Authors: George England
He slept. Thus, often, wounded soldiers sleep, with troubled dreams,
on the verge of renewed battle which may mean their death, their long
and wakeless slumber.
He slept. And the girl, laying his gashed head gently back upon the
pile of furs, bent over him with infinite compassion. For a long
minute, hardly breathing, she watched him there. More quickly came her
breath. A strange new light shone in her eyes.
"Only for me, those wounds!" she whispered slowly. "Only for me!"
Taking his head in both her hands, she kissed him as he lay
unconscious. Kissed him twice, and then a third time.
Then she arose.
Quickly, as though with some definite plan, she chose from among their
store of utensils a large copper kettle, one which he had brought her
the week before from the little Broadway shop.
She took a long rawhide rope, braided by Stern during their long
evenings together. This she knotted firmly to the bale of the kettle.
The revolvers, fully reloaded, she examined with care. One of them she
laid beside the sleeper. The other she slid into her full, warm bosom,
where the clinging tiger-skin held it ready for her hand.
Then she walked noiselessly to the door leading into the hallway.
Here for a moment she stood, looking back at the wounded man. Tears
dimmed her eyes, yet they were very glad.
"For your sake, now, everything!" she said. "Everything—all! Oh,
Allan, if you only knew! And now—good-by!"
Then she was gone.
And in the silent room, their home, which out of wreck and chaos they
had made, the fevered man lay very still, his pulses throbbing in his
throat.
Outside, very far, very faint in the forests, a muffled drum began to
beat again.
And the slow shadows, lengthening across the floor, told that evening
was drawing nigh.
The engineer awoke with a start—awoke to find daylight gone,
to find that dusk had settled, had shrouded the whole place in gloom.
Confused, he started up. He was about to call out, when prudence muted
his voice. For the moment he could not recollect just what had
happened or where he was; but a vast impending consciousness of evil
and of danger weighed upon him. It warned him to keep still, to make
no outcry. A burning thirst quickened his memory.
Then his comprehension returned. Still weak and shaken, yet greatly
benefited by his sleep, he took a few steps toward the door. Where was
the girl? Was he alone? What could all this mean?
"Beatrice! Oh, Beatrice!" he called thickly, in guarded tones. "Where
are you? Answer me!"
"Here—coming!" he heard her voice. And then he saw her, dimly, in the
doorway.
"What is it? Where have you been? How long have I been asleep?"
She did not answer his questions, but came quickly to him, took his
hand, and with her own smoothed his brow.
"Better, now?" asked she.
"Lots! I'll be all right in a little while. It's nothing. But what
have
you
been doing all this time?"
"Come, and I'll show you." She led him toward the other room.
He followed, in growing wonder.
"No attack, yet?"
"None. But the drums have been beating for a long time now. Hear
that?
"
They listened. To them drifted a dull, monotonous sound, harbinger of
war.
Stern laughed bitterly, chokingly, by reason of his thirst.
"Much good their orchestra will do them," said he, "when it comes to
facing soft-nosed .38's! But tell me, what was it you were going to
show me?"
Quickly she went over to their crude table, took up a dish and came
back to him.
"Drink this!" bade she.
He took it, wondering.
"What?
Coffee?
But—"
"Drink! I've had mine, already. Drink!"
Half-stupefied, he obeyed. He drained the whole dish at a draft, then
caught his breath in a long sigh.
"But this means water!" cried he, with renewed vigor. "And—?"
"Look here," she directed, pointing. There on the circular hearth
stood the copper kettle, three-quarters full.
"Water! You've got
water?
" He started forward in amazement. "While
I've been sleeping? Where—?"
She laughed with real enjoyment.
"It's nothing," she disclaimed. "After what you've done for me, this
is the merest trifle, Allan. You know that big cavity made by the
boiler-explosion? Yes? Well, when we looked down into it, before we
ventured out to the spring, I noticed a good deal of water at the
bottom, stagnant water, that had run out of the boiler and settled on
the hard clay floor and in among the cracked cement. I just merely
brought up some, and strained and boiled it, that's all. So you see—"
"But, my Lord!" burst out the man, "d'you mean to say you—you went
down
there—alone?
"
Once more the girl laughed.
"Not alone," she answered. "One of the automatics was kind enough to
bear me company. Of course the main stairway was impassable. But I
found another way, off through the east end of the building and down
some stairs we haven't used at all, yet. They may be useful, by the
way, in case of—well—a retreat. Once I'd reached the arcade, the
rest was easy. I had that leather rope tied to the kettle handle, you
see. So all I had to do was—"
"But the Horde! The Horde?"
"None of them down there, now—that is, alive. None when I was there.
All at the war-council, I imagine. I just happened to strike it right,
you see. It wasn't anything. We simply
had
to have water, so I went
and got some, that's all."
"That's all?" echoed Stern, in a trembling voice. "That's—
all!
"
Then, lest she see his face even by the dim light through the window,
he turned aside a minute. For the tears in his eyes, he felt, were a
weakness which he would not care to reveal.
But presently he faced the girl again.
"Beatrice," said he, "words fall so flat, so hopelessly dead; they're
so inadequate, so anticlimactic at a time like this, that I'm just
going to skip them all. It's no use thanking you, or analyzing this
thing, or saying any of the commonplace, stupid things. Let it pass.
You've got water, that's enough. You've made good, where I failed.
Well—"
His voice broke again, and he grew silent. But she, peering at him
with wonder, laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Come," said she, "you must eat something, too. I've got a little
supper ready. After that, the Pulverite?"
He started as though shot.
"That's so! I
can
make it now!" cried he, new life and energy
suffusing him. "Even with my one hand, if you help me, I can make it!
Supper? No, no! To
work!
"
But she insisted, womanlike; and he at last consented to a bite. When
this was over, they began preparations for the manufacture of the
terrible explosive, Stern's own secret and invention, which, had not
the cataclysm intervened, would have made him ten times over a
millionaire. More precious now to him, that knowledge, than all the
golden treasures of the dead, forsaken world!
"We've got to risk a light," said he. "If it's turned low, and shaded,
maybe they won't learn our whereabouts. But however that may be, we
can't work in the dark. It would be too horribly perilous. One false
move, one wrong combination, even the addition of one ingredient at
the improper moment, and—well—you understand."
She nodded.
"Yes," said she. "And we don't want to quit—just
yet!
"
So they lighted the smaller of their copper lamps, and set to work in
earnest.
On the table, cleared of dishes and of food, Stern placed in order
eight glass bottles, containing the eight basic chemicals for his
reaction.
Beside him, at his left hand, he set a large metal dish with three
quarts of water, still warm. In front of him stood his copper
tea-kettle—the strangest retort, surely in which the terrific
compound ever had been distilled.
"Now our chairs, and the lamp," said he, "and we're ready to begin.
But first," and, looking earnestly at her, "first, tell me frankly,
wouldn't you just a little rather have me carry out this experiment
alone? You could wait elsewhere, you know. With these uncertain
materials and all the crude conditions we've got to work under,
there's no telling what—might happen.
"I've never yet found a man who would willingly stand by and see me
build Pulverite, much less a woman. It's frightful, this stuff is!
Don't be ashamed to tell me; are you afraid?"
For a long moment the girl looked at him.
"Afraid—with
you?
" said she.
An hour passed. And now, under the circle of light cast by the
hooded lamp upon the table, there in that bare, wrecked office-home of
theirs, the Pulverite was coming to its birth.
Already at the bottom of the metal dish lay a thin yellow cloud,
something that looked like London fog on a December morning. There,
covered with the water, it gently swirled and curdled, with strange
metallic glints and oily sheens, as Beatrice with a gold spoon stirred
it at the engineer's command.
From moment to moment he dropped in a minute quantity of glycerin, out
of a glass test-tube, graduated to the hundredth of an ounce. Keenly,
under the lamp-shine, he watched the final reaction; his face, very
pale and set, reflected a little of the mental stress that bound him.
Along the table-edge before him, limp in its sling, his wounded arm
lay useless. Yet with his left hand he controlled the sleeping giant
in the dish. And as he dropped the glycerin, he counted.
"Ten, eleven, twelve—fifteen, sixteen—twenty! Now! Now pour the
water off, quick!
Quick!
"
Splendidly the girl obeyed. The water ran, foaming strangely, out into
a glass jar set to receive it. Her hands trembled not, nor did she
hesitate. Only, a line formed between her brows; and her breath,
half-held, came quickly through her lips.
"
Stop!
"
His voice rang like a shot.
"Now, decant it through this funnel, into the vials!"
Again, using both hands for steadiness, she did his bidding.
And one by one as she filled the little flasks of chained death, the
engineer stoppered them with his left hand.
When the last was done, Stern drew a tremendous sigh, and dashed the
sweat from his forehead with a gesture of victory.
Into the residue in the dish he poured a little nitric acid.
"
That's
got no kick left in it, now, anyhow," said he relieved. "The
HNO3 tames it, quick enough. But the bottles—take care—don't tip one
over, as you love your life!"
He stood up, slowly, and for a moment remained there, his face in the
shadow of the lamp-shade, holding to the table-edge for support, with
his left hand.
At him the girl looked.
"And now," she began, "now—?"
The question had no time for completion. For even as she spoke, a
swift little something flicked through the window, behind them.
It struck the opposite wall with a sharp
crack!
then fell slithering
to the floor.
Outside, against the building, they heard another and another little
shock; and all at once a second missile darted through the air.
This hit the lamp. Stern grabbed the shade and steadied it. Beatrice
stooped and snatched up the thing from where it lay beside the table.
Only one glance Stern gave at it, as she held it up. A long reed stem
he saw wrapped at its base with cotton fibers—a fish-bone point,
firm-lashed—and on that point a dull red stain, a blotch of something
dry and shiny.
"Blow-gun darts!" cried he. "Poisoned! They've seen the light—got our
range! They're up there in the tree-tops—shooting at us!"
With one puff, the light was gone. By the wrist he seized Beatrice. He
dragged her toward the front wall, off to one side, out of range.
"The flasks of Pulverite! Suppose a dart should hit one?" exclaimed
the girl.
"That's so! Wait here—I'll get them!"
But she was there beside him as, in the thick dark, he cautiously felt
for the deadly things and found them with a hand that
dared not
tremble. And though here, there, the little venom-stings whis-s-shed
over them and past them, to shatter on the rear wall, she helped him
bear the vials, all nine of them, to a place of safety in the
left-hand front corner where by no possibility could they be struck.
Together then, quietly as wraiths, they stole into the next room; and
there, from a window not as yet attacked, they spied out at the dark
tree-tops that lay in dense masses almost brushing the walls.
"See? See there?" whispered Stern in the girl's ear. He pointed where,
not ten yards away and below, a blacker shadow seemed to move along a
hemlock branch. Forgotten now, his wounds. Forgotten his loss of
blood, his fever and his weakness. The sight of that creeping stealthy
attack nerved him with new vigor. And, even as the girl looked, Stern
drew his revolver.
Speaking no further word, he laid the ugly barrel firm across the
sill.
Carefully he sighted, as best he could in that gloom lit only by the
stars. Coldly as though at a target-shot, he brought the muzzle-sight
to bear on that deep, crawling shadow.
Then suddenly a spurt of fire split the night. The crackling report
echoed away. And with a bubbling scream, the shadow loosened from the
limb, as a ripe fruit loosens.
Vaguely they saw it fall, whirl, strike a branch, slide off, and
disappear.
All at once a pattering rain of darts flickered around them. Stern
felt one strike his fur jacket and bounce off. Another grazed the
girl's head. But to their work they stood, and flinched not.
Now her revolver was speaking, in antiphony with his; and from the
branches, two, three, five, eight, ten of the ape-things fell.