught them their lesson down there +in the desert—they've never been seen in daylight since. Out at +night—and their invisible heat-rays setting fire to a city a mile +away, then mopping up with their green flame-throwers if anyone's left. +They pick our planes out of the sky even when they're flying without +lights. Darkness means nothing to them! It was murder to send troops in +against them, troops wiped out to a man! Artillery—that's no good +either when we don't know how many of the devils there are, or where they +are. There's no profit in shelling the place when the brutes have gone +back underground."</p> + +<p>Colonel Culver shot a warning glance from Smithy to the seated officer. +"About a hundred square miles of the finest fruit country on earth laid +waste," he admitted gravely; then sought to turn Smithy from his +rebellious mood:</p> + +<p>"What's underground, I wonder? Must be a world of caves. Or perhaps these +mole-men can follow up a mere crack or a fault line and open it out with +their flame-throwers to make a tunnel they can go through."</p> + +<p>The plane's captain had caught Culver's glance. "Speak your piece," he +said pleasantly. "Don't stop on my account. There's a lot to what Mr. +Smith says—but you don't know all that's going on."</p> + +<p>He had been half turned. Now he swung about in his little swivel chair, +whose base was riveted solidly to the floor and whose safety belt ends +dangled as he turned.</p> + +<p>"My orders are to deliver you two gentlemen at San Francisco. But there's +a show scheduled for to-night down south of there—two hundred +planes, big and little, scouts, cruisers, battle planes. They're going to +swarm in over when the enemy makes his first crack. There's a devil of a +storm in the mountains along the route we would usually take. I'm afraid +I'll have to swing off south." He was grinning openly as he turned back +to his desk.</p> + +<p>Colonel Culver smiled back. "Attaboy!" he said.</p> + +<p>But Smithy's forehead was still wrinkled in scowling lines as he walked +forward to an adjoining room. "Underground," he was thinking. "We've got +to carry the fight to them; got to lick 'em so they'll stay licked. But +Rawson—good old Dean—we're too late to help him. And the lives +of all the devils left in hell can't pay for that."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>mithy had been dozing. The shrill whistle of a high-pitched siren brought +him fully awake in an instant. Culver, too, sprang alertly to his feet. +Both men knew the signal was the call to quarters.</p> + +<p>They had spread blankets on the floor of the fire-control room. Culver +immediately folded his into a compact bundle, and Smithy followed suit, as +he said: "That's right; we don't want any feather beds flying around here +in case of a mix-up."</p> + +<p>Even Culver's simple act of stowing the blankets back in their little +compartment thrilled him with what it portended. His nerves were suddenly +aquiver with anticipation. A real fight! A determined effort! No telling +what these big dreadnoughts could do. Two hundred, big and little, Captain +Farrell had said. If they could catch the enemy out in the open, show him +up in a blaze of enormous flares....</p> + +<p>Captain Farrell was calling them. A section of the floor had been raised +up mysteriously to form a platform beneath the shallow dome of the conning +tower. Farrell was there, headphones clamped to his ears, one hand on the +little switchboard at the base of the glass dome that kept him in touch +with every station on the ship. Beside him was the fire-control officer +similarly equipped, though his headphone was connected only with the gun +crews.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_t1.jpg" alt="T" width="64" height="54" /></div> <p>he enemy's out!" said Captain Farrell. "And not just where they were +expected—they're raising fourteen kinds of hell. The ships have been +ordered in. I'm hooked up with the radio room now. They're less than a +hundred miles ahead. Of course we won't mix in on it, but I thought it +best to have my men standing by."</p> + +<p>He pressed a little lever on his switchboard and spoke into the mouthpiece +of his head-set. "Pilot room? Our two passengers, Colonel Culver and Mr. +Smith, are coming forward. Let them see whatever they can of the show."</p> + +<p>He gave the two a quick smile and a nod and waved them forward with the +binoculars in his free hand. "It will be 'lights out' after you get there. +We'll be flying dark except for wing and tail lights up on top. The +enemy's movements are uncertain; perhaps he can see us anyway, but we +won't advertise ourselves to him."</p> + +<p>The ship's bow was a blunt, rounded nose of glass, cut by cross bars of +aluminum alloy. That deeper central portion of the big flying wing was +carried ten feet forward; it was but one of many details that Smithy had +looked at with interest when he had seen the ship waiting for them on the +field.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he pilot room was dark when they entered. Only the glow from the +instrument panel showed the two men who were seated behind the wheel +controls. One of them turned and nodded a welcome.</p> + +<p>"Can't offer you gentlemen seats," he said, "but if you'll stand right +here behind us you can see the whole works." He did not wait for a reply, +but turned back toward the black night ahead.</p> + +<p>Smithy glanced past him at the lighted instruments and found the +altimeter. Twelve thousand—yes, there was nasty country hereabouts. +Then he, too, stared out into the dark at the sky sprinkled with stars, at +the vague blur of an unlighted world far below, and off at either side and +behind them the quivering lines of cold light where starlight was +reflected dimly from the spinning propellers.</p> + +<p>Other wing lights winked out as he watched, and he knew that from that +moment on, they were invisible from below—invisible to human eyes at +least—that they were sweeping on through the darkness like some +gargantuan night bird pursuing its prey.</p> + +<p>"Flares ahead, sir," one of the pilots had spoken into the mouthpiece of +his telephone, spoken lightly, reporting back to Captain Farrell. The +words whipped Smithy's head about, and he, too, saw on a distant horizon, +the beginning of a white glare.</p> + +<p>They were fighting there—two hundred planes roaring downward, one +formation following another. In his mind he was seeing it so plainly.</p> + +<p>The white blaze of light dead ahead grew broader. It had not been as far +distant as he had first thought, and the scene that he had pictured came +swiftly to reality.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>heir own ship was still at the twelve-thousand-foot level. Ahead, and five +thousand feet below, tiny lights, red and white and green, lights whose +swift motion made their hundreds seem like thousands instead, were weaving +intricate patterns in the night. The flying lights of the fighting planes +were on for the planes' own protection; and, too, no further concealment +was possible in the glare that shone upward from below.</p> + +<p>Settling downward were balls of blinding fire, flares dropped by the +squadron of scout planes that had torn through in advance. They lighted +brilliantly a valley which, a few hours before, had been one of many like +it—square fields, dark green with the foliage of fruit trees, +straight lines of crossing roads, houses, and off in the distance a little +city.</p> + +<p>And now the valley was an inferno of spouting flame. That city was a vast, +roaring furnace under smoke clouds of mingled blood-red and black. The +valley floor was a place of desolation, of drifting smoke and of flashing +shell-bursts as the fleet swept in above.</p> + +<p>The myriad lights of the planes had drawn into a circle, a great whirlpool +of lines that revolved above a mile-wide section of that valley.</p> + +<p>Beside Smithy a wheel control was moving. He clung to the pilot's seat as +their own plane banked and nosed downward. And now he shouted aloud to +Culver:</p> + +<p>"The mole-men! There they are! Thousands of them!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e was pointing between the two pilots as their own plane swept down. He +could see them plainly now, clotted masses of dark figures surging +frenziedly to and fro. For an instant he saw them—then that part of +the world where they had been was a seething inferno of bursting bombs and +shells.</p> + +<p>Beside him Colonel Culver spoke quietly: "Caught them cold! That's handing +it to them."</p> + +<p>Their own plane had leveled off. With motors throttled they were drifting +slowly past, only a thousand feet higher than the circling planes just off +at one side. Culver's quiet tones rose to a hoarse shout: "The ships! My +God, they're falling!"</p> + +<p>His wild cry ended in a gasp. Beside him Smithy, in breathless horror, +like Culver, was staring at that whirlpool of tiny lights that had gone +suddenly from smooth circular motion into frenzied confusion, or vanished +in the yellow glare of exploding gas tanks. The light of their own white +flares picked them out in ghastly clarity as they fell.</p> + +<p>Straight, vertical lines of yellow were burning planes. Again they made +horrible zigzag darts and flashed down into view torn and helpless, while +others, tens and scores of others with crumpled wings, joined the mad +dance of death.</p> + +<p>Smithy knew that he could never tear his eyes away from the sight. Yet +within him something was clamoring for his attention. "They didn't do it +from below!" that something was shouting. "Not down in that hell. There +are more of them somewhere." Then somehow, he forced his eyes to stare +ahead and outside of that circle of fearful fascination and he knew that +for an instant he was seeing a single stab of green flame.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>ne single light on the darkness of a little knoll that stood close beside +this place of white flame and destruction. One light—and in the +valley there had flashed a million brighter. It had shone but an instant, +but, to Smithy, watching, it was the same he had seen when their own camp +was attacked. And now it was Smithy who was abruptly stone cold.</p> + +<p>One hand closed upon a pilot's shoulder with a grip of steel; his other +pointed. "Down there—they're hiding back of that hill, picking off +our ships from the side." And then, like a guiding beacon, a point of +green showed once more.</p> + +<p>The plane banked sharply while one of the pilots spoke crisp, clearly +enunciated words into his phone. He listened; then: "Right!" he snapped. +"Power dive for bow-gun firing. Level off for bombing from five hundred +feet."</p> + +<p>Off into the night they were headed. Then a left bank and turn brought the +place of blazing flares and falling planes swinging smoothly into view; +they were flying toward it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>gainst the white glare in the valley of death was a hill, roundly +outlined. Then the ship's nose sank heavily down; and, from each broad +wing, in straight, forward-stabbing lines, was the steady lightning of the +Rickert batteries in action.</p> + +<p>The pilot's room was a place of unbearable sound. The crash of gunfire, it +seemed, must crush the glass wall like an eggshell by the sheer impact of +its own thunder. In that pandemonium Smithy never knew when they flattened +out. He knew only that the hill ahead twinkled brilliantly, and that each +flashing light was an exploding shell. He knew when the hill passed +beneath them.</p> + +<p>Then, in the night, close beside them and just outside the pilot-room +glass, was a quick glow of red. The plane lurched and staggered. Smithy +clung desperately to the seat ahead. The pilot was fighting madly with the +wheel. The roar of bombs from astern, where the bombers had launched their +missiles at the approaching hill, was unheard. In a world suddenly gone +chaotic he could hear nothing. He knew only that the valley dead ahead was +whirling dizzily—that it sank suddenly from sight.</p> + +<p>They were crashing. That red glow—they had been hit. Then something +hard and firm was pressing against him, pressing irresistibly. It was the +last conscious impression upon Smithy's mind.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h2><i>The Voice of the Mountain</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> <p>n a strange new world surrounded by a group of kneeling figures of whom +one, who called himself Gor, had spoken in Rawson's own tongue, Dean +Rawson stood silent. It was all too overwhelming. He could not bring words +together to formulate a reply. He only stood and stared with wondering +eyes at the exquisite beauty of the world about him, a world flooded with +a golden light, faintly tinged with green. Then he looked above him to see +the source of that light and found the sun.</p> + +<p>Not the sun that he had known, but a flaming ball nevertheless. Straight +above it hung, in the center of the heavens, a gleaming disk of pale-green +gold, magnificently brilliant. He saw it through lids half closed against +its glare. Then his gaze swept back down the blue vault of the heavens, +back to a world of impossible beauty.</p> + +<p>Directly ahead was a land of desolation, radiant in its barrenness. For +every rock, every foot of ground, was made of crystal. Nearby hills were +visions of loveliness where the colors of a million rainbows quivered and +flashed. Veins of metal showed the rich blues and greens of peacock +coloring. Others were scarlet, topaz, green, and all of them took the +strange sunlight that flooded them and threw it back in blendings radiant +and delicate.</p> + +<p>The little hills began a short distance off, two low ranges running +directly away. One on either side, they made brilliant walls for the flat +valley between, whose foreground was barren rock of rose and white. But +beyond the glistening barren stretch were green fields of luxuriant +vegetation and in the distance, nestled in the green were clustered masses +that might have been a city of men. Still farther on, a single mountain +peak, white beyond belief, reared its graceful sweeping sides to a shining +apex against the heavens of clear blue.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>lowly Rawson turned. A hundred yards away, at his left, there was water, a +sea whose smooth rollers might have been undulating liquid emeralds that +broke to infinite flashing gems upon the shore. He swung sharply to the +right and found the same expanse of water, perhaps the same distance away.</p> + +<p>Then he turned toward the shell, which had been behind him and the shaft +from which it had emerged, and into which the air was driving with a +ceaseless rushing sound. Now, looking beyond them, he found the same +ocean; he was standing on a blunt point of rock projecting into the sea. +The rest of this world was one vast expanse of water.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Rawson knew that it was unlike any ocean of earth. Instead of +finishing on a sharply-cut horizon, that sea of emerald green reached out +and still out, and <i>up</i>! It did not fall away. It curved upward, until it +lost itself in the distance and merged with the blue of the sky. It was +the same on all sides.</p> + +<p>He swung slowly back to face the land that perhaps was only an island. The +kneeling ones had raised their bowed heads. They were regarding him from +shining, expectant eyes. Only the girl kept her face averted. Rawson spoke +to none of them; the exclamations that his amazement and dismay wrung from +his lips were meant for himself.</p> + +<p>"It's concave! It curves upward! I'm on the inside of the world! And that +sun is the center! But what holds us here? What keeps us from falling?" He +passed one hand heavily across his eyes. The excitement of the moment had +lifted him above the weariness of muscle and mind. Now fatigue claimed +him.</p> + +<p>"Sleep," he said dully. "I've got to sleep. I've got to. I'm all in."</p> + +<p>Gor was beside him in an instant. "Whatever you wish is yours," he +promised.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson was to remember little of that journey toward the habitations of +this people. Gor had spoken at times along the way: "... the Land of the +Central Sun.... The People of the Light, peaceful and happy in our little +world...."</p> + +<p>Rawson had roused himself to ask: "Who it at the head of it? Who is the +king, the ruler?"</p> + +<p>And the tall man beside him had answered humbly: "Always since the +beginning one named Gor has led. My father, and those who came before him; +now it is I. And when I have gone, my little son will take the name of +Gor."</p> + +<p>He had glanced toward the girl and his voice had dropped into the soft, +liquid syllables of their own tongue. She had smiled back at Gor, though +her eyes persistently refused to meet those of Rawson.</p> + +<p>Again Gor spoke in words that Rawson could understand.</p> + +<p>"I think at times," he said, "it is my daughter Loah, my little Loah-San +who really rules. I, knowing not who you were, did not approve of this +expedition, but Loah insisted. She had seen you, and—" A glance from +the girl cut him short.</p> + +<p>The words lingered in Rawson's mind when he awoke. The horrible experience +of the past days were no longer predominant. Even his own world seemed of +a dim and distant past.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e awoke refreshed. He was in a new world and, for the moment, he asked +nothing except to explore its mystery. He bathed under a fountain in an +adjoining room, and grinned broadly as he wrapped the folds of the long +golden loin cloth about him.</p> + +<p>"As well be dead as out of style," he quoted. "And now to find Gor and +Loah, and see what the devil all this is about—a talking mountain +and a buried race that speaks first-rate American."</p> + +<p>Gor was waiting for him in a room whose translucent walls admitted a +subdued glow from outside. There was food on a table, strange fruits, and +a clear scarlet liquid in a crystal glass. Rawson ate ravenously, then +followed Gor.</p> + +<p>Outside were houses, whose timbered frames of jet-black contrasted +startlingly with the quartz walls they enclosed. The street was thronged +with people who drew back to let them pass, and who dropped to their knees +in humble worship. Like Gor, the men wore only the loin cloth, but for +this gala day, that simple apparel added a note of flashing color. The +long cloths wrapped about their hips, and brought up and about the waist +where the ends hung free, were brilliant with countless variations of +crimson and blue and gold. The same rainbow hues were found in the loose +folded cloths that draped themselves like short skirts from the women's +waists. Here and there, in the sea of white bodies and scintillant jeweled +breast-plates, was one with an additional flash of color, where brilliant +silken scarves had been thrown about the shoulders of the younger girls.</p> + +<p>"From all the land," said Gor, "they have come to do you honor."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>ardly more than a village, this cluster of strangely beautiful shelters +for the People of the Light. Beyond, Rawson saw the country, pastures +where animals, weird and strange, were cropping the grass so vividly +green; fields of growing things; little crystal houses like fanciful, +glistening toys that had miraculously grown to greater size. The dwellings +were sprinkled far into the distance across the landscape. Beyond them was +the base of the mountain, magnificent and glorious in its crystal purity +of white, and the striations, vertical and diagonal, that flashed +brilliantly with black jet and peacock green.</p> + +<p>Rawson knew them for mineral intrusions, and knew that the mountain was +only one crystalline mass of all the quartz formation that made of the +world's inner core a gigantic geode, gleaming in eternal brilliance under +the glow of the central sun. And still, in it all, Dean Rawson had seen a +lack without which perfection could not be complete.</p> + +<p>"Where is Loah?" he asked of Gor. "I thought—I had hoped...."</p> + +<p>Something in Gor's face told Rawson that his companion was troubled. "She +refused to come," he said. "But the wish of one of the great ones from the +Land of the Sun is a command." He shouted an order before Rawson could put +in a protest. A man darted away.</p> + +<p>"Always happy, my little Loah-San," said Gor. His eyes held a puzzled +look. "Always until now. And now she weeps and will not say why. Come, we +will walk more slowly. There were questions you wished to ask. I will +answer them as we walk."</p> + +<p>"Questions?" exclaimed Rawson. "A thousand of them."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>nd now for the first time since, at the top of a barren peak, in the dark +of the desert night, his wild journey had begun, he found answers, +definite and precise, to the puzzles he had been unable to solve.</p> + +<p>Their speech—their language—how was it they could talk with +him? He fired the questions out with furious eagerness, and Gor replied.</p> + +<p>As to their speech—the Holy Mountain itself would explain. And yes, +truly, this was the center of the world, or the sun above them was. The +central sun did not attract, but instead repelled all matter from +it—all things but one, the sun-stone, of which Gor would speak +later.</p> + +<p>Rawson pounced upon that and demanded corroboration.</p> + +<p>"All the power of earth tends to draw every object to its center, yet +we're here on an inner surface. We're walking actually head down. And our +bodies, every stone, every particle of matter, ought by well-known laws to +fall into that flaming center. But we don't! That proves your +point—proves a counter gravitation. Then there must be a neutral +zone. A place where this upward thrust is exactly equalled by gravity's +downward pull.</p> + +<p>"The zone of fire," said Gor. "You passed through it. Did you not see?"</p> + +<p>"Saw it and felt it!" Rawson's mind leaped immediately to the next +question.</p> + +<p>"And we must have come through it at, surely, a thousand miles an hour. +What drove us? That shell must have gone in from here. I can understand +its falling one way, but not two. We should have come to rest in that very +spot—and we'd have lasted about half a second if we had."</p> + +<p>"Oro and Grah," said Gor. "Oro, the sun-stone, and Grah, the +stone-that-loves-the-dark. But they are not stones, neither are they +metal. We find them deep in the ground, clinging to the caves. A fine +powder, both of them."</p> + +<p>"Still I don't get it," said Rawson. "You drive that shell in from here, +and then you drive it back again."</p> + +<p>"That, too, I will explain later. It is simple; even the Dwellers in the +Dark—those whom you call the mole-men—have Oro and Grah to +serve them."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>or launched into a long account of their tribal legends, of that time in +the long ago when an angry sun god had driven his children inside the +earth; of how Gor, and the son of Gor, and his son's sons tried always to +return.</p> + +<p>Rawson was listening only subconsciously. They were circling the white +mountain, ascending its lower slope. Now he could see beyond it as far as +the land extended, and he was startled to find this distance so short. +They were on an island, ten miles or so in length, and beyond it was the +sea; he must ask Gor about that.</p> + +<p>"It is all that is left," said Gor, when Rawson interrupted his +narrative. "Once the land was great and the sea small—this also in +the long ago—but always it has risen. The air we breathe and the +water in the sea come from the central sun. The air rushes out, as you +know; the water has no place to retreat."</p> + +<p>Again he took up his tale, but Rawson's eyes were following the upward +curve of that sea. They, seemed to be in the bottom of a great bowl; he +was trying to estimate, trying to gage distance.</p> + +<p>"... and so, after many generations had lived and died, they found the +Pathway to the Light," Gor was saying. "It is our name for the shaft +through which you came. This was thousands of your years ago, when he who +was then Gor, and the bravest of the tribe, descended. Even then they were +workers in metal and they knew of Oro and Grah. They were our fathers, the +first People of the Light."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson had a question ready on his tongue, but Gor's words suggested +another. "That shaft," he said, "the Pathway to the Light—do you +mean it extends clear up to the mole-men's world? Why don't they come +down?"</p> + +<p>"To them the way is lost; the Pathway is closed above the zone of fire. +That other Gor did that. And those who remained—the +mole-men—have forgotten. They could break their way through if they +knew—they are master-workers with fire—but for them the +Pathway ends, and below is the great heat. But we know of a way around the +closed place, the hidden way to the great Lake of Fire."</p> + +<p>"They could break their way through if they knew!" repeated Rawson softly. +For an instant he stood silent and unbreathing; he was remembering the +ugly eyes in a priest's hideous face. The eyes were watching him as the +White Ones took him away.</p> + +<p>He forced his thoughts to come back to the earlier question. "What," he +asked, "is the diameter, the distance across the inside world? How far is +it from here to your sun? How many miles?"</p> + +<p>"Miles?" questioned Gor. "We know the word, for the Mountain has told us, +but the length of a mile we could not know. This I can say: there were +wise men in the past when our own world was larger. They worked magic with +little marks on paper. It is said that they knew that if one came here +from our sun and kept on as far again through the solid rock, he would +reach the outside—the land, of the true sun, from which our +forefathers came."</p> + +<p>Rawson nodded his head, while his eyes followed that sweeping green bowl +of the sea. "Not far off," he said abstractedly. "Two thousand miles +radius—and the earth itself not a solid ball, but a big globular +shell two thousand miles thick. I could rig up a level, I suppose; work +out an approximation of the curvature."</p> + +<p>From the smooth winding path which they had followed there sounded behind +them hurrying footsteps; a moment later Loah stood beside him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>er eyes gave unmistakable corroboration of what Gor had said of that +torrent of tears, but she looked at Dean bravely, while every show of +emotion was erased from her face. "You sent for me," she said.</p> + +<p>And Rawson, though now he knew he could speak to her and be understood, +found himself at a loss for words.</p> + +<p>"We wanted you with us, Gor and I," he began, then paused. She was so +different from the girl whose smiling eyes had welcomed him. The change +had come when he spoke those first words on his arrival, and now she was +so coldly impersonal.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to thank you. You saved my life; you were so brave, so...." +Again he hesitated; he wanted to tell her how dear, how utterly lovely, +she had seemed.</p> + +<p>"It was nothing; it has pleased me to do it," she said quietly, then +walked on ahead while the others followed. But Rawson knew that that slim +body was tense with repressed emotion. He had not realized how he had +looked forward to seeing again that welcoming light in her eyes. He was +still puzzling over the change as they entered a natural cave in the +mountainside.</p> + +<p>A winding passage showed between sheer walls of snow white, where giant +crystals had parted along their planes of cleavage. Then the passage grew +dark, but he could see that ahead of them it opened to form a wider space. +There were lights on the walls of the room, lights like the one that Loah +had carried. And on the floor were rows of tables where men were busy at +work, writing endlessly on long scrolls of parchment.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_t1.jpg" alt="T" width="64" height="54" /></div> <p>he Wise Ones," Gor was saying. "Servants of the Holy Mountain." Yet even +then men knelt at Rawson's coming as had the other more humble people. +They then returned to their tables, and in that crystal mountain was only +the sound of their scratching pens and the faint sigh of a breeze that +blew in through a hidden passage to furnish ventilation.</p> + +<p>Yet there were some at those tables whose pens did not move; they seemed +to be waiting expectantly. One of them spoke. "The time is near," he said. +"Are the Servants prepared?"</p> + +<p>And the waiting ones answered: "We are prepared."</p> + +<p>Rawson glanced sharply about. "What hocus-pocus is this?" he was asking +himself. Still the silence persisted. He looked at the waiting men, +motionless, their heads bent, their hands ready above the parchment +scrolls. He saw again the white walls, the single broad band of some +glittering metal that made a continuous black stripe around walls and +ceiling and floor.</p> + +<p>"What kind of ore is that?" he was asking himself silently. "It's +metallic; it runs right through the mountain. I wonder—"</p> + +<p>His idle thoughts were never finished. A ripping crash like the crackle of +lightning in the vaulted room! Then a voice—the mountain itself was +speaking—speaking in words whose familiar accent brought a sob into +his throat.</p> + +<p>"Station K-twenty-two-A," said the voice of the mountain, "the super-power +station of the Radio-news Service at Los Angeles, California."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="37" height="52" /></div> <p>t's tuned in!" gasped Rawson. "Tuned in on the big L. A. station! A +gigantic crystal detector! Those heavy laminations of imbedded metal +furnish the inductance." Then his incoherent words ended—the +mountain was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Radiopress dispatch: The invasion of the mole-men has not been checked. +Army Air Force fought a terrific engagement about midnight, last night, +and met defeat. Over one hundred fighting planes were brought down in +flames. Even the new battle-plane type, the latest dreadnoughts of the +air, succumbed.</p> + +<p>"Heavy loss of life, although civilian population of three towns had been +evacuated before the mole-men destroyed them. Gordon Smith is reported +killed. Smith was associated with Dean Rawson in the Tonah Basin where the +mole-men first appeared. With Colonel Culver of the California National +Guard, Smith was returning from Washington in an Army dreadnought which +crashed back of the enemy's lines."</p> + +<p>Rawson's tanned face had gone white; he knew the others were looking at +him curiously, all but the men at the tables whose pens were flying +furiously across the waiting scrolls. Before him the face of Loah, +suddenly wide-eyed and troubled, swam dizzily. He could scarcely see +it—he was seeing other sights of another world.</p> + +<p>"They're out," he half whispered. "The red devils are out—and +Smithy—Smithy's gone!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h2><i>Taloned Hands</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> <p>imple, pastoral folk, the People of the Light! In their inner world, a +vanishing world, where nearly all of what once had been a vast country was +now covered by the steadily encroaching sea, they had resisted the +degeneration which might easily have followed the destruction of a complex +civilization. Living simply, and clean of mind, they had clung to the +culture of the past as it was taught them by their Wise Ones. And now the +People of the Light had found a new god.</p> + +<p>Not that Dean Rawson had asked for that exalted position; on the contrary +he had tried his best to make them understand that he was only one of many +millions, some better, some worse, but all of them merely humans.</p> + +<p>His speaking the language of the holy mountain had convinced them first. +But when old Rotan, oldest and grayest of the mountain's servants, went +into a trance, then Rawson could no longer escape the honors being thrust +upon him.</p> + +<p>"The time of deliverance is at hand," old Rotan said when he awoke. His +voice that so long had been cracked and feeble was suddenly strong, +vibrant with belief in the visions that had come to him.</p> + +<p>They were in the inner chamber of the white mountain, where Dean Rawson, +heartsick, lonely and hopeless, had spent most of his time listening to +the voice from the outer world. Gor was there, and Loah; and the writers +had left their desks to gather around old Rotan, where now the old servant +of the mountain stood erect, his glistening eyes fixed unwaveringly upon +Rawson.</p> + +<p>"Listen," he commanded. "Rotan speaks the truth. Never shall the People of +the Light return to the outer world; it is here we stay. For now our world +which is lost shall be returned to us." His eyes, unnaturally bright, met +the wondering gaze of his own people gathered around, then came back to +rest again upon Rawson.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_d1.jpg" alt="D" width="59" height="59" /></div> <p>ean—Rah—Sun!" he said. "'Rah'—do you not see? It is +our own word, Rah—the Messenger! Dean—Messenger of the Sun! +The sun-god has sent him—he will set us free. He will restore our +lost cities. The People of the Light will spread out to fill the new land; +they will multiply, and once more will be a mighty nation, living happily +as of old in their own lost world.</p> + +<p>"Dean!" he called. "Dean—Messenger of the Sun!" He was drawn to his +full frail height, his arms outstretched. But Rawson saw the old eyes +close, sensed the first slackening of that tense body; it was he who +sprang and caught the sagging figure in his arms, then lowered the +lifeless body to the floor of crystal white.</p> + +<p>Even happiness can kill. A feeble heart can cease to beat under the stress +of emotions too beautiful to be borne. And Rotan, wisest of the wise, had +passed on to serve his sun-god in another world.</p> + +<p>And thereafter, Rawson, Dean-Rah-Sun, was undeniably a god. But he +wondered, even then, while the others dropped to their knees in humble +worship, why Loah, her eyes brimming over with tears, had broken suddenly +into uncontrollable sobs and had rushed blindly, swiftly, from the room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>o Rawson the unwavering, simple faith of the White Ones was only an added +misery. Rotan's vision was accepted by them unquestioningly; their adoring +eyes followed Rawson wherever he went, while the children carpeted his +path to the holy mountain with golden flowers.</p> + +<p>And there Rawson would sit, cursing silently his own helplessness, while +the voice of the mountain told of further devastation up above. His plans +for leading a force against the mole-men were abandoned. On the island, +all that was left of this inner world, were only some two thousand +persons, men, women and children. And the children were few; the +population had been rigorously kept down. Their present number was all +that the island would support, though every possible foot of ground was +tilled.</p> + +<p>"Only a handful of them," Rawson admitted despondently, "and not a weapon +of any sort. They've kept by themselves. Only Loah and a few of the others +had enough curiosity and nerve to scout around where the mole-men live. +She even understands their talk! Lord, what I'd give for a thousand like +her, a thousand men with her nerve! Then, with weapons, and means of +transportation...." But at that he stopped, aware of the futility of all +such thoughts.</p> + +<p>He had tried to talk to Gor, tried to tell him of his own limitations. And +Gor had only smiled pleasantly and repeated "Rotan has spoken. It will +come to pass!"</p> + +<p>Ceaselessly his thoughts revolved about the hopelessness of his situation. +He was alone. Whatever was to be done he must do single-handed—and +there was nothing he could do! But he would not admit to himself that the +aching loneliness came to a focus in the memory of a girl's smiling eyes, +the touch of her soft hand.</p> + +<p>"They're fighting up there," he argued, "fighting for their lives, and I +can't help. What right have I to think of Loah or myself?" In spite of +which he sprang abruptly to his feet, left the mountain and the voice of +the mountain behind him, and went in search of the girl.</p> + +<p>"I've got to make her understand," he exclaimed. "I've got to have someone +to talk to. But I can't make her out. She's so confoundedly +respectful—acts as if I were a little tin god. And yet—she +wasn't always that way!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>t the home of Gor he found Loah, slim and beautiful as always. She had +just come from the bath. The creamy texture of her skin had flushed to +rosiness in the cold fountain. Her jeweled breast-plates sparkled. A cloth +that shone like silk enwrapped her hips in soft folds of pale rose and +hung in an absurd little skirt. She might have been the spirit of youth +itself, a vision of loveliness; yet Rawson felt an almost uncontrollable +desire to take her in his two hands and shake her when she bowed humbly +and treated his request as if it were a royal command.</p> + +<p>"To walk with Dean-Rah-Sun! But certainly, if that is his wish!"</p> + +<p>In silence they left the village and walked toward the island's end where +Rawson had emerged from the under-world.</p> + +<p>The island was not large. On either side were low hills, mere knolls, of +white crystal, where, in every hollow, men and women were harvesting +strange grain. Between the two ranges of hills were flat fields of green, +reaching out toward the point some three miles distant.</p> + +<p>Rawson made no attempt to talk as he led Loah along the roadway that +cleft the green expanse in half. Other workers were there, and Dean +acknowledged their smiling, worshipful salutations. He did not want to +talk now; he wanted to find some place where he and Loah could be by +themselves. There was so much he must tell her. He must try to make her +understand. And after that, perhaps, with her help, he could find some way +to be of aid to his own beleaguered people—something he could do +even single-handed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="65" height="50" /></div><p>here the fields ended, and from there on toward the point, had been an +expanse of glistening white. Rawson remembered it plainly. So now, when he +found it a place of flaming crimson, he stared in amazement. Across the +full width of the valley a brilliant carpet had spread itself, a covering +of flowers. A blossoming vine had sprung up in the few days since his +arrival and had woven a thick mat of vegetation.</p> + +<p>He wanted to go on out to the extreme end of the point. There they would +be alone. But Loah objected when he started to enter the red expanse.</p> + +<p>"No!" she said in quick alarm. "We must not cross. It is the Place of +Death. We will go around it, following the hills."</p> + +<p>"We crossed it the other day when it was a plain of white salt," argued +Rawson.</p> + +<p>"But now the flowers have come. Even now it might be safe—but when +they die then nothing can cross here and live."</p> + +<p>Loah could not give the reason. Dean gathered from what she could tell +that a gas of some sort was formed, perhaps by the decomposing vegetation. +Perhaps it combined with the sparkling white shale. But all this was of no +consequence compared with his own problems. He did not argue the matter +but followed where Loah led.</p> + +<p>"Where is the shell?" he asked, when they stood at last near the open +mouth of the great shaft into which the air was rushing. "Where is the +machine that we came here in? I wanted to see it—thought perhaps I +could use it later on.</p> + +<p>"The jana—the shell, as you call it—is safely locked in a +great room of Gor's house. Not all understand its use; it must be kept +away from careless hands."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hen Rawson put that thought aside. He took Loah's hand and led her some +distance away toward the shore. Beyond a rocky, crystalline mass, where +fragments had been heaped, the sound of the rushing air was lost; only the +flashing emerald waves whispered softly on the shore beyond. And there in +that quiet place, under the brilliance of the central sun, Rawson told her +of himself and of the great outer world. He told her of his work, of +everything that had happened, of how he was only one of many millions of +men and women like, and yet unlike, the People of the Light. And at last +he knew that she understood.</p> + +<p>He had spoken softly, though he knew there were no other listening ears. +Loah had been seated before him on one of the white blocks. She rose to +her feet. Her eyes were troubled. Vaguely he sensed behind them a conflict +of emotions.</p> + +<p>"I must think," she said. "I will walk by myself for a time; then I will +return."</p> + +<p>Rawson reached for her hand. "You're a good sport," he said huskily. Then +he felt the trembling of that hand in his; and, as if it had been an +electric current, his own body responded.</p> + +<p>Shaken in every nerve, his poise deserted him. He could not think clearly. +He knew only that that horrible loneliness was somehow gone. By force of +will alone he kept his arms from reaching out toward that radiant figure. +Instead, he raised her hand toward his lips.</p> + +<p>She withdrew it sharply. "No," she said, "our Wise Ones were mistaken. For +years they have listened to the mountain; they have written down its +words. Slowly they have learned their meaning. A kiss, they said, was a +symbol of love in your world. They were mistaken—as was I. Now I +will walk alone for a time."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson let her go. She seemed hardly looking where she went; her eyes were +downcast. She moved slowly around the sheltering rock and on toward the +level ground and the rushing winds of the shaft.</p> + +<p>His own thoughts were in a whirl, too confused with emotion for clear +thinking. "A symbol of love!" And back there in that cave world she had +pressed her lips to his hand. Then they had come here, and he had been +transformed to a god, a being who could never have more than an impersonal +affection for one as humble as she.</p> + +<p>The rising flood of happiness within him was abruptly frozen, changed to +something which filled his veins with ice. For, from beyond the crystal +barrier that hid Loah from his view, her voice had come in one single cry +of terror. Then, "Dean!" she called. "Dean San!" But by then, Rawson was +throwing himself madly around the barricade of rocks.</p> + +<p>Like a sensitized plate when the camera's shutter is opened a merest +fraction of a second, Rawson's brain took the imprint of every detail that +was there. The black mouth of the shaft, and, on the rock beside it, +something metallic, brilliantly gleaming—a flame-thrower! Beyond the +pit was Loah, half crouching, her slim body tense as if checked in +mid-flight. She had been running toward him, coming to warn him. And +between her and the shaft, his back turned squarely toward Rawson, was +the hideous figure of a mole-man, one of the Reds! His grotesque, pointed +head was bent forward toward the girl; his arms were reaching, the long +fingers like talons.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>awson did not know when he called the girl's name. But he knew the instant +that he had done it and he knew it was a mistake. He should have crept +quietly, seized the weapon—and now his feet tore madly on the white +rock floor as he raced toward the shining implement of death. From beyond, +the red figure, whirling at his call, leaped wildly for the same prize.</p> + +<p>The taloned hands were on the flame-thrower first. Rawson saw the red body +straighten, saw the weapon swing, glistening in air, swinging over and +down. From its tip green fire made a straight line of light.</p> + +<p>He leaped in under the descending flame, felt the nozzle of the projector +as it crashed upon his right shoulder and the green fire spat harmlessly +beyond his back. That last spring had thrown him bodily against the red +monster. They were both knocked off balance for a moment, then Rawson +caught himself and swung with his left. He set himself in that fraction of +a second, felt the first movement of that shining, crook-necked tube that +meant the green flame was being drawn back where it could reach him; then +his fist crashed into a yielding jaw.</p> + +<p>Not five feet from the brink of that nearly bottomless shaft he stood +wavering in the rush of air. He knew that the ugly red figure had toppled +sideways, that the weapon had fallen with him, the blast swinging upward +in a vertical, hissing arc—then man and weapon had dropped silently +into the pit.</p> + +<p>He was alone, save for the girl, who, her eyes wide with horror, threw +herself upon him and clung trembling, while she murmured incomprehensible +endearments in her own tongue wherein his own name was mingled: "Dean, +dear! My own Dean-San!"</p> + +<p>But the mole-men! Dean Rawson's mind was aghast with the horror of it: the +mole-men had now found the way.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h2><i>Suicide?</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="50" height="50" /></div> <p>ordon Smith, sometimes known as Smithy, was to remember little of the +happenings that followed the crash of the big Army dreadnought. It was +Colonel Culver who dragged him from the pilot-room wreckage, Colonel +Culver and one of the pilots whom he had restored to consciousness. They +lowered Smithy carefully to the ground, then explored the rest of the +ship.</p> + +<p>Their hands were red when they returned—and empty. Captain Farrell +and the rest of the crew had ceased to be units of the United States Army +Air Force; henceforth they would be only names on a casualty list grown +ominously long.</p> + +<p>"Stood plumb on her tail," said the pilot, staring at the wreck. "They hit +us just once, and the left wing crumpled like cardboard. Last I remember +was pulling her up off the trees." He stared at the mass of twisted metal +and the center section where the wing had torn loose; it stood upright, +almost vertical, resting on the crushed tail.</p> + +<p>"Funny," said the pilot in the same flat, level tone that seemed the only +voice he had since that last pull on a whipping wheel. "Damn +funny—mostly we get it first up there."</p> + +<p>"Come here!" snapped Colonel Culver. "Lend a hand here with Smith; we've +got to carry him. And don't talk so loud—those red devils will be +out here any minute."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>mithy was taking a more active interest in his surroundings when he sat a +week later in the Governor's office.</p> + +<p>"There's a detachment moving in there from the south," said the Governor. +"We're going to follow your advice, to some extent at least. We're sending +troops to Tonah Basin. If the top of that dead crater is closed they will +blast it open; then a scouting party's going down. Call it a +reconnaissance, call it suicide—one name's just as good as the +other. Colonel Culver, here, is going. But you know the lay of the land +there; you could be of great help. How about it?"</p> + +<p>"Are you asking me?" Smithy inquired.</p> + +<p>He stood up, flexed his arms, while he grinned at Colonel Culver. "Hinges +all greased and working! As a flier, Colonel, you're a darn good first-aid +man. I'll say that! When do we start?"</p> + +<p>Which explains why Smithy, some time later, hidden under the grotesque +disguise of a gas mask, was one of fifty, similarly attired, who stood +waiting about the black open maw in the great cinder-floored crater of one +of the peaks that surrounded Tonah Basin.</p> + +<p>Night. And the big stars that hang so low in the black desert sky should +have been brilliant. They were lost now in the white glare that streamed +upward. The crater was a fortress. Around the circle of the entire rim, on +the inner side of the rough crags, men of the 49th Field Artillery stood +by their guns. Lookouts trailed their telephone wire to the higher peaks, +where they perched as shapeless as huddled owls; and, like owls, their +eyes swept the mountain's slopes and the desert at its base, where the +searchlight crews played long fingers of light incessantly—and where +nothing moved.</p> + +<p>But the empty silence of the desert was misleading, as the men in the +crater knew.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey had begun arriving with the earliest light of morning. Smithy had come +in with the first lot. And when the first big auto-gyro transport had +settled and risen again from the crater, another had taken its place, and +another and many others after that.</p> + +<p>That first crew had been a machine-gun battalion, and Smithy had smiled +with grim satisfaction at the unhurried way in which their young captain +had snapped them into position without the loss of a second. And their +guns, Smithy noticed, were trained inward upon the crater itself.</p> + +<p>Inside that protecting circle the other transports landed one by one: men, +mobile artillery, ammunition cases, big searchlights, and a dozen +engine-generator outfits. The last transports brought in strange +cargo—short sections of aluminum struts with bolts and splice plates +to join them together: blocks, and tackle and sheaves; then spools of +steel alloy cable at least ten miles in length.</p> + +<p>From the last ship they took a hoisting engine and an assortment of +aluminum plates and bars which were bolted together by waiting mechanics, +and which grew magically to a crude but exceedingly substantial elevator, +on which fifty men, by considerable crowding, could stand.</p> + +<p>Only a floor of bolted plates, with corner posts and diagonal bracing and +a single guard rail running around the four sides—but for the first +time Smithy began to feel that he was actually going down; that this was +not all make-believe, or a futile gesture. He would stand on that +platform; he would go down where Dean had gone. And then.... But what +would come after he knew he could never imagine.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p> little crane swung the first metal work into position above the +shaft. One end of the assembled framework of aluminum alloy dragged +loosely on the ground; the other end swung out and projected above the +shaft, swayed for an instant—and then came the first direct +knowledge of the enemy's presence. The end of a metal strut, though +nothing visible was touching it, grew suddenly white hot, sagged, then +broke into a shower of molten, dazzling drops that rained down into the +pit.</p> + +<p>"Good," said Colonel Culver, who was standing beside Smithy. "Now we know +they are there—but it means we will have to go down there with our +gas masks on."</p> + +<p>To Smithy it was not immediately apparent how gas masks were to protect +them from the deadly invisible ray. He got the connection of thoughts when +a bomb was slid over the edge. The dull thud of the explosion quickly came +back to them.</p> + +<p>"They popped that one off in the air—hit it with their heat ray," +said a cheerful voice beside them. "But the phosgene will keep on going +down. Give them another!"</p> + +<p>The interval this time was longer. "Now for a dirty crack," said the +cheerful voice. "Time this one."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p> youngster nearby snapped a stop-watch as the bomb was released. He +held some printed tables in his hands. Odd receivers from which no wire +led were clamped over his ears. This time the dull thud was long in +coming. It was hardly perceptible when the young man with the stop watch +announced: "Fifty thousand feet, sir."</p> + +<p>"Give 'em another. Time it again." A second high explosive bomb was +released.</p> + +<p>"Fifty thousand feet, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good. That measures it. And those last bombs have knocked the devil out +of whatever machinery they've got down there. Now we'll give them a real +taste of gas. Two of the green ones there, men. Put ten miles of cable on +the drums. Get that hoisting frame into place."</p> + +<p>But night had come, though searchlights outside the crater and floodlights +within had robbed the night of its terror, when Smithy, with Culver beside +him, climbed over the guard rail of the lift that hung waiting just over +the pit.</p> + +<p>A gas mask covered his entire face. Through its round eye plates he looked +at the others who crowded about him. Grotesque, almost +ludicrous—twenty men, armed with clumsy sub-machine guns; the others +would follow later. A searchlight was on a tripod at the center, and a +spool of electric cable.</p> + +<p>The light sizzled into life and swung slowly about. Then the platform +jarred, and the spool of cable began slowly to unwind. Beside him Colonel +Culver was returning the salute of an officer outside on the ashy ground. +Smithy raised his hand, but the brink of that pit had moved swiftly +up—there was nothing before him but a glassy wall.</p> + +<p>Reconnaissance? Suicide? One word was as good as another. But he was going +down—down where Dean Rawson had gone—down where there was a +debt to be paid.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h2><i>The Red-Flowering Vine</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_r1.jpg" alt="R" width="54" height="57" /></div> <p>otan," said Gor slowly, sadly, "was wrong. His vision was not the truth. +The Red Ones have come. And now—we die."</p> + +<p>"Without a fight?" Rawson demanded incredulously.</p> + +<p>"We are not a fighting people. We have no weapons. We can only die."</p> + +<p>Rawson turned to Loah. They were inside the mountain, and the servants of +the mountain, with terror and dismay written plainly on their faces, were +gathered about. "At the Lake of Fire," said Rawson, "when you saved me, +there was an explosion and clouds of white fumes. What was it?"</p> + +<p>"It was like water," Loah said. "We found it deep inside the earth in a +place where it is very cold. When warmed it turns to white clouds. We +threw a flask of it on the hot rocks, hoping to reach you while they could +not see."—she paused and shook her head slowly—"but we can get +no more. The Pathway of Light is closed to us, now that the Red Ones are +there."</p> + +<p>"Liquefied gas of some sort," said Rawson briefly, "caught in enormous +rock pressure. But that's out! Now what about this Place of Death? There's +an idea there."</p> + +<p>The White Ones were numbed with fear, but Loah and Gor accompanied him +when Rawson returned to the red field. The flowers were still in bloom; +they waved gently in the breeze that blew always from the mountain across +the fields and out toward the point, where even now dark figures could be +seen near the mouth of the shaft.</p> + +<p>"It will be many of your days," said Loah, "before the flowers die. If you +thought to trap the Red Ones in the Place of Death, there will not be +time...." But Rawson had left them; he had advanced into the scarlet field +and dropped to his knees.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e was crushing the vines in his hands, grinding them into the white, salty +earth underneath. Then he passed his hands guardedly before his face as if +to detect an odor.</p> + +<p>Loah and Gor saw him shake his head slowly while he spoke aloud words that +they could not understand. "Cyanide," Dean Rawson was saying. "It's a +cyanide of some sort—releases hydrocyanic acid gas. I could have +rigged a generator, though I've forgotten about all of my +chemistry—and now there isn't time." Off in the distance the dark +figures still moved near the end of the point.</p> + +<p>He made no effort to conceal his dejection as he returned. The edge of the +Place of Death made a winding line across the scant half mile of valley +where the green fields ended abruptly.</p> + +<p>Dean stepped high over the stone trough a half mile long that marked that +dividing line. There was water in it; it was part of their irrigation +system. A little beyond, in the midst of the green, stood a tiny +flat-topped knoll on which he knew was a pool that supplied the crude +system. Beyond it Loah and Gor were waiting.</p> + +<p>Gor read the look on Rawson's face. "It is useless," Gor said. "And now I +have decided. The People of the Light must die—but not in the fires +of the Reds. With my people I shall walk into the sea."</p> + +<p>And Rawson could not protest. He could only follow as Gor turned back +toward the village and the mountain beyond.</p> + +<p>From a spur on the mountainside Rawson could see the full length of the +island. One way lay the village; beyond it the green fields; then the wide +scarlet band of the Place of Death. And beyond that the little crystal +hills and the valley between that led out to the point. It was now dark +with massed clusters of bodies, red even at that distance. He could even +see the glint of metal from time to time.</p> + +<p>And behind the mountain were the People of Light, where Gor was only +waiting for the attack to lead them out to the island's farther end and +then on to a kindlier death in the emerald sea. Only Loah was with Dean, +although there were others of the White Ones not far away, watching, +ready to warn Gor when the attack began.</p> + +<p>Not an hour before, Rawson had stood in the inner chamber and had listened +to the mountain as it repeated the words of a far-distant man: "Attack of +the mole-men growing increasingly ferocious ... heat-ray +projectors—almost invincible ... our forces have entered the Tonah +Basin—they are descending into the crater. But whether warfare can +be carried on advantageously under ground is problematical...." Rawson +unconsciously gritted his teeth behind his set lips as he watched the +Reds.</p> + +<p>He knew why they had been so slow in attacking. They must have a carrier +of some sort, a shell like that of Loah's, and they were bringing their +fighters one shell-load at a time. When the entire force was ready they +would attack. And Rawson was convinced that this force would be limited in +number.</p> + +<p>"They'll have plenty to keep them busy up there," he argued. "If only we +could wipe out this one lot we could prepare to defend ourselves." And +now, standing on the side of the mountain, he startled Loah with the fury +of his sudden ejaculation.</p> + +<p>"Fool! Quitter! Waiting here for them to come and get you! There's one +chance in a million—" Then he was rushing at full speed along the +roadway that circled the mountain toward Gor and the terrified throng.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he waiting savages must have laughed, if indeed laughter was possible for +such a race, at sight of the White Ones creeping timidly down. Off a mile +and more they could see them harvesting their strange +crop—harvesting!—storing up supplies of food, no doubt, when +the mole-men with their flame-throwers would reap the harvest so soon!</p> + +<p>But in a crimson field Dean and Gor and Loah led the others where they +swarmed across the Place of Death, gathering huge armfuls of the +red-flowering vine, carrying them to the village and returning for more. +Where they trod it was as if peach pits were crushed beneath their feet. +And there was a curious fragrance which Rawson told them not to breathe, +but to keep their faces always into the wind.</p> + +<p>Their hands and bodies were sore and burned by the strong juice of the +vines. They stopped often to cast apprehensive glances at the distant +group of red figures, and always Rawson drove them in a frenzy of haste. +At last he made them move the long trough of stone beyond the edge of the +green field and over into the Place of Death.</p> + +<p>Rawson kept no track of the time. The voice of the mountain was his only +measure of hours in a world of perpetual day. But more hours—another +day, perhaps—had passed when the Red force at last began to move.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey did not spread out wide across the valley, but formed a straggling +line that was denser toward the center. They could not know what +opposition they would meet; for the present they would stay together. +Above them as they came were twinkling lights of pale-green fire.</p> + +<p>The radio had spoken of heat rays; Rawson wondered if that meant some +newer and more horrible instrument. But he saw nothing but the +flame-throwers in the armament of this force.</p> + +<p>He was waiting by the irrigation pool, hidden for the moment behind the +little knoll. Loah was with him; he had tried in vain to induce her to +stay with Gor and the others who were waiting beyond the mountain.</p> + +<p>There were watchers, some of them within hearing, whose voices relayed the +news of the enemy's advance. Then they ran; panic was upon them.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tur—gona!</i>" they cried, "<i>Nu—tur—gona!</i> We die! +Quickly we die!" Rawson heard the shout carried on toward the hidden +throng.</p> + +<p>Cautiously he peered from the little knoll. They were coming. Already they +were trampling the remaining red blooms on the farther edge of the field. +But he waited till they were halfway across before he leaped to the top of +the knoll, grasped a pole he had placed there in readiness and rammed it +down through the pool, turbid yellow with the juice from the vines, and +broke open the outlet he had plugged in the base.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>ne green light slashed above his head. One flicked at the knoll near his +feet, where green growing things burst into flame—then he threw +himself backward down the short rocky slope while the stones tore at his +nearly nude body. He sprang to his feet and held Loah close. On either +side of the knoll was a holocaust of flame where green lights played. He +waited breathlessly. The fires brought in a little back draft of air, the +scent of peach pits was strong—and then the green lights ceased. The +unripe grain of the fields smoldered slowly.</p> + +<p>Then Rawson stepped from his hiding and stared out at the Place of Death.</p> + +<p>Nearby was a huddle of bodies. On either side, in a long, straggling line, +they lay now on the ground—a windrow where Death had reaped. The +flames of their weapons still in action were all that moved. The white +earth turned molten wherever those flames struck.</p> + +<p>Farther off there were red things that were running. The yellow liquid +from the pool, charged with the acid of the vines, had been slow in +flowing out through that long trough. The savages could only see that +their fellows had fallen. Some mystery, something invisible and beyond +their comprehension had struck them. They ran toward the center at first, +then turned and fled—and by then the soft air blowing gently about +them had brought that strange fragrance of death. Then they, too, lay +still.</p> + +<p>From the distance came faintly a booming chant, two thousand voices +raised in unison. "<i>Tur—gona! Nu—tur—gona!</i>" The last of +a once mighty people were marching to their death.</p> + +<p>Rawson and Loah turned with one accord. Victory was theirs, but there was +no time to taste the fruits of victory. They ran with straining muscles +and gasping breath toward the distant mountain and the marching host +beyond.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_m1.jpg" alt="M" width="68" height="56" /></div> <p>y plans are made," Rawson spoke quietly. "I must go. I shall take the +shell—the jana—and go back to the mole-men's world. I shall go +alone, and I shall die, but what of that?" His eyes lit up for a moment. +"I'll try to find <i>Phee-e-al</i> first. If I can get him before they get me, +that will help."</p> + +<p>They were standing on the mountain's lower slope, Gor and Leah and the +servants of the mountain gathered near. Below, the White Ones were massed +in worshiping silence. Had not Dean-Rah-Sun saved them? And now what else +would come to pass?</p> + +<p>The same question had been asked by the Wise Ones, and now Rawson turned +and spoke to them. "Rotan was right," he told them. "His vision was true. +There is work I must do here before I go. Your lands, or some of them at +least, will be restored. And you will be safe forever from what we have +seen to-day. Gor will lead you wisely, and Loah...." His voice faltered; +he had kept his eyes resolutely away from the slim figure of the girl, who +had been wordless, scarcely breathing. Now she stepped swiftly before him.</p> + +<p>"You must go, Dean-San," she said gently. He knew it was a term of +endearment. "You must go if you say you must. But you do not go alone, nor +die alone. Long ago the voice of the mountain spoke beautiful words. I +know now it was one of your priests telling of a woman of your own race. +Always have I remembered. 'Wheresoever thou goest, I shall go; thy +people....'"</p> + +<p>But Dean Rawson had gathered the slender figure, starry-eyed and sobbing +into his arms.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h2><i>Oro and Grah</i></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> <img src="images/image_004.jpg" width="500" height="539" alt="Then there +were footsteps approaching the chest." /> <span class="caption">Then there were footsteps +approaching the chest.</span> </div> + +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_t1.jpg" alt="T" width="64" height="54" /></div> <p>he Place of Death!" said Dean Rawson. "Whoever named it had the right +idea."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">As part of their titanic plan, Rawson and Loah-San return to sacrifice +themselves in the flaming caverns of the Red Ones.</div> + +<p>He looked out across the wide stretch of ground with its covering of white +salt almost entirely stripped of the carpet of vines. The bodies of the +mole-men lay where they had fallen; their flame-throwers still tore +futilely at the earth or stabbed upward in vain, thrusting toward the +green-gold sun that shone pitilessly down.</p> + +<p>"Still I do not understand," said Gor. "My people pressed the strong, +burning water from the vines and poured it into the pool as you directed. +But the Red Ones did not touch it—how could it burn them?"</p> + +<p>"I'll say it was strong!" said Rawson. He looked at his hands, red and +burned where the liquid had touched. "And it got stronger by standing. It +was an acid, and when it touched the white earth a gas was +formed—hydrocyanic acid gas. And that's nothing to fool with."</p> + +<p>He walked cautiously out where the liquid had been poured over the white +ground. No odor remained; the air was clean. Then he picked up one of the +flame-throwers and experimented with it until he found the sliding sleeve +that shut off the blast.</p> + +<p>"All right," he called to Gor. "Bring on your men; we've got to clean up +this place and get rid of the bodies before the sun gets in its work. +They're the ones that will go into the ocean instead of you." He moved +carefully along the straggling line of bodies, salvaging the weapons and +turning off their fearful blasts.</p> + +<p>They worked and slept and worked again before their gruesome task was done +and Rawson was ready to begin the other work that he had in mind.</p> + +<p>Beside the mouth of the great shaft, resting on the rocks, was a cylinder, +almost exactly a counterpart of the one Loah had used. But this was +larger—fully fifty of the red savages could have crowded inside.</p> + +<p>"It is the only one they had," said Loah. "I have seen, and I know."</p> + +<p>"But they can make more," Gor argued. "This one and the one we have," he +told Rawson, "were made thousands of years ago. There were masters of +metal-work among them, and they had learned to use Oro and Grah. Even then +the people were divided. He who was then Gor and his followers fought with +the others. But he left them one <i>jana</i>—this very one here. Then Gor +followed the Pathway to the Light, though he sealed it as you know. +But—but they will build others. Sooner or later they will come."</p> + +<p>"I think not," said Rawson. "Now what about this Oro and Grah material? +What was it you called them—the Sun-stone and the +Stone-that-loves-the-dark? I must know how they work." But Loah was +reluctant to experiment with the <i>jana</i> of the Reds; she had her own shell +brought instead—and then Rawson learned the secret of what seemed +its miraculous flight.</p> + +<p>A cylindrical metal bubble, just buoyant enough to lift itself above the +ground—Gor and some of the others brought it from the village. Gor +brought, too, a little box which he carried with great difficulty.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="37" height="52" /></div> <p>t is Grah," he said, when he showed Rawson a little scattering of black +dust within the box. "Always it tries to fall back under the ground. Both +Oro and Grah grow deep down near the Zone of the Fires; we find them in +the caves, Oro on one side and Grah on the other. Oro is as heavy in its +upward falling as Grah is in its downward.</p> + +<p>"Then"—he pointed to the central vertical tube in the +shell—"we put both of them in here, bringing it a few grains at a +time. One falls to one end and the other to the other. And then, with +these simple valves, we let out a little of whichever we +wish—release it a grain at a time, if that is best. We let out a few +grains of Grah, and Oro, being stronger, draws us upward; or we let a +little of the Oro escape, and we fall downward swiftly. You see it is +simple, as I said."</p> + +<p>Rawson's reply was not an answer to Gor so much as it was an argument with +himself. "Heavy," he said. "Specific gravity beyond anything we've ever +known. Osmium, the heaviest substance we have, would be light as a feather +compared to this. But wait. This Grah, as you call it, falls downward, +but that means it falls toward the outside of the earth. With us it would +be light—light! And Oro would be heavy. New substance—new +matter! One feels only the attraction of our normal gravitation; the other +doesn't react to that at all, but is driven outward with tremendous force +by counter-gravitation, the repulsion of this Central Sun. You've used it +cleverly, but we'd have done more with it up on top."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e was lost in thought for some minutes, muttering figures and calculations +half aloud. "Two thousand miles from the Central Sun to us; two thousand +more through the solid earth. And if that repelling force follows +Newtonian laws it will decrease as the square.... But, coming down from up +on top, normal gravity would decrease directly as the distance!" He made +scratches with one small stone upon a larger one in lieu of paper and +pencil, but, to his listeners, his muttered words could have meant +nothing.</p> + +<p>"Around six seventy-six hundred and seventy miles to the neutral zone, the +Zone of Fire. And a column of water—it would carry on by, plug the +shaft, check the back-pressure, and then...." For the first time since +that night when the mole-men had poured out into the crater, his eyes were +alight with hope, though his face seemed tense and grim. Then the lines +about his lips relaxed; he smiled at Loah.</p> + +<p>"I would like to investigate this under-world," he said, "—not very +far down. Will you take me?"</p> + +<p>The girl's adventurous spirit had led her on many exploring trips in that +subterranean world. She laughed happily when Rawson told her what he +wanted. "But, yes," she said; "of course I know such a place." And from +some two or three miles below, after anchoring the <i>jana</i> securely, she +led him through a winding tunnel where he knew he was steadily climbing.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div><p>t was a wide corridor that they +followed, where the walls came together high above their heads; he could +hardly see where they met by the light of Loah's torch. Now and then there +were lateral passages, but they were narrow, hardly more than cracks; and +Rawson, looking into them, nodded his head with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Occasionally his footsteps rang hollowly on the stone, and he knew that +the floor was thin between this and other caverns below. "What an old +honeycomb it is!" he exclaimed. "And we had it all figured as being solid. +The weight is all here, of course, but it's concentrated in that red stuff +down near the neutral zone. But anyway, Loah has shown me just what I +wanted."</p> + +<p>He had gathered a handful of little fragments, and, keeping count of his +steps, had shifted a bit of rock to his left hand for every hundred paces. +By this he knew they must have gone five or six miles when he reached the +tunnel's high point. Many times it had widened. Here, too, was a cave more +than a hundred feet across.</p> + +<p>From the farther side the tunnel continued, pitching sharply downward, but +Rawson did not explore farther. "I can seal that off with a +flame-thrower," he said. "I've seen how they use them." Then he took +Loah's light and looked with every evidence of approval at the rocky walls +and the roof that seemed heavy with dew.</p> + +<p>He had wondered about the air, but he found that it seeped through from +that central shaft, although Loah told him that in some deeper passages +the air was bad. Here, although it was moving gently, it seemed wet as if +charged with moisture. Rawson, staring upward, felt a drop strike him in +the face, dripping from the rocks above.</p> + +<p>"It's a gamble," he said, "just a gamble. But the stakes are worth while. +And now, Loah-San, we will return."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e made crude work with the flame-throwers at first but finally he got the +knack, and the mouth of the tunnel beyond the big room was sealed. Then, +with the help of Loah and some few of the others, he brought in more and +more weapons of the Reds. He was curious as to their construction, but his +curiosity had to go unsatisfied. They were only cylinders, so far as he +could see, cylinders a foot long and six inches through, of some metal +with the dull lustre of aluminum. But they were sealed, and he dared not +cut one open with another flame-thrower for fear of what might come forth.</p> + +<p>On the top of each cylinder a tube was connected that ended in a lava tip; +but at the base of the tube, where it joined the cylinder, was a sliding +sleeve that checked the flame to nothing when it was moved, or opened it +to the full blast.</p> + +<p>He had a hundred of them in the room when at last he was through—one +hundred fearful instruments of destruction. And still he told no one of +his plans; he only told Gor what he wanted done later on. "It may not +work," he had to admit to himself. "I'm just guessing at the thickness of +the rock and the power of these machines. It's a gamble, nothing but a +gamble."</p> + +<p>He arranged the flame-throwers in a circle along the outer wall. The tops +of the cylinders were curved, but the bottoms were flat and they set +solidly on the rock. But he tipped them backward and braced them firmly +with fragments of stone until every crooked-neck tube was pointed upward +and toward the center. Finally he was done.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div><p>t was only a matter of a few hours later when Rawson stood on the island's +end by the mouth of the shaft. In his ears was the ceaseless rush of the +air as it entered the pit; it was the only sound in a silent world. And +for the first time there came overwhelmingly upon him a realization of +what this moment meant.</p> + +<p>The time had come. Loah was beside him, her lovely eyes unnaturally bright +in her face from which all the blood seemed to have flowed. He felt the +slight trembling of her body as she pressed against him; he knew she was +struggling to keep back the tears. Then Rawson half turned with one final +entreaty that she let him go alone; but he left the words unsaid—he +had argued it several times before.</p> + +<p>Before them stood Gor, then the Wise Ones, the Servants of the Mountain, +deserting their post for the first time since the Mountain had been given +a voice. Beyond them all the people of this little world were gathered.</p> + +<p>It had seemed only a fanciful dream, this thought of going; in fact, he +had been too busy, too pressed with his own preparations, to give it +thought. Now he was learning to his own surprise how closely he had +identified himself with this world and its people. It had given him Loah; +it had been a haven, a sanctuary.</p> + +<p>He let his eyes slowly take in the full splendor of that emerald sea, the +shining land under a green-gold sun, the Mountain in white, crystal purity +against a green-blue sky. And he was leaving it, he and Loah; they were +going to—death!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_y1.jpg" alt="Y" width="62" height="58" /></div> <p>ou will remember," he said to Gor. His voice sounded dull and heavy; it +hardly seemed himself who was speaking. "You know the day and the hour. +This is the nineteenth. It is now noon—twelve o'clock in my world. +When the Voice of the Mountain says that noon again has come you will do +as I said."</p> + +<p>"The Mountain speaks without ceasing now," said Gor, "telling always of +what the Red Ones do. We will count the hours as they pass. In twenty-four +of those hours Gor will descend in the <i>jana</i> of the Reds to do as Dean +Rah-Sun has commanded."</p> + +<p>Rawson held out his hand. He was suddenly wordless. Then Loah threw +herself into Gor's arms in one last passionate embrace—but it was +she who entered the <i>jana</i> first.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said to Dean. "Oh, come quickly, Dean-San!" Then he, too +stepped inside and made the heavy door fast.</p> + +<p>Men of the White Ones had been holding the big cylinder down. But Rawson, +staring through the window, saw that it was Gor's own hands that swung +them out at last above the pit.</p> + +<p>Their craft hung quivering for an instant in the rushing air; then Loah +moved one of the levers a trifle and the blackness took them, and only the +little bull's-eyes in the metal ceiling showed the fading glow of the +Inner World, the home of the People of the Light, which their eyes never +again would see.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h2><i>The Bargain</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div> +<p>awson had taken one flame-thrower with him. He tied it securely inside the +shell so it could not shift with the changing gravity, or be accidentally +turned on. Again he clung to the curved bar against the wall. Loah stood +at the center, directing the craft.</p> + +<p>Once again he floated in air, then found himself standing on what had been +the ceiling of the room. The girl had released a considerable quantity of +the lifting element in the <i>jana's</i> end, and now the black powder in the +other end of the central tube was dragging them at terrific speed as it +rushed away from the earth's center.</p> + +<p>Over six hundred miles, Rawson had figured, from that inner surface to the +neutral zone where the red substance of the earth, that was neither rock +nor metal, under terrific pressures, glowed with fervent heat or formed +pools like the Lake of Fire.</p> + +<p>Perhaps a hundred miles thick, that zone of incessant energy, and their +little craft tore through it at tremendous speed. Even so, he was gasping +for breath in the heated room when the glow faded and again he swung over +and down upon the floor as Loah checked the speed of the flying projectile +and the little ship crept slowly up into the room where first he had seen +it.</p> + +<p>The first that he noticed was the absence of the roar. The <i>jana</i> drifted +slowly to one side, and Loah let it come to rest upon the floor. Staring +from the open door, Rawson saw the same familiar red walls and floor and +the black opening of the shaft from which they had come. But the +reverberating roar of the great organ-pipe was gone. He knew that the air, +for the greater part, was driving on past through the upper shaft that was +now open. The way was clear for them to ascend. He turned to the girl.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_i1.jpg" alt="I" width="37" height="52" /></div> <p>f my figures are right, it's some thirteen hundred miles from here on. +How did you get up there before?"</p> + +<p>Loah pointed to the passage where the <i>jana</i>, on that other excursion, had +been hidden. "We went through there," she said, "taking the <i>jana</i> with +us. We went up many miles through a great crack, but it was not straight; +we had to go carefully till another passage opened through to the shaft +far above where it was sealed."</p> + +<p>"And the mole-men never found it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Loah, "they must have known of the crack, but they did not +know where it led. Its air was bad—a gas that choked; one could not +breathe it and live. But in our little <i>jana</i> we were safe. They could not +use theirs; it was too large. Besides, only the priests came down. They +had their Lake of Fire, where they did horrible things. They did not know +that the shaft began again below."</p> + +<p>"O. K.," said Rawson, and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"But I wish to get out," Loah protested, "to gather more of the Oro. We +may need more, should we return."</p> + +<p>"We will never need it," Rawson spoke softly. "From the time we left Gor +we had just twenty-four hours to live. We must go on, and go fast."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey had no way of measuring time, and Rawson could only guess at the hours +that passed while their little ship tore swiftly upward through the dark. +He wondered if the occasional shrill shriek that followed the touching of +their metal guides on the glassy walls could be heard up above.</p> + +<p>Then, at last, Loah was driving the <i>jana</i> slowly while she held her light +so it would shine through a window. Rawson had to restrain himself to keep +from pacing the little room like a caged animal while the precious minutes +slipped by. Now that the enemy was near he wanted nothing but to drive on +up to the end of the shaft, come out into that world wherever the shaft +ended, then try to fight his way through to the great hall where he hoped +to find Phee-e-al. And his haste made him overestimate the passing time; +their journey had been swifter than he knew.</p> + +<p>"I may have passed it," Loah was saying doubtfully. "I may have come too +far." Then she interrupted herself and sprang to the controls.</p> + +<p>They drifted slowly back. "It is different now," Loah said; "the air rises +more swiftly than before." She stared from the windows while she drove the +<i>jana</i> slowly up and down, trying to bring it to equilibrium in the strong +up-draft.</p> + +<p>The air entered the shell through a little opening with the same pungent +tang Rawson had noticed before. He had wondered about the air. Down near +the neutral zone it was dense, yet he had not minded the pressure too +greatly—and that had been puzzling.</p> + +<p>"Rock pressure and air pressure," he had reasoned; "they are two different +things. If the rock flowed, any air that it trapped would be squeezed to a +liquid. But it doesn't flow—that red stuff is solid; so the air +pressure is only the weight of the air column itself. But even that should +be enormous."</p> + +<p>He could only conclude that the lessened pressure came from that strange +counter-gravitation, the repelling force from the center of the earth. +Perhaps it tended to dissipate the molecules, held them farther apart, +prevented their squeezing in together, and battering with a thousand +little impacts on a point where one had hit before.</p> + +<p>Their <i>jana</i> swayed gently as if the smooth air currents were disturbed +and were drifting them sideways; and then, at last, Loah, peering from a +window, sprang back and moved a lever. Beneath them was the +softly-cushioned thud of the shell seating itself on firm rock.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey were in another of the interminable caves, Rawson found when he opened +the door. The <i>jana</i> was resting a few feet in from the edge of the shaft. +Cautiously they got out, but even without their weight it had a slight +negative buoyancy.</p> + +<p>"Oro is pulling more strongly than Grah," Dean said, and smiled. Already +the names seemed familiar to him.</p> + +<p>The two lifted the <i>jana</i> and carried it back some twenty feet more before +Rawson realized how unnecessary this was.</p> + +<p>"We'll never be using it again," he said. "If I've guessed right it will +stay here as long as the rocks; if not—but we'll never know the +difference anyway."</p> + +<p>He took the flame-thrower from the car in sudden haste. "Quick, dear," he +told Loah. "God knows when the end will come. Quick, show me the way."</p> + +<p>Loah knew every step of the route that took them on and upward through a +maze of twisting passages, and Rawson marveled at her sense of direction. +She flashed her light at times—the little bar of metal that had in +one hollow end a substance which absorbed the light-energy of the Central +Sun. Rawson knew how it worked. Even the lights in the mountain room were +taken out from time to time and exposed to the sunlight that brought them +back into glowing life. He had seen similar phenomena on earth. But, for +the most part, Loah kept the little metal cap in place on the end of her +torch, and they moved cautiously through the dark.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div><p>ounds of the Red Ones came to them at times. And once they hid in a narrow +branching cleft that came abruptly to a dead end, while a force of red +warriors marched hurriedly through the passage they had just left. Back in +their hiding place Rawson stood tense and ready, with his weapon till the +last of the enemy was gone.</p> + +<p>Always he was frantic at thought of the time that was slipping +past—until, at last, the narrow passage that they followed cut +transversely through another large runway that glowed faintly from some +distant light.</p> + +<p>With that first gleam of light there came over Dean Rawson an odd change. +Something within him had been cold with fear. Fear of the flying minutes. +Fear that Loah might have lost her way in this tangled labyrinth of +winding ways. And now, suddenly, he was care-free, filled with an absurd +joy. Nothing mattered. They were to die, but what of that? Loah had chosen +death; he would see that when it came to her, it would be quickly and +without pain. And as for himself, if before he died he could remove this +ruler of an enemy race....</p> + +<p>So when Loah leaned close and whispered, "The light—it shines from +the council room of Phee-e-al," Dean replied almost gaily; "I've got to +hand it to you—you sure do know all the back alleys." Then he stuck +his head cautiously out into the dimly-lighted corridor.</p> + +<p>It was broad. He saw where their own little passageway went on from the +opposite side. But the light—the light! At his left, not a hundred +steps away, was a room, brilliantly lighted. And across it, in gleaming +splendor, stretched a low wall—a barrier of gold. It was the council +room, where once before he had faced Phee-e-al in all that savage's +hideous splendor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e listened. All was silent. Then Loah whispered: "Phee-e-al comes this way +when he goes to the council room. But when he comes, or how often, I do +not know."</p> + +<p>Dean pressed her back into the narrow way with his hands. "Wait here!" he +said, and gave her the flame-thrower. "I've an idea!" He stepped softly +out into the broad passage and on naked, noiseless feet, moved swiftly +toward the lighted room.</p> + +<p>It was empty. Beyond the barrier were no red figures, nor were there +whistling voices to echo as he had heard them before. Here was the throne +where Phee-e-al had sat; here the priests had stood; there, along the +wall, were the chests.</p> + +<p>Fully twenty of them, each eight feet long, they stood ranged along the +three walls of that part of the room protected by the barrier. No two of +them alike; all of them were oddly carved and studded with jewels.</p> + +<p>The chests were ranged in a straight row a foot or more out from the wall. +He crossed to them swiftly. About here was where that priest must have +gone. He raised one of the heavy lids till the light struck within.</p> + +<p>Bones! Only fragments of a skeleton, blackened by age; a necklace of teeth +from some animal's jaw; worthless trifles for the mummery of the priests. +Then, beneath them, he saw two great fangs, a foot in length. They were +curved, sharply pointed and yellow as old ivory.</p> + +<p>What was it Gor had said of legends that told of ancestors coming from the +outer world? Rawson knew that he was looking at priceless relics of the +tribe, at the tusks of man's long extinct enemy, the great sabre-toothed +tiger.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="42" height="50" /></div><p>ut he had neither time nor thoughts to spare for marvels new or +old—he must find his gun. Yet, even then, he wondered what +undreamed-of treasures the other chests might hold—what jewels, what +paraphernalia of ancient kings.</p> + +<p>He must be silent! Perhaps the next great glittering container might hold +the blue gleam of his gun. And this time as the gem-studded lid was swung +upward and back to rest noiselessly against the rock wall, Dean could not +repress the audible gasp that came to his lips.</p> + +<p>His own pistol! He had expected to find the one weapon, but, instead, the +chest was filled with all it would hold of rifles and side arms and +cartridge belts, all mingled in one indiscriminate heap.</p> + +<p>They were twisted, some of them, and bent; discolored, too, evidently by +flames. On some the stocks had been burned off.</p> + +<p>Rawson's hands were suddenly trembling. There was one rifle that seemed +unharmed; he brought it out, and hardly heard the little clatter that it +made among the other weapons. An ammunition belt—he slipped out a +clip of cartridges, made sure they fitted his gun, and threw one up into +the firing chamber. He was fumbling for more of the clips when there +pierced through his tumultuous thoughts the realization that he was +hearing sounds not made by his own suddenly clumsy hands.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div><p>arching feet, whistling voices—they came from beyond the room's +farther end, beyond the entrance through which he had once been brought a +captive. He took one step back toward the broad tunnel, then knew there +were others coming there.</p> + +<p>There was no possible avenue of escape. He threw himself in one wild dive +into the narrow space between the chests and the wall, and pulled himself +forward under the shelter of the one back-turned lid. The rifle was still +gripped in his hands.</p> + +<p>By the sounds that came to him, he knew that the outer room had filled +with red warriors, and that another smaller group had come scuffing from +the passage where he had just entered. And, by the echoing cry of shrill +voices that shouted, "Phee-e-al! Phee-e-al!" he knew that the ruler was +near.</p> + +<p>Then there were footsteps approaching the chest. A priest no doubt; shrill +whistling told of his anger. The concealing cover was jerked outward and +down, and Rawson, staring above him, saw not the coppery face that he had +expected, but the hideous white visage of Phee-e-al himself.</p> + +<p>For an instant the ruler of the mole-men stood half stooped in petrified +astonishment, and in that moment Rawson dragged himself to his feet. No +chance to use the gun—the other was upon him, his gripping talons +tearing Rawson's bare flesh. In one flashing thought, Dean cursed himself +for the uselessness of his weapon—he should have taken a pistol, an +automatic. Then, body to body with the savage, he was dragged out over the +chest.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e had been holding the rifle above him, as he struggled from his cramped +quarters. The savage had grabbed him about the shoulders, but his hands +were still free; they held the gun on high. And in the second when he +found his feet under him, as Phee-e-al dragged him clear of the chest, +Rawson brought the breech of the gun crashing down upon the pointed skull.</p> + +<p>He felt the talons release their hold. The priests were rushing upon him. +Phee-e-al, too, had been only momentarily stunned—he was springing. +Then Rawson whipped the rifle down in line, and the clamoring shrieks that +filled the room with tumult were drowned under another roar.</p> + +<p>He saw Phee-e-al fall. Even then, through all the pandemonium within his +own mind, he thrilled with satisfaction at sight of a little dot and a +spreading stain above Phee-e-al's heart, where only bare skin had been +before.</p> + +<p>The next shot took the foremost of the priests. The others paused, +hesitant for a moment, ranged out in an irregular line. Past them, beyond +the golden barrier, Rawson caught a confused glimpse of a sea of red +faces. Green flames were stabbing upward from their ready weapons. The +priests were between him and them, and there came to Rawson in that +instant, through all the chaos of fighting and half-formed plans, the +knowledge that these priests were a living barrier that held off the +flames.</p> + +<p>He fired once more to check them, then sprang for the wide entrance of the +tunnel. He fired again back of him, shooting wildly as he ran, then saw +Loah as she came from her hiding place with the flame-thrower ready in her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" he gasped. "Get back!" Then, with her, he was running +stumblingly through the dark.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>here could be no escape; even while they fled he knew it. And yet they +almost made it—though the end, when it came, was one that neither +could possibly have foreseen.</p> + +<p>They were following a wide passage, one of the countless thoroughfares of +the Reds. It was deserted. Loah flashed her light freely. Ahead of them +the passage turned. Just short of that bend was a rift in the rocks.</p> + +<p>"There!" Loah gasped. "Turn there. It will take us back to the <i>jana</i>." +But the words were followed by a flash of green from dead ahead.</p> + +<p>The flames that made it came quickly after and a dozen of the red warriors +were before them, the light of their weapons slanting just above Rawson's +head. His rifle was half raised—they would at least fight to the +last. Then he realized that the green death was not swinging downward.</p> + +<p>From behind them, in the corridor through which they had raced, came a +chorus of whistling shouts. Rawson whirled to find more of the red +fighters, and again, though their hissing green flames were held ready, +they did not descend.</p> + +<p>A priest, copper-colored, shining resplendently in the weird glow, +detached himself from the group and stepped forward under the protection +of their weapons. Loah's hand was depressing the muzzle of Rawson's rifle. +"Wait!" she said. "He wishes to speak."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he priest stopped and addressed them. Loah answered; and to Rawson it +seemed horrible that her lips and throat should be called upon to form +those whistling words. Then she turned toward him.</p> + +<p>"He says they will not harm you now if you surrender. Later, when they +select a new ruler, he may order you set free."</p> + +<p>Rawson was doing some quick thinking. The priest was lying, clumsily, +childishly, but it might be he could bargain with them.</p> + +<p>"Tell them this," he ordered Loah: "they are to let you go free—let +you go right now! If they do that, I'll lay down my gun. If they don't, +that priest will die before they get me. I don't think you can make it," +he added, "but go back to the <i>jana</i>. Don't stop for anything. Drive it as +fast as you can; you may still get there before Gor does his stuff. And +take the flame-thrower in case you are followed—" He stopped; Loah +was laughing.</p> + +<p>"Did you really think, Dean-San, that I would desert you?" Again she +laughed softly—laughing squarely in the face of that waiting death, +a laugh that was half a sob, that caught suddenly in her throat as she +stared at Dean.</p> + +<p>He could not read the look in her eyes as their expression changed. "Yes," +she said slowly, "yes, you are right. If I stay we both die, quickly."</p> + +<p>Again her voice made whistling sounds; the priest replied. Then Loah threw +her arms around Dean and kissed him. He was gripping his rifle; before he +could take her in his arms, she was gone. She walked swiftly, the +flame-thrower in her hands, toward the dark cleft in the rocks, through +which she disappeared. And Dean, though she had done what he really +wished, felt that all of his life and strength had gone with him with that +fleeing figure.</p> + +<p>He placed his rifle on the floor and, straightening, held out his empty +hands; the priest's talons were upon his flesh.</p> + +<p>"But I got Phee-e-al, anyhow," he was thinking dully.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h2><i>Smithy</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> <p>carcely more than a vault in the solid rock, the room where Rawson lay. +He had seen it for an instant when the priest, after tying his hands +behind him, had hurled him viciously into the room. It had but one +entrance, though up high on one wall was a crack some two feet in width +that admitted fresh air. A little room, only some twenty feet square; but +he would not suffocate—the priests did not intend that he should +die—not yet.</p> + +<p>He saw one of the giant yellow workers bring a big metal plate. He put it +before the doorway; then, by the red glow, he knew that they had sealed +him in.</p> + +<p>"I got Phee-e-al," he thought. "I did that much to help. That may put a +crimp in their plans, check the invasion up above. But Gor didn't do as I +told him, or it didn't work. The twenty-four hours must have gone by."</p> + +<p>Then, even in that thought, he found happiness. "That means that Loah is +safe," he told himself. "The shaft is clear; she's on her way back right +now."</p> + +<p>He pictured the <i>jana</i> falling swiftly through that dark shaft. He saw in +his mind the beautiful figure of the girl, lithe and slender, standing at +the controls.</p> + +<p>About him was a silence like that of the grave; his blood pounded in his +temples like a throbbing drum. It was some time before he knew that, with +that throbbing, other faint sounds were mingled.</p> + +<p>They came from the wall beside him, sharp tappings muffled by distance, +the faintest whispering echo of rock striking upon rock. <i>Tap-tap</i> ... +<i>tap</i>. A longer pause.... <i>Tap.</i> They were making dots and dashes that +blurred with the beating in his own brain.</p> + +<p>In that dreadful silence he strained every nerve in an agony of listening. +There was nothing more.</p> + +<p>He had been roughly handled by the savages. His whole body was bruised and +aching, his thoughts hazy and blurred. "Woozy," he told himself. "Guess +the old bean must have got a bad crack. Hearing things—mustn't do +that."</p> + +<p>Again he tried to picture the girl, speeding on toward that inner world. +Was she thinking of him? Surely she was. He could hear her calling his +name. "Dean," she was saying. "Dean-San." The words were repeated, an +agonized, ghostly whisper—repeated again, "Dean-San—oh, +Dean-San," before he knew that the sound was coming from overhead. Then a +light flashed once in the little room, and he saw her face, looking down.</p> + +<p>She was beside him an instant later. "Dean-San," she was saying, "did you +think that I really would leave you?" She was pressing her lips to his. +Uncovering her light, she worked frenziedly at the metal cords that bound +his wrists, pausing only to repeat her caresses—and at last he was +free.</p> + +<p>"I reached the <i>jana</i>," she told him in hurried whispers, "and then I came +up. Their great room, where the Pathway to the Light begins, was deserted. +With a cord I pulled the lever, and the <i>jana</i> vanished. I could not leave +it for them to use. Then I followed—I knew by the sounds where they +were taking you. And now, what can we do, Dean-San? Where can we go?"</p> + +<p>It was real! Loah was there beside him; he had her in his arms, his +bruised, bleeding arms whose hurts he no longer felt. And then, through +his mind, flashed the question: if this was real, what of the +other—the rappings he had heard? Perhaps it hadn't been a dream.</p> + +<p>He lifted a fragment of rock and crashed it against the wall from which +those rappings apparently had come. Laboriously he spelled out his name, +remembering the dots and dashes from earlier flying days when planes had +been equipped with key-senders. He spelled it slowly and waited, while +only the silence beat upon him and the blood pounded in his ears. Then he +heard it. The answer came from a quicker hand:</p> + +<p>"Rawson—this is Smithy."</p> + +<p>But Smithy was dead! What could it mean? Slowly Rawson pounded out the +letters of his question: "Where—are—you?" The answer dispelled +his last doubt as to the reality of what he had heard.</p> + +<p>It <i>was</i> Smithy. Others were with him, for Smithy said "we," and they were +prisoners, sealed up in a living tomb. But where? Smithy did not know. He +knew only that they were in a big room where the rocks had been shattered +and molten gold spilled on the floor. There was a hole in the roof, but +too small to get through—a round hole, about eight inches in +diameter. And, at that, Rawson interrupted to tap out a single word.</p> + +<p>"Coming!" he said, and turned toward Loah and the light.</p> + +<p>The girl had found a metal rope in her wanderings; she had used it to let +herself down into the cave. And now it was she who helped Dean to pull his +bruised body up and into the narrow crack. Loah had clung to the +flame-thrower; they found it where she had left it up above.</p> + +<p>The tapping rocks she could not understand, but she knew Dean had a +definite plan in mind when he whispered: "The room where you first found +me—do you remember? Do you know the way?"</p> + +<p>"I will always remember," she said simply. "And, yes, I know the way."</p> + +<p>Rawson caught glimpses now and again of that broad thoroughfare along +which he had once traveled, a prisoner of the mole-men. But Loah knew +other and seldom-used passages that roughly paralleled it; and then, after +a time, Rawson himself knew in what direction they must go.</p> + +<p>He knew, too, that they had followed a circular route, and that the room +in which he had been sealed was not a great way from the place in which +Smithy was a prisoner. Yet this had been his only way to reach it.</p> + +<p>When they came to a sudden sharp turn, he realized that they were close. +Beyond that bend would be the branching, lateral tunnel that led to +Smithy's prison.</p> + +<p>The main runway had been deserted by the Reds. Stopping often to listen, +starting at times into side passages at some fancied alarm, they had met +with no opposition. But now, from beyond the angling passage, came the +familiar shrillness of the mole-men's voices.</p> + +<p>Again the two concealed themselves, but no one approached. "It's a guard +we hear," Rawson whispered. "They're guarding that entrance where we must +go. They're taking no chances on Smithy's escaping." Then he crept to the +point where the passage turned, the flame-thrower ready in his hand.</p> + +<p>He drew back. For the moment it seemed to him physically impossible to +turn this weapon upon them. They were savages, true, but it seemed +horrible to slash living bodies with a weapon like this. Then he thought +of the devastation those same weapons had wrought among the people of his +own world. His momentary hesitation vanished. With one spring he leaped +into the open where, a hundred feet away, red bodies were massed, and the +air above was quivering with the green jets of their weapons.</p> + +<p>His own flame-thrower he had turned to a tiny point of light; now it +roared forth in fury as he swung it forward. They had no time even to aim +their weapons or to turn them on. They were stampeded by the astounding +attack. And still Rawson sickened as he saw them fall.</p> + +<p>There were some who, panic-stricken, dropped their cylinders and leaped +for safety in a narrow branching way. Rawson knew he should have killed +them, knew it in the instant that they vanished, but that momentary, +uncontrollable revulsion within him had stayed his hand.</p> + +<p>He rushed forward now, Loah still bravely at his side—past the +fallen bodies, through the choking odor of burned flesh. Grabbing up one +of the weapons that had been dropped, he thrust it into her hands and +said: "Wait here. Stand them off if they come back." Then he was rushing +up the side corridor toward a room where once, in a far-distant past, he +himself had been confined.</p> + +<p>The flame-thrower lighted the way. It showed him the metal plate and the +smooth, glassy rock that had been melted around its edge. He pounded on +the metal and shouted Smithy's name.</p> + +<p>Voices answered from within—voices almost unintelligible for the +wonder and unbelief and joy that made them a confusion of wordless shouts. +Then he stepped back and turned the blast of his weapon upon the rock at +the edge of the plate.</p> + +<p>The metal sheet moved at last, its top swinging slowly outward. Its base +was held by the gummy, hardening rock. Then it broke free and crashed to +the floor, and the light of Dean's weapon showed through the black opening +upon the blanched faces of men, where eyes were still wide in disbelief.</p> + +<p>Though they were looking at one of their own kind, it must have taken then +a moment to realize that the naked body, clad only in a golden loin cloth, +and the hands that held one of the fearful, green-flamed weapons, were +those of a human. Then one of them broke from the others, sprang +heedlessly across the still-glowing plate, and threw his arms about the +barbaric figure.</p> + +<p>"Dean!" he choked. "Dean, it's really you! You're alive!"</p> + +<p>And Rawson's voice, too, was husky as he said: "Smithy, I thought you were +gone. The radio said they had got you, old man."</p> + +<p>Then other khaki-clad bodies, a dozen of them, were crowding through the +hot portal, and Rawson came suddenly to himself.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" he shouted. "They'll be after us in a second. Follow me."</p> + +<p>Loah was waiting. Her own flame-thrower spat a little jet of green; it was +the only light. Rawson saw here she had gathered up the other weapons and +had turned them off so that even their little light would not blind her as +she kept watch down the dark passage.</p> + +<p>"Do we want them?" Dean shouted to the others. And Smithy echoed the +question:</p> + +<p>"Do we want them, Colonel?"</p> + +<p>Colonel Culver, his face almost unrecognizable under its smears of powder +stains and blood, snapped a quick answer: "No. We outrange them with our +rifles. They're only flame-throwers, not ray projectors. Beat it! Run like +the devil!"</p> + +<p>Rawson snatched Loah's weapon and threw it with the others. It would be +hard going, ahead—she must not be uselessly burdened. But he kept +his own. Then with his one free hand he swept her up till she was racing +beside him as they led the way.</p> + +<p>"I should have kept the fire weapon," the girl protested; "I, too, can +fight."</p> + +<p>Rawson, speaking between breaths, reassured her: "Too heavy. Their guns +will protect us—"</p> + +<p>Behind them, a man's voice cried out once, a single, hoarse scream of +agony; then the rock wall took the sharp crackle of rifle fire and threw +the sound into crashing, thundering echoes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h2><i>Power!</i></h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div> <p> girl whose creamy body was strangely unsoiled by smoke or grime, +whose jeweled breast-plates flashed in the light of her torch while the +loose wrappings about her waist whipped against her as she ran. And +Rawson, naked but for the golden loin cloth, running beside her. Then +Smithy, and ten others in the khaki uniform of the service—it was +all that was left of the fifty who had dared the depths. And now all of +them were harried and driven like helpless animals in the burrows and +runways of that under-world.</p> + +<p>But not entirely helpless. Colonel Culver had been right: their rifles +outranged the flame-throwers. And Rawson, looking past that first burst of +rifle fire, saw the one flame that had reached them whip upward as its +owner fell. Others of the Reds came crowding in after, and the jets of +their weapons made little areas of light as they crashed to the floor. +Then Colonel Culver took charge of the retreat.</p> + +<p>Ahead of them and behind them was impenetrable darkness; only the nearby +walls were illumined by the torch that Loah had been forced to turn on. +And out of that darkness at any moment might come devastating flames. +Culver detailed two men as a rear guard and two others to run ahead a few +paces in advance. At intervals of a minute or two their rifles would +crack, and the echoes would be pierced by the whining scream of +ricochets, as their bullets glanced from the walls.</p> + +<p>"We may not need them up ahead," Culver shouted to Rawson. "I don't +understand it. The place seems deserted—there were plenty of them +here before!"</p> + +<p>"They've got something else to think of," Rawson shouted in reply. "I +killed Phee-e-al—he was their leader. But they're after us now. +They'll be running through other passages, cutting in ahead of us."</p> + +<p>The tunnel turned and bent upward. For a full half mile they ran straight +in a stiff climb. Between gasping breaths Colonel Culver shouted hoarsely: +"Won't it ever turn? If they bring up their damned heat-ray machines +they'll get us on a straightaway like this!"</p> + +<p>Then Smithy's voice outshouted his with a note of hope: "We're almost +there; I remember this place. There's where we mounted the searchlight. +They've ripped everything out. Up ahead, one turn to the right, then a +quarter mile, then a turn toward the crater. That runs straight for a +mile, but there's a field gun at the bottom of the volcano. We'll be safe +when we're on that last stretch."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>head of them the rifles of the two who ran in advance crashed out in a +fury of fire as a green glow appeared. But this time the flame did not +die; and Rawson, staring with hot, wide-opened eyes, saw that the ribbon +of green swept transversely across the tunnel.</p> + +<p>He could hardly stand when he came to a stop. Beside him Loah was swaying +with weariness. The walls echoed only the hoarse, panting breath of the +men. Then they crept slowly forward, where the passage went steadily up. +Loah's light was out; she had slipped the cap on the torch at the first +sight of that green.</p> + +<p>They stopped but ten feet short of the deadly blaze. From a narrow rift +in the left wall it streamed outward, the rock at the edges of that crack +turning to red at its touch. It beat upon the opposite wall, where already +the stone was melting to throw over them a white glare and the glow of +heat. And, like a shimmering, silken barrier, whose touch could mean only +instant death, it reached across the wide tunnel at the height of a man's +waist and moved slowly up and down. The heaviest armor plate ever rolled +could have formed no more impenetrable a barrier.</p> + +<p>"And we almost made it," said Smithy slowly. "Look, beyond +there—another hundred feet. There's the bend in the tunnel, a sharp +turn—and we almost got around!"</p> + +<p>Rawson reached for Loah's light. In the wall where the flame was striking, +only a dozen steps back, he had seen another dark mouth, a ragged crack in +the rock. He sprang to the entrance; it might be there was another way +around. His first glance told the story, for he saw the walls draw +together again not a hundred feet off.</p> + +<p>"A blind alley," he groaned.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>ne of the two who had been their advance guard snapped his rifle to his +shoulder. He was aiming at the glowing crack where the green light was +issuing.</p> + +<p>"A ricochet," he growled. "It may go on in and mess 'em up." But there was +no whine of a glancing bullet that followed his shot; the softened wall +had cushioned the impact.</p> + +<p>Another man sprang beside him. He was shouting at the top of his voice +while one hand reached into a bag that hung at his waist. "Get back, +everyone," he said. "If I miss...." He did not finish the sentence, but +pulled the pin from a hand grenade, then took careful aim and threw.</p> + +<p>It went high—thrown there purposely; he had not dared aim it into +the flame. But it struck the crevice fairly, and they heard it rattle on +inside. The next instant brought the crack and roar of its explosion.</p> + +<p>Like a winking signal light the green barrier vanished. Where it had been +was only blackness and the dying glow of molten rock. Then, a hundred feet +beyond, up close to the roof, the bend of the tunnel turned red; it seemed +bursting into flame. Far back of them, down the long sloping way where +they had come, shrill voices were screaming—and still there was no +green flame to account for that tunnel end flaming red.</p> + +<p>Rawson stood motionless. Loah, and the others beside him, seemed likewise +petrified, until the voice of Culver jarred them into action.</p> + +<p>"The ray!" he shouted. "It's the heat ray, damn them! Quick, jump into +that cave!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hey had all retreated through fear of the grenade; they were opposite the +black place into which Rawson had looked. Loah was close beside Dean; he +threw her with all his strength into the black mouth of the cave, then he +was one of a crowding, stumbling mass of men who followed after, and their +going was lighted by a terrible torch of flame.</p> + +<p>One man had stood apart from the others, farther across the wide corridor. +His khaki-clad body flashed suddenly to incandescence, then fell to the +floor. And inside the cave, where the walls came abruptly together to cut +off any further retreat, Colonel Culver spoke softly.</p> + +<p>"One more gone," he said. "That was Oakley. Well, he never knew what it +was that hit him—and it looks as if we'll all get the same."</p> + +<p>Through it all, Rawson had clung to his flame-thrower; unconsciously his +hand had held fast to the bent handle of the cylindrical weapon. Now he +set it down slowly upon the floor, then straightened his aching body +laboriously.</p> + +<p>Loah's light was still gleaming. He saw her eyes searching for his, half +in terror, half in wonderment. Strange men with strange thundering +weapons—he knew she was wondering if they still dared hope, +wondering if these warriors of Rawson's race might be able to work further +magic.</p> + +<p>Dean put one arm tenderly about her and drew her close and his other hand +came to rest upon Smithy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"It's the end, dear," he told the girl softly. "It's the end of our +journey. You've been so dear and so brave. Pretty tough to lose out when +we'd almost fought clear." Then, to Smithy: "Loah came back to save +me—refused to go when she could have got away and been safe."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div><p>lready the air was stifling. The tunnel beyond the mouth of the cave was +hot, though only at its end, where the invisible ray struck the rock +surface squarely, was there red, glowing heat. Rawson suddenly saw none of +it. He was seeing in his mind the world up above, his own world of great, +free, sunlit spaces. Suddenly he was hungry for some closer link, no +matter how slight, to bind him to that world.</p> + +<p>"What day is it?" he asked. "Have you kept track of time?"</p> + +<p>Smithy looked at him wonderingly. "Yes," he said, then added: "Oh, I see. +You want to know what day this is when we die. It's the twentieth, +Dean"—he looked at the watch on his wrist—"just two o'clock, +the afternoon of the twentieth."</p> + +<p>Within him, Rawson felt a dull resentment. He was being denied even this +last trifling solace. "You're wrong," he said sharply. "You slipped up on +your count."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't make any real difference," Smithy said. But Rawson went on:</p> + +<p>"We left the inner world on the nineteenth. At noon on the twentieth Gor +was to cut loose the flame-throwers, melt a hole in the floor of the +ocean. But it didn't work. I had hoped I could wipe out the mole-men, turn +a solid stream of water down a shaft for over six hundred miles. It would +have gone through the Zone of Fire, come flooding up into the mole-men +world and spread out all over down deep where it's hot. It would have hit +the Lake of Fire—all that!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you are talking about, Dean." Smithy's voice was +intentionally soothing; he knew Rawson was talking wildly. "But I know I +am right on the time. We've kept track of it every hour since—"</p> + +<p>Rawson's talk had sounded like insanity in Smithy's ears. He would have +gone on—he didn't want to see Dean Rawson go out like that—but +now he stopped. The rock was quivering beneath his feet.</p> + +<p>And now Rawson, with a wild wordless cry, threw himself toward the +flame-thrower on the floor. His voice rose to what was almost a scream. +"It's worked!" he shouted in a delirium of joy. "It's the end of the +brutes!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>hen, in words which the others could not comprehend but which somehow +fired them with his own emotion: "Gor has cut it loose! Water, millions of +tons of it! The Zone of Fire—steam!..." He threw himself flat on the +floor as close to the hot mouth of the cave as he dared go, and the green +flame of his weapon ripped outward and up as he aimed it.</p> + +<p>From the passage, where it sloped downward toward the source of the heat +ray, the sound of shrill, whistling voices had swelled louder. The whole +tunnel now glowed green from the flames of an advancing horde. They were +bringing their ray projector with them, Rawson knew, not that its beam was +visible, but the white, dazzling glow from the end wall where the tunnel +turned was still there.</p> + +<p>"Shoot above me!" Rawson shouted. "Don't stick your guns out into that +ray, but aim as straight down the tunnel as you can. Keep 'em busy. Keep +'em from coming too close."</p> + +<p>Above his head he heard the beginning of rifle fire as the men crowded +close to aim at the opposite wall at as flat an angle as they could. The +air grew shrill with the sound of ricochets as the bullets glanced, but +still the enemy came on, as their screeching voices told.</p> + +<p>His own weapon was aimed up above. The roof of the tunnel was rough and +broken. He directed the flame against the top of a great black granite +block. In one place it was fractured. If he could cut it off above, make +it fall to the steeply slanting floor.... He worked the full force of the +blast methodically along the line he had chosen.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he air of the tunnel had been blowing gently, but now it came in sharp +gusts that whipped in through the mouth of the cave, while it brought an +unending growl and roar like distant gunfire from deep within the earth. +The breeze had swelled to a steady blast when the rock crashed down.</p> + +<p>"But that's no use," Culver had shouted, when the deafening sound of its +fall had ceased. "They'll melt it in a second with their ray." Even as he +spoke the great mass of granite softened and rolled downward as the enemy +shot their ray on its lower side. The heat of it struck blastingly into +the entrance to their retreat, yet still Rawson kept on, sawing doggedly +with the weapon of flame at other great blocks above.</p> + +<p>Now that distant thunder grew hugely in volume, and again the rocks +trembled beneath them. The wind in the tunnel grew suddenly to a wild +blast. It brought to them from a thousand other passages, the shrill, +demoniac shrieking of air that was torn and ripped on projecting ledges of +rock. Mingled with it was the sound of voices that screamed in terror, and +the echo of feet running in mad flight down the tunnel.</p> + +<p>The mass of stone, that had been melting under the invisible ray, cooled +to red, then to black. Outside, the tunnel, now a place of roaring winds, +was lighted only by the single flame of Dean's weapon.</p> + +<p>"They've gone!" Culver shouted. "The ray's off. Get outside! Now we'll run +for it!" And, with the others, Rawson sprang to his feet and leaped out +into the tunnel which was no longer a place of death.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="50" height="50" /></div><p>e heard the sound of their hurrying feet and a voice that cried: "Look out +for the turn—the rock's hot," but he did not look after them. He was +standing squarely, bracing himself in the blast of air, still directing +the flame upon a block that hung stubbornly and would not let go.</p> + +<p>He knew that Loah alone stood near. He heard other feet; someone was +returning. Then Smithy was upon him, almost jarring him from his careful +pose. Smithy was shouting.</p> + +<p>"Come back, Dean!" he cried. "Are you crazy? Don't you know they'll be +after us again?"</p> + +<p>Rawson sprang as the big rock let go. It, too, crashed deafeningly upon +the floor and rolled sluggishly downward beside the high hummock of glass +that the first rock had become. They bulked hugely in the passage. They +were eight or ten feet high, reaching across from one wall to the other.</p> + +<p>Above them was still a space of four feet; Rawson estimated it carefully +while he looked at the ceiling above. Then he shook off Smithy's hand that +was dragging at him and returned to the attack; for now, above the top of +the barricade he had built, white ribbons of vapor were streaming. He had +to shout to his utmost to make Smith hear above the shrill shriek of the +blast.</p> + +<p>"Steam!" he screamed into Smithy's ear. "Live steam! We could never make +it—before we got to the top we'd be cooked to a pulp. I've got to +block it, got to seal it off." A whole section of the ceiling tore loose +as he spoke, and the wind raised its voice like the scream of a wounded +animal—or the cry of an overwhelmed and stricken people—as it +tore through the space that remained.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div><p>t whipped the molten drops as they fell and made of them a deadly rain. +Rawson, staring through the clouds of hot steam that now wrapped him +about, called to Smithy to take Loah to safety, and kept the flame where +it should be—until at length the last aperture was closed, the last +gap in the wall filled in. And even after that Rawson kept the flame still +playing above that wall till he had melted rock and more rock that flowed +down to make the barrier a single heavy, solid mass.</p> + +<p>Steam was coming now from the narrow cleft where the green light had +flashed out to bar their way. But that was simple, and he sealed the gap +shut with his flame.</p> + +<p>He was gasping. The radiant heat from that molten mass had been torture +that his naked body could never have borne but for the desperate necessity +that drove him.</p> + +<p>Smithy and Loah were again beside him. "Now," he choked, "we can go, but +if there are any cross passages I'll have to block them too."</p> + +<p>"There aren't," said Smithy, and added: "I thought you were crazy. You've +saved us all, Dean; we never could have made it to the top. That steam was +getting hot—hot as if it had come right out of hell."</p> + +<p>"It did," said Rawson. Then the flame-thrower fell from his nerveless +hand. He was swaying; his knees were trembling with weakness when Smithy +and Loah, on either side, took his burned arms tenderly and helped him on +where the others had gone.</p> + +<p>Colonel Culver and a rescue party met them halfway. The Colonel had seen +his men safely to the bottom of the volcanic pit. Others had run from +their station beside a field gun to meet them; then Culver had called for +volunteers and had gone back. And now there were plenty of willing arms to +help.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div><p>he big lift, with its platforms of metal plates, awaited them at the +tunnel's end. There was room on it now for all who were left; there was no +crowding of men's bodies as there had been on the downward passage. Rawson +was stretched on the floor-plates, whose touch was cool to his tortured +body. Loah was seated that his head might rest in her lap on that absurd +little fragment of skirt. She bent above him, whispering brokenly: +"Dean-San—my dear—my own Dean-San! We live, Dean-San. I can +scarcely believe it, but I know that we live, for I still have you."</p> + +<p>But Dean was able to stand when that journey was done. First, though, +there were men who placed him carefully on a stretcher and carried him, +when he commanded, to the crater's outer rim. On the ashy floor of the +crater a big transport was waiting with idling motors, but Dean would not +let them put him inside. He wanted to look out across the world, to see it +in reality as he had seen it in his own mind when all hope was gone. He +wanted to look out once more across Tonah Basin and let his eyes rest upon +country he had known.</p> + +<p>Loah and Smithy walked beside him, as the first-aid men carried him toward +that distant rim. The rocks there were cleft—it was the place where +he first had seen the inside of the crater's cup. There he had them put +him down; and, with the help of Loah and Smithy, he got slowly to his +feet. While they lifted him, he wondered at the sound in this desert world +where no sound should be. A terrific rushing, an endless roar—and +then his eyes found the clouds of steam.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /><div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="42" height="50" /></div><p>elow him was the Basin, the tangled wreckage of his camp. And there, where +the derrick had stood, was a tall plume of white. It did not begin close +to the ground—superheated steam, until it cools and condenses to +water vapor, is invisible—but a hundred feet above the sand. And, +from there on up, two thousand feet sheer into the air, was a straight +shaft of vapor, rolling up for another thousand feet into billowing clouds +that the afternoon sun turned to glorious white.</p> + +<p>"Power!" gasped Rawson. "Power—and it will be like that +indefinitely!" Then he laughed weakly. "I had to go down there to do it, +to make Erickson richer, but it was worth it. In there the ocean will +slowly subside. Gor and his people will find their lost lands; the column +of water in the shaft will hold the back-pressure of steam. And here, I +have Loah, and that's all—but that's enough!"</p> + +<p>He put one arm, still with the bandages of the first-aid men, about the +girl. "I hope you'll be happy, dear," he said softly, and turned back. But +Smithy barred the way.</p> + +<p>"That isn't all," said Smithy jubilantly. "You see, Dean, Erickson fired +you—Erickson thought you had run out on him. Instead of backing you +up, he quit. So I bought them all out. Whatever is there, Dean—and +it's worth more millions than I dare to think about—you own half of! +Now get back on that stretcher. Just because you've saved all our necks up +here on top of the earth, you mustn't think you can keep an Army ship +waiting all day!"</p> + +<h3>(<i>The End.</i>)</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Two Thousand Miles Below, by Charles Willard Diffin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW *** + +***** This file should be named 29965-h.htm or 29965-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/9/6/29965/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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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