'Our small group got hold of three trunks, and by the time we had managed to get a couple of ropes round them and scramble on top, the water was up to our armpits.
'Up the other end of the cave, the pygmies on the ledge were working furiously to save such of their pals as were still standing. Little white figures went swinging and bumping up the perpendicular face to the top. Then the ropes were untied, and thrown down for another load. They were working mighty quickly against time, but time looked like winning. Already, even at that shallower end, the water was waist-high on the pygmies, and there were still scores of them to be hauled up. Most of them were scared stiff or practically screaming with fright and hitting at the water as if they could push it away. Poor little devils—most of them had never seen more water than there is in a drinking bowl or a small stream, until the breaks started.
'We began to paddle over with our hands, taking as much floating rubbish with us as we could. After all, you can't sit by and watch even pygmies drown like that; you forget you've been fighting them an hour or two before.
'Then it was just a matter of waiting while the water rose and gradually lifted the lot of us towards the ledge. The pygmies up above craned over and looked at us, and held long discussions. It was pretty clear what they were talking about. If they were to close the tunnel leading to the outer caves, they would not only seal the break, but finish with us as welclass="underline" on the other hand, all the pygmies (and there were plenty of thern) floating about with us would have to be sacrificed. They were faced with the nasty point of whether it was worth it. Eventually, they decided it was not. Not so much, I think, from humani-tarianism as from a fatalistic sense of defeat. I don't think they had much feeling of gratitude towards us for saving their pals—though that may be an injustice; but the idea that the pygmy world is doomed, and that they can do nothing so save it, has been growing of late, and, with it, the notion that whatever they do doesn't matter a great deal.
'Anyhow, whatever the reason, they waited until we were about half-way up, and began shouting down to those with us; then they went away. Mahmud explained that the suggestion was that we should all get out together, and that the pygmies with us should stay and close the passage behind them in order to confine the water to the prison system.
'And, to cut it short, that's what happened. We gave them a hand; the minute the tunnel was closed, they scampered off, and Mahmud with them. We've scarcely seen one of them since. I think they've gone north to the highest levels. Mahmud didn't think much of the Sun Bird idea, and held that the safest course was to keep with them. The rest of the prisoners scattered in groups, looking for ways out. We stuck together, trying to find the old Sun Bird; it seemed the best bet.'
'And when you'd found her?' Margaret asked.
'The others were going downstream to find a way out.'
'Not you?'
'There was still something in the caves that I wanted more than my liberty-—I was going to look for it.'
She smiled up at him.
'Darling.'
After the interlude, she said, with a frown:
'But Miguel—what happened to him?'
He gave Smith's account of the fight. She shuddered.
'Pooi Miguel.'
'What?' Mark exclaimed, looking down at the bandages on her hands. 'After that?'
'He was weak. He almost cried as he did it. Perhaps in different circumstances ...'
Mark stared speechlessly.
'I don't understand,' he managed at last.
'Never mind, dear, I didn't expect it. Tell me what's happened to the others. Didn't you say there were three of them?'
'They've gone to cut up some mushrooms—there's not much food aboard for five. They ought to be back soon.'
Mounted upon the Sun Bird's instrument board was an electric clock. With the discovery that it was still going, the passage of time became suddenly more important. The recent mental habits became superseded by the old outlook. The clock stood for change and progress, its moving hands were a constant reminder of time wasted, things to be done, and, more uncomfortably, things that now never could be done. Margaret stared at it with fascination and dislike. There had been points in favour of the timeless existence once one got used to it. To see the hands sliding irrevocably over the numbers, brushing them into the past, depressed her. There was much to be said for a permanent today which had no finished, inflexible yesterdays____
The hands had covered an hour before a hail called Mark from the cabin. She heard him shout an answering greeting, and felt the Sun Bird manoeuvred until her door was against the ramp. Mark came back with two tattered men, bearded like himself. Their large size crowded the little cabin.
'Smith and Ed,' he introduced. 'Where's Gordon?'
'Comin' along right behind us,' said Smith.
He inquired how Margaret was feeling now, and made uncomplimentary references to Miguel.
'Say, I'm almost sorry Zickle got him. I'd have liked to show him where he got off, myself.'
'It'll soon be all right,' she assured him. 'It might have been worse.' She thought with a shudder of the thin stone knife.
Smith looked down at her and shrugged his shoulders.
'That must be the Christian spirit they used to tell me about at school. By God, if a guy had done tricks like that to me-' He left the sentence unfinished, and turned to Mark. 'We'd best get the stuff aboard—no good wastin' time.'
The other two went outside and started to hand in slabs of mushroom head which Smith stowed carefully in the stern.
Gordon came down the slope just as they were finishing. He held one hand behind his back; the other was empty. Beside him stalked a rusty-looking cat.
'Where've you been?' Mark demanded. 'We were beginning to think you'd got yourself into trouble—and, anyhow, you were supposed to be fetching mushrooms. Where are they?'
Gordon shook his head.
I forgot them,' he admitted. 'But look what I did get.'
He brought the hand from behind his back and held out a shining globe, somewhat smaller than those which glowed in the cavern roof. The others came round him.
'It took some time to get it off,' he explained.
The cat left his side, and prowled towards the door of the Sun Bird. It disappeared within.
'But what's the idea?' Smith asked. 'We've got electric light, and the batteries are not down yet, not by a long way.'
Gordon regarded him pityingly.
'You poor mutt,' he said, slipping for once into the alien tongue. 'Don't you see what we've got? Cold light, man. No waste by heat, no power supply necessary, depreciation scarcely noticeable. It'll mean millions for all of us. Why, there's nothing we couldn't get for it, once we've analysed the stuff inside. Cold light; it's been the dream of the world, like—like the universal solvent—and we've got it.'
Smith grunted.
'Maybe you right, but we ain't out of this vet. Come on. Stow it aboard. We've got enough mushrooms, anyway.'
They crammed into the little cabin A gingery bundle of fur had curled itself up on Margaret's lap.
'Look,' she said. 'Bast's come back. Where did you find her?'
'Bast? Oh, that cat. I don't know. It came sniffing around while I was getting the lamp. When I came back, it came too.'
'I thought she was dead, poor thing.'
'You can't kill 'em,' said Smith. 'African cats are made that way. Now, stow that light some place, Gordon, and we'll get goin'.'