“How could anything be in there? Someone cut down the tree. How could anything get into the cave?”
“I don’t know,” howled Adams. “It might have been in there when the tree was cut. It might have been trapped in there.”
One of the sons was holding Ben erect and the sheriff moved away. The other son was pulling in the rope and neatly coiling it.
“Another thing,” the sheriff said, “how come you thought Daniels might be in that cave? If the tree was cut down he couldn’t have climbed the tree. And he couldn’t have used a rope the way you did, for there wasn’t any rope. If he had used a rope it would still have been there. I don’t know what’s going on—damned if I do. You down messing in that cave and Daniels comes walking out of the woods. I wish someone would tell me.”
Adams, who had been hobbling forward, saw Daniels for the first time and came to a sudden halt.
“Where did you come from?” he demanded. “Here we been wearing out our guts trying to hunt you down and then—”
“Oh, go on home,” the sheriff said in a disgusted tone of voice. “There’s a fishy smell to this. It’s going to take me a little while to get it figured out.”
Daniels reached out his hand to the son who had finished coiling the rope.
“I believe that’s my rope,” he said.
Without protest, taken by surprise, the boy handed it to him.
“We’ll cut across the woods,” said Ben. “Home’s closer that way.”
“Good night, men,” the sheriff said.
Slowly the sheriff and Daniels climbed the hill.
“Daniels,” said the sheriff, “you were never out walking in this storm. If you had been you’d have had a whole lot more snow on you than shows. You look like you just stepped from a house.”
“Maybe I wasn’t exactly walking around,” Daniels said.
“Would you mind telling me where you were? I don’t mind doing my duty as I see it but I don’t relish being made to look a fool while I’m doing it.”
“Sheriff, I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I simply cannot tell you.”
“All right, then. What about the rope?”
“It’s my rope,” said Daniels. “I lost it this afternoon.”
“And I suppose you can’t tell me about that, either.”
“No, I guess I can’t.”
“You know,” the sheriff said, “I’ve had a lot of trouble with Ben Adams through the years. I’d hate to think I was going to have trouble with you, too.”
They climbed the hill and walked up to the house. The sheriff’s car was parked out on the road.
“Would you come in?” asked Daniels. “I could find a drink.”
The sheriff shook his head. “Some other time,” he said. “Maybe soon. You figure there was something in that cave? Or was it just Ben’s imagination? He’s a flighty sort of critter.”
“Maybe there wasn’t anything,”’ said Daniels, “but if Ben thought there was, what difference does it make? Thinking it might be just as real as if there were something there. All of us, sheriff, live with things walking by our sides no one else can see.”
The sheriff shot a quick glance at him. “Daniels, what’s with you?” he asked. “What is walking by your side or sniffing at your heels? Why did you bury yourself out here in this God-forsaken place? What is going on?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He got into his car, started it and headed down the road.
Daniels stood in the storm and watched the glowing taillights vanish in the murk of flying snow. He shook his head in bewilderment. The sheriff had asked a question and then had not waited for the answer. Perhaps because it was a question to which he did not want an answer.
Daniels turned and went up the snowy path to the house. He’d like some coffee and a bite to eat—but first he had to do the chores. He had to milk the cows and feed the pigs. The chickens must wait till morning—it was too late to feed the chickens. The cows would be waiting at the barn door. They had waited for a long time and it was not right to make them wait.
He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.
Someone was waiting for him. It sat on the table or floated so close above it that it seemed to be sitting. The fire in the stove had gone out and the room was dark but the creature sparkled.
You saw? the creature asked.
“Yes,” said Daniels. “I saw and heard. I don’t know what to do. What is right or wrong? Who knows what’s right or wrong?”
Not you, the creature said. Not I. I can only wait. I can only keep the faith.
Perhaps among the stars, thought Daniels, might be those who did know. Perhaps by listening to the stars, perhaps by trying to break in on their conversations and by asking questions, he might get an answer. Certainly there must be some universal ethics. A list, perhaps, of Universal Commandments. Maybe not ten of them. Maybe only two or three—but any number might be enough.
“I can’t stay and talk,” he said. “I have animals to take care of. Could you stick around? Later we can talk.”
He fumbled for the lantern on the bench against the wall, found the matches on the shelf. He lit the lantern and its feeble flame made a puddle of light in the darkness of the room.
You have others to take care of? asked the creature. Others not quite like yourself? Others, trusting you, without your intelligence?
“I guess you could say it that way,” Daniels said, “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before.”
Could I go along with you? the creature asked. It occurs to me, just now, that in many ways we are very much alike.
“Very much—” But with the sentence hanging in the air, Daniels stopped.
Not a hound, he told himself. Not the faithful dog. But the shepherd. Could that be it? Not the master but the long-lost lamb?
He reached out a hand toward the creature in a swift gesture of understanding, then pulled it back, remembering it was nothing he could touch.
He lifted the lantern and turned toward the door.
“Come along,” he said.
Together the two of them went through the storm toward the barn and the waiting cows.
The World of the Red Sun
This story, which accidentally turned out to be the first published of Clifford D. Simak’s stories, was clearly strongly influenced by H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine. But in turn, “World of the Red Sun” would have a strong influence on Simak’s “The Creator,” which, written only a couple of years later, would soon be regarded as one of the most iconoclastic works of early science fiction. And it turned out, too, to contain the seeds of ideas the young author would revive again and again, including time travel, false religion, and a dying Earth.
“The World of the Red Sun” was initially sent to Astounding (then a very different magazine from the genre-leader it would later become under the editorship of John W. Campbell Jr.) But that older Astounding rejected the story, and Cliff sent it to Wonder Stories, the magazine being run by the legendary Hugo Gernsback, and it would appear—as Simak’s first published story—in the December 1931 issue.
CHAPTER I
“Ready, Bill?” asked Harl Swanson.
Bill Kressman nodded.