CHAPTER 14
"... that's my half of it. The rest of it you know." Ross held his handsclose to the small fire sheltered in the pit he had helped dig andflexed his cold-numbed fingers in the warmth.
From across the handful of flames Ashe's eyes, too bright in afever-flushed face, watched him demandingly. The fugitives had takencover in an angle where the massed remains of an old avalanche provideda cave-pocket. McNeil was off scouting in the gray drizzle of the day,and their escape from the village was now some forty-eight hours behindthem.
"So the crackpots were right, after all. They only had their timesmixed." Ashe shifted on the bed of brush and leaves they had rakedtogether for his comfort.
"I don't understand----"
"Flying saucers," Ashe returned with an odd little laugh. "It was a wildpossibility, but it was on the books from the start. This certainly willmake Kelgarries turn red----"
"Flying saucers?"
Ashe must be out of his head from the fever, Ross supposed. He wonderedwhat he should do if Ashe tried to get up and walk away. He could nottackle a man with a bad hole in his shoulder, nor was he certain hecould wrestle Ashe down in a real fight.
"That globe-ship was never built on this world. Use your head, Murdock.Think about your furry-faced friend and the baldy with him. Did eitherlook like normal Terrans to you?"
"But--a spaceship!" It was something that had so long been laughed toscorn. When men had failed to break into space after the initialexcitement of the satellite launchings, space flight had become a matterfor jeers. On the other hand, there was the evidence collected by hisown eyes and ears, his own experience. The services of the lifeboat hadbeen techniques outside of his experience.
"This was insinuated once"--Ashe was lying flat now, gazingspeculatively up at the projection of logs and earth which made them apartial roof--"along with a lot of other bright ideas, by a gentlemannamed Charles Fort, who took a lot of pleasure in pricking what heconsidered to be vastly over-inflated scientific pomposity. He gatheredtogether four book loads of reported incidents of unexplainablehappenings which he dared the scientists of his day to explain. And oneof his bright suggestions was that such phenomena as the vast artificialearthworks found in Ohio and Indiana were originally thrown up by spacecastaways to serve as S O S signals. An intriguing idea, and now perhapswe may prove it true."
"But if such spaceships were wrecked on this world, I still don't seewhy we didn't find traces of them in our own time."
"Because that wreck you explored was bedded in a glacial era. Do youhave any idea how long ago that was, counting from our own time? Therewere at least three glacial periods--and we don't know in which one theReds went visiting. That age began about a million years before we wereborn, and the last of the ice ebbed out of New York State somethirty-eight thousand years ago, boy. That was the early Stone Age,reckoning it by the scale of human development, with an extremely thinpopulation of the first real types of man clinging to a few warmerfringes of wilderness.
"Climatic changes, geographical changes, all altered the face of ourcontinents. There was a sea in Kansas; England was part of Europe. So,even though as many as fifty such ships were lost here, they could allhave been ground to bits by the ice flow, buried miles deep in quakes,or rusted away generations before the first really intelligent manarrived to wonder at them. Certainly there couldn't be too many suchwrecks to be found. What do you think this planet was, a flypaper toattract them?"
"But if ships crashed here once, why didn't they later when men werebetter able to understand them?" Ross countered.
"For several reasons--all of them possible and able to be fitted intothe fabric of history as we know it on this world. Civilizations rise,exist, and fall, each taking with it into the limbo of forgotten thingssome of the discoveries which made it great. How did the Indiancivilizations of the New World learn to harden gold into a useable pointfor a cutting weapon? What was the secret of building possessed by theancient Egyptians? Today you will find plenty of men to argue theseproblems and half a hundred others.
"The Egyptians once had a well-traveled trade route to India. Bronze Agetraders opened up roads down into Africa. The Romans knew China. Thencame an end to each of these empires, and those trade routes wereforgotten. To our European ancestors of the Middle Ages, China wasalmost a legend, and the fact that the Egyptians had successfully sailedaround the Cape of Good Hope was unknown. Suppose our space voyagersrepresented some star-born confederacy or empire which lived, rose toits highest point, and fell again into planet-bound barbarism all beforethe first of our species painted pictures on a cave wall?
"Or take it that this world was an unlucky reef on which too many shipsand cargoes were lost, so that our whole solar system was posted, andskippers of star ships thereafter avoided it? Or they might even havehad some rule that when a planet developed a primitive race of its own,it was to be left strictly alone until it discovered space flight foritself."
"Yes." Every one of Ashe's suppositions made good sense, and Ross wasable to believe them. It was easier to think that both Furry-face andBaldy were inhabitants of another world than to think their kind existedon this planet before his own species was born. "But how did the Redslocate that ship?"
"Unless that information is on the tapes we were able to bring along, weshall probably never know," Ashe said drowsily. "I might make oneguess--the Reds have been making an all-out effort for the past hundredyears to open up Siberia. In some sections of that huge country therehave been great climatic changes almost overnight in the far past.Mammoths have been discovered frozen in the ice with half-digestedtropical plants in their stomach. It's as if the beasts were given somedeep-freeze treatment instantaneously. If in their excavations the Redscame across the remains of a spaceship, remains well enough preservedfor them to realize what they had discovered, they might start questingback in time to find a better one intact at an earlier date. That theoryfits everything we know now."
"But why would the aliens attack the Reds now?"
"No ship's officers ever thought gently of pirates." Ashe's eyes closed.
There were questions, a flood of them, that Ross wanted to ask. Hesmoothed the fabric on his arm, that stuff which clung so tightly to hisskin yet kept him warm without any need for more covering. If Ashe wereright, on what world, what kind of world, had that material been woven,and how far had it been brought that he could wear it now?
Suddenly McNeil slid into their shelter and dropped two hares at theedge of the fire.
"How goes it?" he said, as Ross began to clean them.
"Reasonably well," Ashe, his eyes still closed, replied to that beforeRoss could. "How far are we from the river? And do we have company?"
"About five miles--if we had wings." McNeil answered in a dry tone. "Andwe have company all right, lots of it!"
That brought Ashe up, leaning forward on his good elbow. "What kind?"
"Not from the village." McNeil frowned at the fire which he fed witheconomic handfuls of sticks. "Something's happening on this side of themountains. It looks as if there's a mass migration in progress. Icounted five family clans on their way west--all in just this onemorning."
"The village refugees' stories about devils might send them packing,"Ashe mused.
"Maybe." But McNeil did not sound convinced. "The sooner we headdownstream, the better. And I hope the boys will have that sub waitingwhere they promised. We do possess one thing in our favor--the springfloods are subsiding."
"And the high water should have plenty of raft material." Ashe lay backagain. "We'll make those five miles tomorrow."
McNeil stirred uneasily and Ross, having cleaned and spitted the hares,swung them over the flames to broil. "Five miles in this country," theyounger man observed, "is a pretty good day's march"--he did not add ashe wanted to--"for a well man."
"I will make it," Ashe promised, and both listeners knew that as long ashis body would obey him he meant to keep that promise. They also knewthe futility of argument.
/>
Ashe proved to be a prophet to be honored on two counts. They did makethe trek to the river the next day, and there was a wealth of raftmaterial marking the high-water level of the spring flood. Themigrations McNeil had reported were still in progress, and the three menhid twice to watch the passing of small family clans. Once a respectablysized tribe, including wounded men, marched across their route, seekinga ford at the river.
"They've been badly mauled," McNeil whispered as they watched the peoplehuddled along the water's edge while scouts cast upstream and down,searching for a ford. When they returned with the news that there was noford to be found, the tribesmen then sullenly went to work with flintaxes and knives to make rafts.
"Pressure--they are on the run." Ashe rested his chin on his goodforearm and studied the busy scene. "These are not from the village.Notice the dress and the red paint on their faces. They're not likeUlffa's kin either. I wouldn't say they were local at all."
"Reminds me of something I saw once--animals running before a forestfire. They can't all be looking for new hunting territory," McNeilreturned.
"Reds sweeping them out," Ross suggested. "Or could the ship people--?"
Ashe started to shake his head and then winced. "I wonder...." Thecrease between his level brows deepened. "The ax people!" His voice wasstill a whisper, but it carried a note of triumph as if he had fittedsome stubborn jigsaw piece into its proper place.
"Ax people?"
"Invasion of another people from the east. They turned up in prehistoryabout this period. Remember, Webb spoke of them. They used axes forweapons and tamed horses."
"Tartars"--McNeil was puzzled--"This far west?"
"Not Tartars, no. You needn't expect those to come boiling out of middleAsia for some thousands of years yet. We don't know too much about theax people, save that they moved west from the interior plains.Eventually they crossed to Britain; perhaps they were the ancestors ofthe Celts who loved horses too. But in their time they were a tidalwave."
"The sooner we head downstream, the better." McNeil stirred restlessly,but they knew that they must keep to cover until the tribesmen belowwere gone. So they lay in hiding another night, witnessing on the nextmorning the arrival of a smaller party of the red-painted men, againwith wounded among them. At the coming of this rear guard the activityon the river bank rose close to frenzy.
The three men out of time were doubly uneasy. It was not for them tomerely cross the river. They had to build a raft which would bewater-worthy enough to take them downstream--to the sea if they werelucky. And to build such a sturdy raft would take time, time they didnot have now.
In fact, McNeil waited only until the last tribal raft was out of bowshot before he plunged down to the shore, Ross at his heels. Since theylacked even the stone tools of the tribesmen, they were at adisadvantage, and Ross found he was hands and feet for Ashe, workingunder the other's close direction. Before night closed in they had agood beginning and two sets of blistered hands, as well as aching backs.
When it was too dark to work any longer, Ashe pointed back over thetrack they had followed. Marking the mountain pass was a light. Itlooked like fire, and if it was, it must be a big one for them to beable to sight it across this distance.
"Camp?" McNeil wondered.
"Must be," Ashe agreed. "Those who built that blaze are in such numbersthat they don't have to take precautions."
"Will they be here by tomorrow?"
"Their scouts might, but this is early spring, and forage can't havebeen too good on the march. If I were the chief of that tribe, I'd turnaside into the meadow land we skirted yesterday and let the herds grazefor a day, maybe more. On the other hand, if they need water----"
"They will come straight ahead!" McNeil finished grimly. "And we can'tbe here when they arrive."
Ross stretched, grimacing at the twinge of pain in his shoulders. Hishands smarted and throbbed, and this was just the beginning of theirtask. If Ashe had been fit, they might have trusted to logs for supportand swum downstream to hunt a safer place for their shipbuildingproject. But he knew that Ashe could not stand such an effort.
Ross slept that night mainly because his body was too exhausted to lethim lie awake and worry. Roused in the earliest dawn by McNeil, theyboth crawled down to the water's edge and struggled to bind stubbornlyresisting saplings together with cords twisted from bark. Theyreinforced them at crucial points with some strings torn from theirkilts, and strips of rabbit hide saved from their kills of the past fewdays. They worked with hunger gnawing at them, having no time now tohunt. When the sun was well westward they had a clumsy craft whichfloated sluggishly. Whether it would answer to either pole or improvisedpaddle, they could not know until they tried it.
Ashe, his face flushed and his skin hot to the touch, crawled on boardand lay in the middle, on the thin heap of bedding they had put therefor him. He eagerly drank the water they carried to him in cupped handsand gave a little sigh of relief as Ross wiped his face with wet grass,muttering something about Kelgarries which neither of his companionsunderstood.
McNeil shoved off and the bobbing craft spun around dizzily as thecurrent pulled it free from the shore. They made a brave start, but luckdeserted them before they had gotten out of sight of the spot where theyembarked.
Striving to keep them in mid-current, McNeil poled furiously, but therewere too many rocks and snagged trees projecting from the banks. Sharingthat sweep of water with them, and coming up fast, was a full-sizedtree. Twice its mat of branches caught on some snag, holding it back,and Ross breathed a little more freely, but it soon tore free again androlled on, as menacing as a battering ram.
"Get closer to shore!" Ross shouted the warning. Those great, twistedroots seemed aimed straight at the raft, and he was sure if that massstruck them fairly, they would not have a chance. He dug in with his ownpole, but his hasty push did not meet bottom; the stake in his handsplunged into some pothole in the hidden river bed. He heard McNeil cryout as he toppled into the water, gasping as the murky liquid floodedhis mouth, choking him.
Half dazed by the shock, Ross struck out instinctively. The training atthe base had included swimming, but to fight water in a pool undercontrolled conditions was far different from fighting death in a riverof icy water when one had already swallowed a sizable quantity of thatflood.
Ross had a half glimpse of a dark shadow. Was it the edge of the raft?He caught at it desperately, skinning his hands on rough bark, draggedon by it. The tree! He blinked his eyes to clear them of water, to tryto see. But he could not pull his exhausted body high enough out of thewater to see past the screen of roots; he could only cling to the smallsafety he had won and hope that he could rejoin the raft somewheredownstream.
After what seemed like a very long time he wedged one arm between twowater-washed roots, sure that the support would hold his head above thesurface. The chill of the stream struck at his hands and head, but theprotection of the alien clothing was still effective, and the rest ofhis body was not cold. He was simply too tired to wrest himself free andtrust again to the haphazard chance of making shore through thegathering dusk.
Suddenly a shock jarred his body and strained the arm he had thrustamong the roots, wringing a cry out of him. He swung around and brushedfooting under the water; the tree had caught on a shore snag. Pullingloose from the roots, he floundered on his hands and knees, fallingafoul of a mass of reeds whose roots were covered with stale-smellingmud. Like a wounded animal he dragged himself through the ooze to higherland, coming out upon an open meadow flooded with moonlight.
For a while he lay there, his cold, sore hands under him, plastered withmud and too tired to move. The sound of a sharp barking aroused him--animperative, summoning bark, neither belonging to a wolf nor a huntingfox. He listened to it dully and then, through the ground upon which helay, Ross felt as well as heard the pounding of hoofs.
Hoofs--horses! Horses from over the mountains--horses which might meandanger. His mind seemed as dull and numb as his hands, and
it took quitea long time for him to fully realize the menace horses might bring.
Getting up, Ross noticed a winged shape sweeping across the disk of themoon like a silent dart. There was a single despairing squeak out of thegrass about a hundred feet away, and the winged shape arose again withits prey. Then the barking sound once more--eager, excited barking.
Ross crouched back on his heels and saw a smoky brand of light movingalong the edge of the meadow where the band of trees began. Could it bea herd guard? Ross knew he had to head back toward the river, but he hadto force himself on the path, for he did not know whether he dared enterthe stream again. But what would happen if they hunted him with the dog?Confused memories of how water spoiled scent spurred him on.
Having reached the rising bank he had climbed so laboriously before,Ross miscalculated and tumbled back, rolling down into the mud of thereed bed. Mechanically he wiped the slime from his face. The tree wasstill anchored there; by some freak the current had rammed its rootedend up on a sand spit.
Above in the meadow the barking sounded very close, and now it wasanswered by a second canine belling. Ross wormed his way back throughthe reeds to the patch of water between the tree and the bank. His fewpoor efforts at escape were almost half-consciously taken; he was tootired to really care now.
Soon he saw a four-footed shape running along the top of the bank,giving tongue. It was then joined by a larger and even more vocalcompanion. The dogs drew even with Ross, who wondered dully if theanimals could sight him in the shadows below, or whether they onlyscented his presence. Had he been able, he would have climbed over thelog and taken his chances in the open water, but now he could only liewhere he was--the tangle of roots between him and the bank serving as ascreen, which would be little enough protection when men came withtorches.
Ross was mistaken, however, for his worm's progress across the reed bedhad liberally besmeared his dark clothing and masked the skin of hisface and hands, giving him better cover than any he could havewittingly devised. Though he felt naked and defenseless, the men whotrailed the hounds to the river bank, thrusting out the torch over theedge to light the sand spit, saw nothing but the trunk of the treewedged against a mound of mud.
Ross heard a confused murmur of voices broken by the clamor of the dogs.Then the torch was raised out of line of his dazzled eyes. He saw one ofthe indistinct figures above cuff away a dog and move off, calling thehounds after it. Reluctantly, still barking, the animals went. Ross,with a little sob, subsided limply in the uncomfortable net of roots,still undiscovered.