The Metal Monster Part 4

"Martin could not see you," she went on. "He was watching the road that leads above. But I ran down--to help."

"Mart watching?" I asked. "Watching for what?"

"I--" she hesitated oddly. "I think I'd rather tell you before him. It's so strange--so incredible."

She led us through the broken portal and into the fortress. It was more gigantic even than I had thought. The floor of the vast chamber we had entered was strewn with fragments fallen from the crackling, stone-vaulted ceiling. Through the breaks light streamed from the level above us.

We picked our way among the debris to a wide crumbling stairway, crept up it, Ruth flitting ahead. We came out opposite one of the eye-like apertures. Black against it, perched high upon a pile of blocks, I recognized the long, lean outline of Ventnor, rifle in hand, gazing intently up the ancient road whose windings were plain through the opening. He had not heard us.

"Martin," called Ruth softly.

He turned. A shaft of light from a crevice in the gap's edge struck his face, flas.h.i.+ng it out from the semidarkness of the corner in which he crouched. I looked into the quiet gray eyes, upon the keen face.

"Goodwin!" he shouted, tumbling down from his perch, shaking me by the shoulders. "If I had been in the way of praying--you're the man I'd have prayed for. How did you get here?"

"Just wandering, Mart," I answered. "But Lord! I'm sure GLAD to see you."

"Which way did you come?" he asked, keenly. I threw my hand toward the south.

"Not through that hollow?" he asked incredulously.

"And some h.e.l.l of a place to get through," Drake broke in. "It cost us our ponies and all my ammunition."

"Richard Drake," I said. "Son of old Alvin--you knew him, Mart."

"Knew him well," cried Ventnor, seizing d.i.c.k's hand. "Wanted me to go to Kamchatka to get some confounded sort of stuff for one of his devilish experiments. Is he well?"

"He's dead," replied d.i.c.k soberly.

"Oh!" said Ventnor. "Oh--I'm sorry. He was a great man."

Briefly I acquainted him with my wanderings, my encounter with Drake.

"That place out there--" he considered us thoughtfully. "d.a.m.ned if I know what it is. Thought maybe it's gas--of a sort. If it hadn't been for it we'd have been out of this hole two days ago. I'm pretty sure it must be gas. And it must be much less than it was this morning, for then we made an attempt to get through again--and couldn't."

I was hardly listening. Ventnor had certainly advanced a theory of our unusual symptoms that had not occurred to me. That hollow might indeed be a pocket into which a gas flowed; just as in the mines the deadly coal damp collects in pits, flows like a stream along the pa.s.sages. It might be that--some odorless, colorless gas of unknown qualities; and yet--

"Did you try respirators?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Surely," said Ventnor. "First off the go. But they weren't of any use.

The gas, if it is gas, seems to operate as well through the skin as through the nose and mouth. We just couldn't make it--and that's all there is to it. But if you made it--could we try it now, do you think?"

he asked eagerly.

I felt myself go white.

"Not--not for a little while," I stammered.

He nodded, understandingly.

"I see," he said. "Well, we'll wait a bit, then."

"But why are you staying here? Why didn't you make for the road up the mountain? What are you watching for, anyway?" asked Drake.

"Go to it, Ruth," Ventnor grinned. "Tell 'em. After all--it was YOUR party you know."

"Mart!" she cried, blus.h.i.+ng.

"Well--it wasn't ME they admired," he laughed.

"Martin!" she cried again, and stamped her foot.

"Shoot," he said. "I'm busy. I've got to watch."

"Well"--Ruth's voice was uncertain--"we'd been hunting up in Kashmir.

Martin wanted to come over somewhere here. So we crossed the pa.s.ses.

That was about a month ago. The fourth day out we ran across what looked like a road running south.

"We thought we'd take it. It looked sort of old and lost--but it was going the way we wanted to go. It took us first into a country of little hills; then to the very base of the great range itself; finally into the mountains--and then it ran blank."

"Bing!" interjected Ventnor, looking around for a moment. "Bing--just like that. Slap dash against a prodigious fall of rock. We couldn't get over it."

"So we cast about to find another road," went on Ruth. "All we could strike were--just strikes."

"No fish on the end of 'em," said Ventnor. "G.o.d! But I'm glad to see you, Walter Goodwin. Believe me, I am. However--go on, Ruth."

"At the end of the second week," she said, "we knew we were lost. We were deep in the heart of the range. All around us was a forest of enormous, snow-topped peaks. The gorges, the canyons, the valleys that we tried led us east and west, north and south.

"It was a maze, and in it we seemed to be going ever deeper. There was not the SLIGHTEST sign of human life. It was as though no human beings except ourselves had ever been there. Game was plentiful. We had no trouble in getting food. And sooner or later, of course, we were bound to find our way out. We didn't worry.

"It was five nights ago that we camped at the head of a lovely little valley. There was a mound that stood up like a tiny watch-tower, looking down it. The trees grew round like tall sentinels.

"We built our fire in that mound; and after we had eaten, Martin slept.

I sat watching the beauty of the skies and of the shadowy vale. I heard no one approach--but something made me leap to my feet, look behind me.

"A man was standing just within the glow of firelight, watching me."

"A Tibetan?" I asked. She shook her head, trouble in her eyes.

"Not at all." Ventnor turned his head. "Ruth screamed and awakened me. I caught a glimpse of the fellow before he vanished.

"A short purple mantle hung from his shoulders. His chest was covered with fine chain mail. His legs were swathed and bound by the thongs of his high buskins. He carried a small, round, hide-covered s.h.i.+eld and a short two-edged sword. His head was helmeted. He belonged, in fact--oh, at least twenty centuries back."

He laughed in plain enjoyment of our amazement.

"Go on, Ruth," he said, and took up his watch.

"But Martin did not see his face," she went on. "And oh, but I wish I could forget it. It was as white as mine, Walter, and cruel, so cruel; the eyes glowed and they looked upon me like a--like a slave dealer.

They shamed me--I wanted to hide myself.