Outside, Stormy and Goldy suddenly let out shrill whinnies of fear. Dog began barking and snarling. Reason finally penetrated Frank’s feverish brain, and as he dropped the match and turned, he muttered, “Oh, hell.”
Standing there in the cave entrance, silhouetted against the last of the fading gray light outside, was a huge, shaggy shape. A stench emanated from it, filling the cave and making it hard for Frank to breathe without gagging. It stood there motionless, as if puzzled to find that it had a visitor in its home.
Because that’s what this cave was, Frank realized now.
He had found the lair of the Terror.
Chapter 22
Before Frank could do anything, Dog attacked the Terror from behind, leaping high on the creature’s back and hitting it with such force that even the Terror’s massive bulk was jolted forward a step. Dog’s fangs flashed as he tore at his enemy.
Frank would have commanded the big cur to stay back if he’d had the chance. Dog was no match for the Terror. The thing reached back, dug clawlike fingers into Dog’s pelt, and plucked the big cur off him like a bug. He flung Dog away like a bug, too, sending him crashing into the wall of the cave.
By this time, Frank’s Colt was in his hand, and as he heard Dog’s pained yelp and saw the way he went rolling limply across the ground, it was all Frank could do not to empty the revolver into the Terror.
But he had given his word to Nancy Chamberlain, for one thing, and for another, he wasn’t sure bullets would stop the Terror, or even slow it down. Instead, he shouted as loudly as he could, “Ben! Ben Chamberlain!”
The Terror was in the middle of taking a shuffling step toward him when Frank called out. For some reason, the creature wasn’t moving with the blinding speed that he had demonstrated earlier. He stopped short, let out an incoherent roar of rage. Massive arms like the trunks of small trees lifted and shook.
But the Terror had reacted to Ben Chamberlain’s name. Frank was sure of it. That wasn’t proof that the creature actually was Ben, but it increased the likelihood.
Frank raised his left hand, extended it toward the Terror. “Listen to me,” he said, keeping his voice as calm and steady as possible. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a friend. If you really are Ben Chamberlain, your father sent me—”
Frank realized instantly that he’d made a mistake by mentioning Rutherford Chamberlain. The Terror bellowed again and lurched toward him, swinging those massive arms. Sickened by the smell that washed over him, Frank ducked under the grab and whirled away from the Terror. He lunged toward the cave mouth in an effort to get past the creature.
But one of the Terror’s hands snagged his shirt and jerked him back. Frank flew across the cave and smashed into the wall. Pain exploded through his body. He bounced off and fell to the hard-packed dirt floor. The Terror loomed over him, blotting out most of the fading light, and swung clubbed fists at Frank’s face. Frank rolled aside just in time.
The Terror was definitely slower now than it had been earlier. Was the creature tired? Or hurt? Frank didn’t know, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He just wanted to stay out of its reach. He came to a stop against the wall and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache that filled his body.
“Ben!” he shouted again. “Ben, I know it’s you! Nancy sent me! Your sister Nancy! Remember her?”
The Terror hesitated. Frank was getting through to him. He was convinced of it. And now he thought of something else.
His hand went in his pocket, found the necklace and locket he had carried there since his meeting with Nancy Chamberlain at her father’s bizarre mansion the day before. Was there enough light left in this cave for the Terror to see the locket and recognize it? Frank didn’t know, but he was going to give it a try. That seemed to be the best chance he had.
He fumbled with the locket, searching for the catch. A second later, his fingers found it, but it didn’t want to open at first. Finally, as the Terror came slowly toward him, its foul breath rasping in its throat, Frank succeeded in opening the locket. He thrust his left hand forward, the necklace and locket dangling from his fingers.
“Look at it, Ben!” he urged. “It’s Nancy’s! It belongs to your sister! And that’s a picture of you in it, Ben! You!”
The Terror stopped in its tracks, made a little whimpering sound like a hurt animal. It would have been heartbreaking, if not for the very real danger that still filled the cave.
“Take it and look at it, Ben,” Frank said. “It won’t hurt you.”
Slowly, the Terror raised a hand and reached for the necklace. The powerful fingers ended in long, razor-sharp, clawlike nails. Frank suppressed the impulse to jerk his hand away as the Terror’s filthy, hairy hand brushed his. The creature took the necklace from him and brought it close to its face. Frank knew the Terror was studying the tiny photographs inside the locket. On one side was a picture of Nancy; on the other, a pale, intense-looking young man with bushy side whiskers peered out from the sepia-toned photograph.
“That’s you, Ben,” Frank said softly. “Remember? Remember what you used to look like? Remember Nancy?”
The sound that came from the Terror’s throat was so rusty and garbled that for a second Frank didn’t recognize it as a word. Then the Terror uttered it again, and Frank knew he was trying to say Nancy.
The creature closed its huge fist around the locket and held it close against its breast. “Nan…cy,” it rasped again, clearer this time. “Nan…cy…and…Ben.”
“That’s right,” Frank said. “That’s right.”
He was having a hard time standing up now. His head spun dizzily, crazily. He still hurt all over, and his pulse pounded in his head like the tremulous beat of distant drums. He shuddered from the chill that had him in its grip, and fought to keep his teeth from chattering together.
The Terror fell to its knees and said again, “Nan…cy.”
Then it pitched forward on its face, either dead or out cold, and didn’t move again. For a second, Frank stared at the huge, motionless body on the cave floor, and then he felt his eyes rolling up in their sockets. He had reached the end of his rope. Even though the last thing he wanted to do was to pass out right here beside this huge, shaggy, murderous creature, there was nothing he could do about it.
He lost consciousness as he was falling, and never felt himself strike the hard-packed dirt.
Passing out was one thing; passing out next to a monster was something else entirely. If there was one time in his life when Frank Morgan truly didn’t expect to wake up again, this was it.
But he had to be alive, Frank thought as he bit back a groan. Not even Hell could smell this bad.
Funny thing, though…He saw a flickering red glow against his closed eyelids and felt the heat of flames. Maybe he was dead, after all.
The smell got worse. Something slid under Frank’s head and lifted it. He felt water splash against his parched lips and sucked at it greedily. Gradually, he was able to pry his eyes open.
He was looking up into the face of the Terror as the creature leaned curiously over him.
Or rather, it was the face of Ben Chamberlain, because Frank saw something human in the eyes now, some flicker of intelligence that hadn’t been there before. The sight of the locket, with his own picture and that of his sister inside it, must have somehow shocked Ben back to his senses, part of the way at least.