Authors: George England
Stern knew at a glance the leaf was the rudely cured product of some
degenerated tobacco-plant. He saw a glow of red at the tip of the
close-rolled tobacco. Vapor issued from the chief's slit-mouth.
"Good Lord—he's—
smoking!
" stammered the engineer. "And
that
means—means an almost human brain. And—quick, Beatrice, the water! I
didn't expect this! Thought they were all alike. Back to the tower,
quick! Here, fill the pail—I'll keep him covered!"
Up he brought the automatic, till the bead lay fair upon the naked,
muscular breast of the obeah.
Beatrice handed Stern the rifle, then snatching the pail, dipped it,
filled it to the brim. Stern heard the water lap and gurgle. He knew
it was but a few seconds, yet it seemed an hour to him, at the very
least.
Keener than ever before in his whole life, his mental pictures now
limned themselves with lightning rapidity upon his brain.
Stamped on his consciousness was this lithe, lean, formidable body,
showing beyond dispute its human ancestry; the right hand that held a
steel-pointed
spear; the horrible ornament (a withered little smoked
hand) that dangled from the left wrist by a cord of platted fiber.
Vividly Stern beheld a deep gash or scar that ran from the chief's
right eye—a dull, fishlike eye, evidently destroyed by that
wound—down across the leathery cheek, across the prognathous jaw; a
reddish-purple wale, which on that clay-blue skin produced an effect
indescribably repulsive.
Then the chief grunted, and moved forward, toward them. Stern saw that
the gait was almost human, not shuffling and uncertain like that of
the others, but firm and vigorous. He estimated the height at more
than five feet, eight inches; the weight at possibly one hundred and
forty pounds. Even at that juncture, his scientific mind, always
accustomed to judging, instinctively registered these data, with the
others.
"Here, you, get back there!" shouted Stern, as the girl rose again
from filling the pail.
The cry was instinctive, for even as he uttered it, he knew it could
not be understood. A thousand years of rapid degeneration had long
wiped all traces of English speech from the brute-men, who now, at
most, chattered some bestial gibberish. Yet the warning echoed loudly
through Madison Forest; and the obeah hesitated.
The tone, perhaps, conveyed some meaning to that brain behind the
sloping forehead. Perhaps some dim, racial memory of human speech
still lingered in that mind, in that strange organism which, by some
freak of atavism, had "thrown back" out of the mire of returning
animality almost to the human form and stature once again.
However that may have been, the creature-chief halted in his advance.
Undecided he stood a moment, leaning upon his spear, sucking at the
rude mockery of a cigar. Stern remembered having seen Consul, the
trained chimpanzee, smoke in precisely the same manner, and a nameless
loathing filled him at his mockery of the dead, buried past.
"Let me carry the pail!" said he. "We've got to hurry—hurry—or it
may be too late!"
"No, no—I'll keep the water!" she answered, panting. "You need both
hands clear! Come!"
Thus they turned, and, with a shuddering glance behind, started back
for the tower again.
But the obeah, with a whining plaint, spat away his tobacco-leaf. They
heard a shuffle of feet. And, looking round again, both saw that he
had crossed the little brook.
There he stood now, his right hand out, palm upward, his lips curled
in the ghastly imitation of a smile, blue gums and yellow lushes
showing, a sight to freeze the blood with horror. Yet through it all,
the meaning was most clearly evident.
Beatrice, laden as she was with the heavy water-bucket, more precious
now to them than all the wealth of the dead world, would still have
retreated, but with a word of stern command he bade her wait. He
stopped short in his tracks.
"Not a step!" commanded he. "Hold on!
If
he makes friends with
us—with gods—that's a million times better every way! Hold on—wait,
no—this is
his
move."
He faced the obeah. His left hand gripped the repeating rifle, his
right the automatic, held in readiness for instant action. The muzzle
sight never for a second left its aim at the chief's heart.
And for a second silence fell there in the forest. Save for the
rustling murmur of the Horde, and a faint, woodland trickle of the
stream, you might have thought the place untouched by life.
Yet death lurked there, and destiny—the destiny of the whole world,
the future, the human race, forever and ever without end; and the
cords of Fate were being loosed for a new knitting.
And Stern, with Beatrice there at his side, stood harsh and strong and
very grim; stood like an incarnation of man's life, waiting.
And slowly, step by step, over the yielding, noiseless moss, the
grinning, one-eyed, ghastly obeah-man came nearer, nearer still.
Now the Thing was close, very close to them, while a hush lay
upon the watching Horde and on the forest. So close, that Stern could
hear the soughing breath between those hideous lips and see the
twitching of the wrinkled lid over the black, glittering eye that
blinked as you have often seen a chimpanzee's.
All at once the obeah stopped. Stopped and leered, his head craned
forward, that ghastly rictus on his mouth.
Stern's hot anger welled up again. Thus to be detained, inspected and
seemingly made mock of by a creature no more than three-quarters
human, stung the engineer to rage.
"What do
you
want?" cried he, in a thick and unsteady voice.
"Anything I can do for you? If not, I'll be going."
The creature shook its head. Yet something of Stern's meaning may have
won to its smoldering intelligence. For now it raised a hand. It
pointed to the pail of water, then to its own mouth; again it
indicated the pail, then stretched a long, repulsive finger at the
mouth of Stern.
The meaning seemed clear. Stern, even as he stood there in anger—and
in wonder, too, at the fearlessness of this superthing—grasped the
significance of the action.
"Why, he must mean," said he, to Beatrice, "he must be trying to ask
whether we intend to drink any of the water, what? Maybe it's
poisoned, now, or something! Maybe he's trying to warn us!"
"Warn us? Why should he?"
"How can I tell? It isn't entirely impossible that he still retains
some knowledge of his human ancestors. Perhaps that tradition may have
been handed down, some way, and still exists in the form of a crude
beast-religion."
"Yes, but then—?"
"Perhaps he wants to get in touch with us, again; learn from us; try
to struggle up out of the mire of degeneration, who knows? If so—and
it's possible—of course he'd try to warn us of a poisoned spring!"
Acting on this hypothesis, of which he was now half-convinced, Stern
nodded. By gesture-play he answered: Yes. Yes, this woman and he
intended to drink of the water. The obeah-man, grinning, showed signs
of lively interest. His eyes brightened, and a look of craft, of
wizened cunning crept over his uncanny features.
Then he raised his head and gave a long, shrill, throaty call,
ululating and unspeakably weird.
Something stirred in the forest. Stern heard a rustle and a creeping
murmur; and quick fear chilled his heart.
To him it seemed as though a voice were calling, perhaps the inner,
secret voice of his own subjective self—a voice that cried:
"You, who must drink water—now
he
knows you are not gods, but
mortal creatures. Tricked by his question and your answer, your peril
now is on you!
Flee!
"
The voice died. Stern found himself, with a strange, taut eagerness
tingling all through him, facing the obeah and—and
not daring to
turn his back
.
Retreat they must, he knew. Retreat, at once! Already in the forest he
understood that heads were being lifted, beastlike ears were
listening, brute eyes peering and ape-hands clutching the little,
flint-pointed spears. Already the girl and he should have been
half-way back to the tower; yet still, inhibited by that slow,
grinning, staring advance of the chief, there the engineer stood.
But all at once the spell was broken.
For with a cry, a hoarse and frightful yell of passion, the obeah
leaped—leaped like a huge and frightfully agile ape—leaped the whole
distance intervening.
Stern saw the Thing's red-gleaming eyes fixed on Beatrice. In those
eyes he clearly saw the hell-flame of lust. And as the woman screamed
in terror, Stern pulled trigger with a savage curse.
The shot went wild. For at the instant—though he felt no pain—his
arm dropped down and sideways.
Astounded, he looked. Something was wrong! What? His trigger-finger
refused to serve. It had lost all power, all control.
For God's sake, what could it be?
Then—all this taking but a second—Stern saw; he knew the truth.
Staring, pale and horrified, he understood.
There, through the fleshy part of his forearm, thrust clean from side
to side by a lightning-swift stroke, he saw the obeah's spear!
It dangled strangely in the firm muscles. The steel barb and full
eighteen inches of the shaft were red and dripping.
Yet still the engineer felt no slightest twinge of pain.
From his numbed, paralyzed hand the automatic dropped, fell
noiselessly into the moss.
And with a formless roar of killing-rage, Stern swung on the obeah,
with the rifle.
Stern felt his heart about to burst with hate. He did not even think
of the second revolver in the holster at his side. With only his left
hand now to use, the weapon could only have given clumsy service.
Instead, the man reverted instantly to the jungle stage, himself—to
the law of claw and fang, of clutching talon, of stone and club.
The beloved woman's cry, ringing in his ears, drove him mad. Up he
whirled the Krag again, up, up, by the muzzle; and down upon that
villainous skull he dashed it with a force that would have brained an
ox.
The obeah, screeching, reeled back. But he was not dead. Not dead,
only stunned a moment. And Stern, horrified, found himself holding
only a gun-barrel. The stock, shattered, had whirled away and vanished
among the tall and waving ferns.
Beatrice snatched up the fallen revolver. She stumbled; and the pail
was empty. Spurting, splashing away, the precious water flew. No time,
now, for any more.
For all about them, behind them and on every hand, the Things were
closing in.
They had seen blood—had heard the obeah's cry; they knew! Not gods,
now, but mortal creatures!
Not gods!
"Run!
Run!
" gasped Beatrice.
The spear still hanging from his arm, Stern wheeled and followed. High
and hard he swung the rifle-barrel, like a war-club.
No counting of steps, now; no play at divinity. Panting,
horror-stricken, frenzied with rage, bleeding, they ran. It was a
hunt—the hunt of the last two humans by the nightmare Horde.
In front, a bluish and confused mass seemed to dance and quiver
through the forest; and a pattering rain of spears and little arrows
began to fall about the fugitives.
Then the girl's revolver sputtered in a quick volley; and again, for a
space, silence fell. The way again was clear. But in the path, silent
and still, or writhing horribly, lay a few of the Things. And the
pine-needles and soft moss were very red, in spots.
Stern had his pistol out too, by now. For behind and on his flanks,
like ferrets hanging to a hunted creature, the swarm was closing in.
The engineer, his face very white and drawn, veins standing out on his
sweat-beaded forehead, heard Beatrice cry out to him, but he could not
understand her words.
Yet as they ran, he saw her level the pistol and snap the hammer
twice, thrice, with no result. The little dead click sounded like a
death-warrant to him.
"Empty?" cried he. "Here, take this one! You can shoot better now than
I can!" And into her hand he thrust the second revolver.
Something stung him on the left shoulder. He glanced round. A dart was
hanging there.
With an oath, the engineer wheeled about. His eyes burned and his lips
drew back, taut, from his fine white teeth.
There, already recovered from the blow which would have killed a man
ten times over, he saw the obeah snarling after him. Right down along
the path the monster was howling, beating his breast with both huge
fists. And, now feeling fear no more than pain, Stern crouched to meet
his onslaught.
It all happened in a moment of time, a moment, long—in
seeming—as an hour. The girl's revolver crackled, there behind him.
Stern saw a little round bluish hole take shape in the obeah's ear,
and red drops start.
Then with a ghastly screaming, the Thing was upon him.
Out struck the engineer, with the rifle-barrel. All the force of his
splendid muscles lay behind that blow. The Thing tried to dodge. But
Stern had been too quick.
Even as it sprang, with talons clutching for the man's throat, the
steel barrel drove home on the jaw.
An unearthly, piercing yell split the forest air. Then Stern saw the
obeah, his jaw hanging oddly awry, all loose and shattered, fall
headlong in the path.
But before he could strike again, could batter in the base of the
tough skull, a moan from Beatrice sent him to her aid.
"Oh, God!" he cried, and sank beside her on his knees.
On her forehead, as she lay gasping among the bushes, he saw an ugly
welt.
"A stone? They've hit her with a stone! Killed her, perhaps?"
Kneeling there, up he snatched the revolver, and in a deadly fire he
poured out the last spitting shots, pointblank in the faces of the
crowding rabble.