“These people aren’t very warlike, but they have a certain callousness to all forms of pain or suffering. They’re something like wild animals of a low order of intelligence. Yet they’re human all right. It’s what Gluckner calls ‘undeveloped soul ego.’ There’s a German name he uses that’s hard to translate.
“Well, I’m going out and walk around and see if I can make better friends with these natives. So long.”
He strolled to the door, muttered a sentence in German, and then went out.
Gluckner regarded the bound pair for a moment with pop eyes that seemed to contain some element of doubt. Once more he sought to raise his hand and make motions, but the effort was futile. The rheumatism had made his joints almost immovable. He sighed, barked a single explosive order, and the natives took hold of the stretcher, bore him outside.
There remained three guards watching them with unblinking camera eyes. About them the fog swirled. The trees dipped their mournful protest against the dismal environment. The reddish glow of waning light gradually began to tell on Kendall’s nerves.
Perspiration slimed his body from the effort of his struggles. The thongs bit into his wrists, and Click noticed that they developed a slime as the perspiration came in contact with them. There was a gelatinous something in the substance that softened in water. An idea seized him.
He worked his hands back and forth — up and down — sliding one over the other, trying to slip his bonds over his wrists, seeking to get as much perspiration on them as possible.
He noticed that the reddish light was becoming less bright. There seemed to be a pall settling down. Things lost their color, became drab. It was harder to see. The air seemed quivering with suspense.
“Thought it didn’t get dark here,” he said to Professor Wagner.
“Most strange. It cannot be night as we know it. Yet there is undoubtedly some obscuration of the sun. Perhaps there is an eclipse caused by some minor satellite. After all, the question of a small satellite for Venus has caused astronomical arguments at various times.”
The guards became restive, uneasy. The darkness grew more profound.
Then came a terrific crashing noise in the forest. It sounded as though millions of feet were tearing through the foliage, smashing branches.
Chapter 8
Horror in the Dark
“Rain!” exclaimed Click.
And it was rain, such as terrestrial residents never experienced. More like a thundering cloudburst it came. The trees bent and swayed. The beating drops, larger than any Click had experienced, came hissing through the foggy air, spattered upon the soggy ground.
The guards peered out of the door, turned their great eyes upon each other. Click could see them as shadowy outlines vaguely visible against the curtain of pouring water which covered the doorway.
Then came other forms. The doorway was blocked with struggling figures that paused long enough to make explosive remarks, single syllables of alarm.
In the confusion Click managed to plunge his arms in a pool of water which seeped through the wall of the hut. The water softened his bonds, made them as slippery as so much wet seaweed. He slipped his arm down until his right hand could grasp his knife which had been left in his pocket. A few seconds and he was free.
He rolled over to Professor Wagner.
“I’m cutting your ropes,” he hissed in a shrill warning, audible over the crash of the storm.
Click slit the ropes. “Come on,” he ordered.
The professor arose, followed.
The two fugitives slipped out into the darkness. Instantly they were drenched to the skin. Yet the rain was warm, almost tepid. The fog still swirled through the moisture. The trees steamed, and the darkness was that of a foggy night.
“I believe these fellows can see in the dark,” said Click. “Better keep to the shadows. Let’s try ducking into the first shelter we can find.”
A doorway loomed before them. So dark was it that they were almost upon it before it became visible.
They dived inside.
“Here’s where I find a spear,” promised Click, as he groped about.
Of a sudden his groping hands touched clammy human skin. He jumped back, bracing himself for attack.
There was a guttural exclamation from the darkness.
“Gluckner!” exclaimed Click.
“Ja, ja,” came eagerly from the darkness.
A sudden inspiration seized Click; perhaps the man spoke French. And Click knew a little something of that language. His execution was atrocious, but it had served to get him by before.
He tried to bring his mind to work upon his slender vocabulary. The result was a few stuttering words that ventured upon the darkness and were abruptly swallowed in an enthusiastic burst of voluble French from the German.
Click gave a sigh of relief. Why hadn’t he thought of French before? But the events had been so exciting, so unusual, and Badger had been so ready with his flow of German that it had entirely escaped his mind that the German would very probably know French.
Click interrupted the rapid flow of words and ordered the man to speak more slowly.
“Ask him what is the trouble,” said Professor Wagner.
Click tried to frame the question.
Gluckner caught the idea and answered it slowly in simple words.
“Rain. Once a month it comes; sometimes oftener. It is in those times that the people from the dark side attack. They have eyes that see well in the dark. The natives of this side see but indistinctly. I see not at all. These men see through the fog, but not the darkness. You understand?”
Click gave a swift translation.
“Yes, yes,” purred the pleased professor. “Now ask him about the satellite. Is it true there is a small satellite? And ask him—”
Click interrupted. “How about the girl? Where is she?”
The German grunted.
“The girl? You do not know? The wife of the man Badger? She was the ransom price given to the chief for the liberty of that man.”
“What?” yelled Click.
The German repeated. “She becomes the wife of the chief. Otherwise he could not have her for a wife. He could take her, but that is against the law. Captives can be slaves, but not wives. So the man Badger sells his wife to the chief for his liberty. It is not that which one should do, but—”
From the rain-soaked darkness without came a fierce yell of wild menace. There was the sound of rushing bodies.
“The night people! They come. It is bad.”
A body staggered against the doorway. A huge shape blotted out what little gray light seeped through this opening.
Click could hear the sound of a blow, a mortal groan. Something slumped to the floor.
He had a vague sense of something rushing toward him.
He hurtled forward, driving his right in a swing, slipping his knife in his left hand.
The right connected. There was the jar of impact, a whoosh as one who has had his breath knocked from him, and then great hands clasped the wrist that held the knife. The weight of a body was thrown against him.
From the darkness he heard the German’s voice.
“They are big men, these people of the night. Beware their fangs. They tear throats with their teeth, these night men.”
Click sensed the warning, flung himself backward.
In the darkness there was the gnashing sound of fangs clashing together. Hot breath was on his throat, steaming in his nostrils.
He flung his right across and over. The blow landed on the creature’s jaw, staggered him. Click tried to free his left, and then felt himself beaten to the ground.