“Well, no. Not exactly.”
“There are only so many jobs a... a fellow like me can get,” Arthur said, his eyes serious, his face thoughtful. “I’m not blaming anyone, you understand. I know that conditions sometimes get out of hand and then the job of putting them back in order is tougher than ever.”
Chuck nodded his head and listened intently, his eyes roaming the countryside for animals in the meantime.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that the jobs open for my people are jobs like elevator operators or porters or chauffeurs or a job like mine with Masterson — a sort of personal valet.”
Arthur paused, seeming to grope for a thought, struggling to give tongue to it. “It’s a new form of slavery, Chuck, and you sort of grow used to the yoke, forgetting what freedom — real freedom — is really like. Masterson paid me a good salary, but he was paying for my soul.” He turned his head toward Chuck and smiled a timid smile. “I’ve got my soul back now, Chuck. It feels good.”
“A long time ago, a man named Stephen Vincent Benet...” Chuck started.
“The Devil and Daniel Webster,” Arthur said, nodding. “I read that when I was very young. All about a man who sells his soul to the devil. He got his soul back, too, as I recall.”
“Yes,” Chuck said. “He did.”
They fell silent, walking side by side, the primitive world spreading around them in lush greenness. They didn’t say another word until much later when Chuck called a halt for an early supper.
He watched their faces as they ate, huddled around the fire Pete had built. He tried to read expressions, tried to fathom what was going on behind the masks. It might be important, he knew. They had a long journey ahead. He had to know which of the party he could count on and which he couldn’t trust. His eyes moved from one face to the next, and his mind made its silent calculations.
Masterson: He didn’t know. He could read nothing there, nothing at all. The man’s eyes were veiled, and his mouth was expressionless. He only knew that this was the man who had killed Owen and he automatically distrusted him. He wanted to believe that the man was simply ignorant, but he sensed something deeper behind Masterson’s actions. What that something was, he could not tell. Masterson’s face gave no clue.
Denise: She sat by the fire drinking a cup of warm broth. The light danced in her hair, igniting it with flashing sparks. Her brown eyes had somehow lost their luster, and there were tired lines stretching from the wings of her nose to her lips. Chuck felt that Denise was repulsed by her uncle’s behavior. But he was still her uncle, and he wondered how far her allegiance would stretch when the cards were down. He knew for certain that the rigors of the journey were leaving their mark on her. She no longer walked with a spring in her step. There was a weary slump to her shoulders. He would have to watch her carefully. The country could be very hard on a girl.
Arthur: He squatted on his haunches by the fire, a big, powerful brown man. There was a peaceful expression on his face as he sipped at his coffee, an expression of mild contentment. Arthur could be trusted. Yes, Chuck would trust him with his very life.
Pete: Chuck felt he could trust him, too. But somehow, he wasn’t sure. The cook’s main interest was cooking, true. But until Chuck knew what Masterson’s stake in all this was, he could not be sure where Pete’s real interests lay. He began to regret the fact that he had armed the jovial-looking cook. Uneasily, he wondered how he could reclaim the rifle without insulting the man.
Gardel: If anything, he was even more dangerous than Masterson. In the days of the racketeers, Gardel would have been a hired gun, a man who killed for money. This was Chuck’s impression. There was craftiness in the thin man’s eyes, a craftiness that carried down to the tilt of his mouth and the set of his jaw. If Masterson gave the word, Gardel would obey it. And with Masterson giving the word, there was no telling what might happen.
Chuck added these impressions mentally. There was one person he was sure of, two on the borderline and two he definitely did not trust. It didn’t sound good.
He was suddenly aware of the hum of conversation around him. He picked up his plate and picked at the vegetables on it, listening to the voices.
“And I say,” Pete was arguing, “that Man wouldn’t have stood a chance if he appeared on earth the same time these reptiles were running around. They’d have gobbled him up in the space of a week, and that would have been the end of the human race.”
“There’s no way of knowing,” Arthur said. “The big reptiles had already died out before Man appeared. Isn’t that right, Chuck?”
“Yes,” Chuck answered, “Long before Man appeared.”
“Well, I’m just saying for the sake of argument,” Pete said.
“There are too many ‘ifs.’“ Arthur answered. “Man may have survived in spite of the reptiles.”
“I doubt that strongly,” Masterson said suddenly.
“Why?”
“Primitive man was an extremely ignorant animal. The cave man was very close to the ape. Can you picture an ape in combat with one of these monsters?”
“An ape doesn’t have Man’s intelligence,” Arthur said.
“Modern man’s intelligence,” Masterson corrected. “The cave man was not intelligent.”
“He discovered fire,” Arthur said. “And he learned to make tools and to domesticate animals and to decorate his caves, and...”
“I dislike arguing with you,” Masterson said, spreading his palm wide. “You don’t know what the deuce you’re talking about!”
Arthur got to his feet and a wild light danced in his eyes. “Masterson...” he started, and then Pete yelled.
“A cave man!”
For a second Chuck thought Pete had taken Masterson’s side and was throwing a slur at Arthur. One look at the cook, though, told him he had been mistaken. Pete was standing on his feet, his eyes wide with shock, his face pale against his splotchy freckles. One arm was outstretched, and the pointing finger trembled as it stabbed the air, indicating a fringe-covered outcropping of high rocks.
“A cave man,” he repeated, his voice excited. “I saw one. I saw one. Over there. On the rocks.” He unslung his rifle and pulled back the bolt.
Chuck leaped to his feet instantly, putting his hand on Pete’s arm. He could feel the man still trembling.
“Take it easy,” he said. “You’re letting all this talk get you. There are no cave men in Jurassic times.”
“I saw one,” Pete insisted. “A shaggy man with a beard, and... and hairy legs. Right on top of those rocks.”
“That’s impossible,” Chuck said mildly.
“Maybe it ain’t so impossible,” Gardel put in. “Maybe the scientists are all wet. Maybe there are cave men in these times.”
“Come on,” Chuck shouted to Pete. He began running toward the rocks, the cook close behind him.
“Be careful!” Arthur shouted.
Chuck nodded, and he felt his heart start its infernal thumping against his ribs again.
Deliberately, he slid the .45 from its holster at his waist and gripped the walnut stock tightly.
Chapter 9
Encounter
He did not for an instant believe that Pete had seen a cave man. Chuck had too much respect for science to believe that its theories could have been so grossly inaccurate. He did not doubt, however, that Pete had seen a man. Pete’s eyes were certainly as good as anyone’s, and he could tell a man from a dinosaur the same way anyone else could in broad daylight. He was not too happy about Pete’s discovery, though.