He looked at the plants again and tried to visualize a stegosaur nibbling on the foliage, or a sauropod trampling over leaves, its long neck bobbing. He did not succeed. To him, the creatures were still something out of the imagination, something the scientists had thrown together from a few theories and a few old bones. He knew all the names, yes, and he had a mental picture of each of the beasts — but that was as far as it went. Unconsciously, his mind drew a line between fancy and reality. The bones, the books, the theories were all part of reality. The restored figures of the giant reptiles were still fancy to Chuck. They would remain fancy until he had seen them.
Somehow, he did not look forward to it. He had cherished the fantasy of the monsters, carried it in a secret pocket of his mind, the way he had carried a toad to school every day when he was twelve years old. He had the uneasy feeling that the theories would all be proved wrong, that the monsters would turn out to be tiny lizards instead of gigantic beasts. He did not want the dream to be shattered and he was not overly eager to put the theories to the test.
“What’s so terribly special about this?” Masterson asked, breaking the silence. “This could be Africa or any other wilderness.”
“It could be,” Owen said softly, “but it isn’t. This is America, Mr. Masterson. America many, many years before the first man put in his appearance.”
“That’s what I’d like to see,” Pete said, his green eyes twinkling. “A real cave man.”
“You’ll find no men in Jurassic times,” Owen said.
“As far as we can tell, the first man appeared in the Cenozoic, about 99 million years from now.”
“Cenozoic? What’s that mean?” Gardel asked.
“It means ‘Recent Life.’ In our own time, Man was only one million years old, you must remember. But we’re not in our own time any more. It’ll be a long, long while before Man shows up.”
“We should have gone to the Cenozoic, then,” Masterson said. “I’d have liked to see a cave man, too.”
“Time slips to any time inhabited by Man are forbidden by law,” Owen said simply.
“That’s a shame,” Arthur said, shaking his massive head. “Primitive man must have been interesting.”
“Please keep quiet, Arthur,” Masterson said.
The flicker of anger sparked again in Arthur’s eyes. He seemed about to speak, then he turned his head away. But not before Chuck had seen the hurt look settle on his dark features. Chuck turned to Masterson, anxious to learn what had provoked the sudden attack on the Negro. Masterson’s eyes were blank. He had already forgotten what he’d said.
He pointed off to the dim figures in the distance. “Are those our game?” he asked.
“Yes,” Owen said, his voice a little brisk. Chuck knew that his brother had heard Masterson’s slur, too. Owen hadn’t liked it either.
“Well,” Masterson said, “this is supposed to be a hunt, so let’s get started. This time is costing me a pile of money.”
“It’s for a good cause, Mr. Masterson,” Owen said.
“Really? What cause is that?”
“The funds we collect from private hunting expeditions enable us to finance scientific expeditions. We’ve learned an awful lot about the past by...”
“Yeah, well let’s go take a look at those animals,” Masterson interrupted.
He strode over to the jeep and climbed in behind the wheel.
“Before we move from this spot,” Owen said, “we’d better mark it. Did you bring the paint I asked for?”
“Sure,” Masterson said, twisting the ignition key. “It’s in the truck.” Owen walked over to the truck, lifted the flap, and began rummaging around.
“Right near the tailgate,” Masterson said quickly. “Don’t go upsetting everything.”
“I’ve got it,” Owen called. He pulled his head from the canvas covering, emerging with a can of white paint and a brush. He pried the lid off the can, dipped the brush into the paint and began painting a large white square on the ground. “This will mark our spot,” he said. He looked at his watch. “We’ve been here about ten minutes now, which puts our time of arrival at about two p.m. We’ve got to be back in this same spot one week from today at exactly that time. They’ll slip us forward to the present, then.”
“To the present?” Gardel asked.
“Well, to the future, really. I meant, to the present we were accustomed to.”
“Come on,” Masterson said. “Let’s get rolling.” He started the jeep, gunned it forward. “You can follow in the truck. I’m anxious for a look.”
The jeep leaped forward like a runaway stallion, Masterson behind the wheel, his pith helmet pushed back on his head. The jeep bounced over a jutting rock, sprang high into the air and came down on two tires, almost overturning. Masterson grinned, turned the wheel sharply to avoid a low stump, and stepped on the gas again.
Chuck saw Owen’s brows curl onto his forehead, watched a troubled look creep into his brother’s eyes.
“What’s the matter, Owen?” he asked.
“I don’t like the way he’s driving. This is rough country, Chuck. I don’t want any accidents.” He paused, turned and started walking toward the truck. “We’d better go after him.”
He hopped into the cab of the truck, and Chuck climbed in after him.
“We’ll be right back,” Owen called. “Please feel free to wander around at will.”
He turned on the ignition key, started the truck and gnashed the gears into place. He set the big vehicle into motion, watching the small jeep up ahead.
“He’s going like crazy!” Chuck said in surprise.
“I don’t get it,” Owen replied. “Where does he think he’s...”
“The force field!” Chuck shouted. “Suppose he...”
“Great jumping...” Owen never finished what he was saying. His hands tightened on the wheel and he pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. Chuck watched the foliage sweep by in a green blur, large palmlike leaves slapping the windshield as the truck shoved its way over the rough terrain. The truck rocked from side to side as it rolled over rocks and stumps, dropped into deep ruts, its thick tires fighting ground for every inch. Up ahead, the jeep bounced and rolled like a cork in an angry sea. Masterson was clinging to the wheel as if it were a life preserver.
“Yell to him,” Owen said anxiously. “Tell him he’s getting too close to the force field.”
Chuck climbed out of the cab onto the running board, clinging to the open door. He ducked as they barged through the leaves that hung from a huge tree.
“Mr. Masterson!” he shouted.
His voice lifted over the roar of the truck motor, fled into the foliage and echoed from the rocks.
“Mr. Masterson! The force field! You’re heading right for it!”
Masterson didn’t seem to hear. He kept the jeep going at its frantic pace, hopping over the ground like a huge bullfrog.
“For Pete’s sake,” Owen said, “stop him, Chuck!”
“Mr. Masterson!” Chuck bellowed, holding to the doorframe as the truck sped over the ground. “Stop! The force field!”
Masterson turned his head and seemed to understand, He stood up like a man who’d been stuck with a pin and suddenly leaped out of the jeep, hitting the lush growth underfoot and rolling over into a ball.
The jeep plunged ahead recklessly, bouncing over the ground in wild abandon.
“The jeep,” Owen said. “It’s going to crash the force field, Chuck.”
The jeep hurtled over a high, flat rock that jutted into the air at a sloping angle. It cleared the end of the rock like a diver leaving a diving board, hung on the air for a moment and then fell earthward.
“Chuck!” Owen shouted.
There was a sudden crackling of electricity. The jeep shuddered in a shower of sparks that surrounded it for several moments like a shimmering halo. It plunged ahead for several feet, carried by the force of its momentum, and then it stopped dead in a flat clearing of ferns.