THE FACE IN THE ABYSS: Sci-Fi Classic. Abraham Merritt
Starrett on the back. “Everything’s just fine. Come on, Graydon—bygones is bygones.”
Starrett scrambled up. He linked his arm in the New Englander’s. They staggered over to the tent. Dancret, upon whom the wine seemed to have had little effect, settled down on a bowlder just beyond the fire and began his watch, rifle at readiness.
Graydon lingered. Soames had forgotten him, for a time at least. He meant to make the best of that time with this strange maid whose beauty and sweetness had touched him as no other woman’s ever had. He drew so close that the fragrance of her cloudy hair rocked him; so close that her touching shoulder sent a flame through him.
“Suarra—” he began. She turned, and silenced him with slender fingers on his lips.
“Not now—” she whispered. “Not now—tell me nothing now of what is in your heart—Not now—nor, it may be, ever! I promised that I would save you—if I could. Of that promise was born another—” her glance turned to the silent figure, meaningly. “So speak to me not again,” she went on hurriedly, “or if you must speak—let it be of—commonplace things.”
She began packing the golden cups and dishes. He set about helping her. He thought, ruefully, that this was a commonplace thing enough to satisfy her. She accepted his aid without comment, looked at him no more.
When the last shining cup was in the pannier, he turned and went toward the tent to get together his duffle, pack his burro. The voices of Starrett and Soames came to him.
“But she’s not Indian, Soames,” Starrett was speaking. “She’s whiter than you and me. What are they? And the girl—Christ!”
“What they are we’ll find out, never fear,” said Soames. “To hell with the girl—take her if you want her. But I’d go through a dozen hells to get to the place where that stuff they’re carryin’ samples of comes from. Man—with what we could carry out on the burros and the llama and come back for—man, we could buy the world.”
“Yes—unless there’s a trap somewhere,” said Starrett, dubiously.
“We’ve got the cards in our hands,” the wine was wearing off Soames. “What’s against us? An old dummy and a girl. Now, I’ll tell you what I think. I don’t know who or what they are, but whoever or whatever, you can bet there ain’t many of ’em. If there was, they’d be landing on us hard. No—they’re damned anxious to get us away and they’re willin’ to let us get out with what we can to get us away. They want to get rid of us, quick and cheap as possible. Yeah—that’s what they want. Why—because they damn well know the three of us could wipe ’em all out.”
“Three of us?” echoed Starrett. “Four, you mean. There’s Graydon.”
“Graydon don’t count—the louse! Thought he’d sold us out, didn’t he? All right—we’ll fix Mister Graydon when the time comes. Just now he’s useful to us on account of the girl. She’s stuck on him. But when the time comes, to divide—there’ll be only three of us. And there’ll only be two of us—if you do anything like you did this morning.”
“Cut it out, Soames,” growled Starrett. “I told you it was the hooch. I’m through with that, now that we’ve seen this stuff. I’m with you to the limit. Do what you want with Graydon. But—I want the girl. I’d be willing to make a bargain with you—give up a part of my share.”
“Oh, hell,” drawled Soames. “We’ve been together a good many years, Bill. There’s enough and plenty for the three of us. You can have the girl for nothing.”
Little flecks of red danced before Graydon’s eyes. Hand stretched to tear open the tent flap, he checked himself.
That was no way to help Suarra. Unarmed, what could he do? In some way, he must get his guns. And the danger was not imminent—they would do nothing before they reached that place of treasure to which Suarra had promised to lead them.
He stole back a dozen paces, waited for a moment or two; then went noisily to the tent. He thrust aside the flap and entered.
“Been a long time comin’,” snarled Soames. “Been talkin’—after what I told you?”
“Not a word,” lied Graydon, cheerfully—he busied himself with his belongings. “By the way, Soames, don’t you think it’s time to stop this nonsense and give me back my guns?”
Soames made no answer.
“Oh, all right then,” said Graydon. “I only thought that they would come in handy when the pinch comes. But if you only want me to look on while you do the scrapping—well, I don’t mind.”
“You’d better mind,” said Soames. “You’d better mind, Graydon! If the pinch comes—we’re takin’ no chances of a bullet in our backs. That’s why you’ve got no guns. And if the pinch does come—well, we’ll take no chances on you, anyway. Do you get me?”
Graydon shrugged. In silence the packing was completed; the tent struck; the burros loaded.
Suarra stood awaiting them at the side of the white llama. Soames walked up to her, drew from its holster his automatic, balanced it in outstretched hand.
“You know what this is?” he asked her.
“Why, yes,” she answered. “It is the death weapon of your kind.”
“Right,” said Soames. “And it deals death quickly, quicker than spears or arrows—” He raised his voice so there could be no doubt that her silent attendant must also hear—“Now, I and these two men here carry these and others still more deadly. This man’s we have taken from him. Your words may be clearest truth. I hope they are—for your sake and this man’s and his who came with you. You understand me?” he asked, and grinned like a hungry wolf.
“I understand.” Suarra’s eyes and face were calm. “You need fear nothing from us.”
“We don’t,” said Soames. “But you have much to fear—from us.”
Another moment he regarded her, menacingly; then shoved his pistol back into his holster.
“You go first,” he ordered. “Your man behind you. And then him—” he pointed to Graydon. “We three march in the rear—death-weapons ready.”
In that order they passed through the giant algarrobas, and out into the oddly park-like spaces beyond.
4
THE THING THAT FLED
They had traveled over the savanna for perhaps an hour when Suarra turned to the left, entering the forest that covered the flanks of a great mountain. The trees closed on them. Graydon could see no trail, yet she went on without pause. Another hour went by and the way began to climb, the shade to deepen. Deeper it became and deeper, until the girl was but a flitting shadow.
Once or twice Graydon had glanced at the three men behind him. The darkness was making them more and more uneasy. They walked close together, eyes and ears strained to catch the first faint stirrings of ambush. And now, as the green gloom grew denser still, Soames ordered him to join Dancret and Starrett. He hesitated, read murder in the New Englander’s eyes, realized the futility of resistance and dropped back. Soames pressed forward until he was close behind the cowled figure. Dancret drew Graydon between himself and Starrett, grinning.
“Soames has changed his plan,” he whispered. “If there is trouble, he shoot the old devil—quick. He keep the girl to make trade wit’ her people. He keep you to make trade wit’ the girl. How you like—eh?”
Graydon did not answer. When the Frenchman had pressed close to him, he had felt an automatic in his side pocket. If an attack did come, he could leap upon Dancret, snatch the pistol and gain for himself a fighting