“I started up, ran for the cave, and just got inside when the brute reached it. I rolled the stone in place, Allan, but before I could brace it with the pole it was hurled back, and in crawled the gorilla, roaring and snapping like a demon!”
She hid her face in both hands, shuddering at the terrible memory. But, forcing herself to be calm, she went on again:
“I snatched up the pistol and fired. Then—”
“You hit him?”
“I must have, for he screeched most horribly and pawed at his breast—”
“So, then, that explains the blood-marks on the floor and the great hand-print on the wall?”
“Hand-print? Was there one?”
“Yes; but no matter now. Go on!”
“After that—oh, it was too ghastly! He seized me and I fought—I struggled against that huge, hairy chest; he gripped me like iron. My blows were no more than so many pats to him.
“I tried to fire again, but he wrenched the pistol away, and bent it in his huge teeth and flung it down. But, though he was raging, he didn’t wound me—didn’t try to kill me, or anything. He seemed to want to capture me alive—”
Allan shuddered. Only too well he understood. Gorilla nature had not changed in fifteen hundred years.
“After that?” he questioned eagerly.
“Oh, after that I don’t remember much. I must have fainted. Next thing I knew, everything was dark and the forest was all about. I screamed and then again I knew nothing. Once more I seemed to sense things, and once more all grew black. And after that—”
“Well?”
“Why—I was here on the bed, and you were beside me, Allan—and these men of our Folk were here! But how it all happened, God knows!”
“I’ll tell you some time. You shall have the story from our side some day, but not now. Only one thing—if it hadn’t been for Zangamon here and Bremilu—well—”
“You mean they helped rescue me?”
He nodded.
“Without them I’d have been helpless as a child. They traced you in the dark, for they could see as plainly as we see by day. It was a blow from Bremilu’s stone ax that killed the brute. They saved you, Beatrice! Not I!”
She kept a little silence, then said thoughtfully:
“How can I ever thank them, Allan? How can I thank them best?”
“You can’t thank them. There’s no way. I tried it, but they didn’t understand. They only did what seemed natural to them. They’re savages, remember; not civilized men. It’s impossible to thank them! The only thing you can do, or I can do, is work for them now. The greatest efforts and sacrifices for these men will be small payment for their deed. And if—as I believe—the whole race is dowered with the same spirit and indomitable courage—the courage we certainly did see in the Battle of the Wall—then we need have no fear of our transplanted nation dying out!”
Much more there might have been to say, but now the meal was ready, and hunger spoke in no uncertain tones. All four of the adventurers ate in silence, thoughtful and grave, cross-legged, about the meat and drink, which lay on palm-leaves or in clay bowls hard-burned and red.
A kind of embarrassment seemed to rest on all, for this was the first time they had eaten together—these barbarians with the two folk of the upper world.
But the meal was soon at an end, and the prospect of labors to be undertaken cheered Allan’s spirit. Despite his stiff and painful arm, he felt courage and energy throbbing in his veins, and longed to be at work.
“The very first thing we must do,” said he, “is fix up a place for our guests. They’ve got to stay here, out of the light, till nightfall. That will give us plenty of time. I want to get them settled in their own quarters, and bring them into some regular routine of life and labor, before they have a chance to get homesick and dejected.”
He warned the Merucaans to cover their heads with their cloaks while Beatrice and he opened the doorway.
He closed it then, with other rocks outside, and covered it with his own outer cloak; then, wearing only his belted tunic, he rejoined Beatrice half-way up the path to the cliff-top. Both were armed; he with his own automatic, she with the one they had found in the crypt.
“Our first move,” said he, “will be to transport the various things from the aeroplane. It will be something of a task, but I don’t dare leave them out there on the barrens till night, when the men themselves could bring them in. The sooner we get things to rights the better.”
She agreed, and together they took the path toward the landing-place, which they had christened Newport Heights. Stern felt grateful that his right arm, his gun arm, was uninjured. The other mattered little for the present.
An idea crossed his mind to seek out the dead gorilla and make a trophy of the pelt; but he dismissed it at once. The beast was so repellent that the very thought of it fair sickened him.
They reached the plane in some few minutes, found everything uninjured, and loaded themselves with the Merucaans’ goods and chattels. Stern took the bags of edible seaweed and the metal crate of fowl; she draped the big net over her shoulders, and together, not without difficulty, they returned to Settlement Cliffs.
Pass, now, all the minute details of the installation. By noon they had prepared a habitation for the newcomers, deep in a far recess of a winding gallery which thoroughly excluded all direct sunlight.
Only the dimmest glow penetrated even at high noon. Here they stowed the freight, built a rock fireplace, and threw down quantities of the long, fragrant grass for bedding.
They returned to their own cave, bade the colonists once more cover their heads, and entered, carefully closing the doorway after them. All four dined together, in true Merucaan style, on the familiar food of the Abyss. The colonists seemed a little more reassured, but talk languished none the less.
The afternoon was spent in preparing a second cave; for, in spite of all the girl’s entreaties, Allan was determined to make another visit to the village of the Lost Folk as soon as his arm should permit.
“Nothing can happen this time, dear girl,” he assured her as they sat resting by the mouth of the newly prepared dwelling. “You’ll have two absolutely faithful and efficient guards always within call by night. By day you can barricade yourself with them, if there’s any sign of danger.”
“I know, Allan. but—”
“There’s no other way! Our work is just begun!”
She nodded silently, then said in a low tone:
“Yours the labor; mine the waiting, the watching, and the fear!”
“The fear? Since when have you grown timid?”
“Only for you, Allan! Only for you! Suppose, some time, you should not come back!”
He laughed.
“We thrashed that all out the first time. It’s old straw, Beta. My end of the task is getting these people here. Yours is waiting, watching—and being strong!”
Her hand tightened on his, and for a little while they sat quite still and without speech, watching the day draw to its close.
Far below, New Hope River chattered its incessant gossip to the vexing boulders. Above, in the sky, lazy June clouds, wool-white, drifted to westward, as though seeking the glory that there promised to transmute them into gold and crimson.
A pleasant wind swayed the forest, wherein the scarlet birds flitted like flashes of flame. The beauty of the outlook thrilled their hearts, leaving no room for words.
But suddenly Allan’s eyes narrowed, and with a singular hardening of expression, a tightening of the jaw, he peered away at the dim, haze-shrouded line of far horizon to northeastward.
He cast a sidelong glance at Beatrice. She had noticed nothing.
One moment he made as though to speak, then repressed the words, and once more gazed at the horizon.