Part 8 (1/2)

John Carter turned and surveyed the battlefield.

”All the death and destruction that has been caused here today was due not to Joog but to Pew Mogel,” replied John Carter.

”Joog is harmless, now that his evil master is dead. Why add his death to all those others, even if we could have killed him which I doubt?”

Kantos Kan was watching the rats disappear into the far mountains in pursuit of the great, lumbering apes.

”Tell me, John Carter,” finally he said, a queer expression on his face, ”how did you manage to capture those vicious rats, load them into those troop s.h.i.+ps and even strap parachutes on them?”

John Carter smiled. ”It was really simple, he said. ”I had noticed in Korvas, when I was a prisoner in their underground city, that there was only one means of entrance to the cavern in which the rats live a single tunnel that continued back for some distance before it branched, although there were openings in the ceiling far above; but they were out of reach.

I led my men down into that tunnel and we built a huge smoke fire with debris from the ground above. The natural draft carried the smoke into the cavern.

”The place became so filled with smoke that the rats pa.s.sed out by the scores from lack of oxygen, for they couldn't get by the fire in the tunnel their only means of escape. Later, we simply went in and dragged out as many as we needed to load into our troop s.h.i.+ps.”

”But the parachutes!” exclaimed Kantos Kan. ”How did you manage to get those on their backs or keep them from tearing them off when the creatures finally became conscious?”

”They did not regain consciousness until the last minute,” replied the earthman.

”We kept the inside cabin of each troop s.h.i.+p filled with enough smoke to keep the rats unconscious all the way to Helium. We had plenty of time to attach the parachutes to their backs. The rats came to in midair after my men shoved them out of the s.h.i.+ps.”

John Carter nodded toward the disappearing creatures in the mountains. ”They were very much alive and fighting mad when they hit the ground, as you saw,”

added the earthman. ”They simply stepped out of their parachute harness when they landed, and leaped for anyone in sight.

”As for the malagors,” he concluded, ”they are birds and birds on both earth and Mars have no love for snakes or rats. I knew those malagors would prefer other surroundings when they saw and smelled their natural enemies in the air around them!”

Dejah Thoris looked up at her chieftain and smiled.

”Was there ever such a man before?” she asked. ”Could it be that all earthmen are like you?”

That night all Helium celebrated its victory. The streets of the city surged with laughing people, The mighty, green warriors of Thark mingled in common brotherhood with the fighting legions of Helium.

In the royal palace was staged a great feast in honor of John Carter's service to Helium.

Old Tardos Mors, the Jeddak, was so choked with feeling at the miraculous delivery of his city from the hands of their enemy and the safe return of his granddaughter that he was unable to speak for some time when he arose at the dining table to offer the kingdom's thanks to the earthman.

But when he finally spoke, his words were couched with the simple dignity of a great ruler. The intense grat.i.tude of these people deeply touched the earthman's heart.

Later that night, John Carter and Dejah Thoris stood alone on a balcony overlooking the royal gardens.

The moons of Mars circled majestically across the heavens, causing the shadows of the distant mountains to roll and tumble in an ever-changing fantasy over the plain and the forest.

Even the shadows of the two people on the royal balcony slowly merged into one.

SKELETON MEN OF JUPITER.

Foreword.

Particularly disliking forewords, I seldom read them; yet it seems that I scarcely ever write a story that I do not inflict a foreword on my long-suffering readers. Occasionally I also have to inject a little weather and scenery in my deathless cla.s.sics, two further examples of literary racketeering that I especially deplore in the writings of others. Yet there is something to be said in extenuation of weather and scenery, which, together with adjectives, do much to lighten the burdens of authors and run up their word count.

Still, there is little excuse for forewords; and if this were my story there would be none. However, it is not my story. It is John Carter's story. I am merely his amanuensus.

On guard! John Carter takes his sword in hand.

EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS.

One.

BETRAYED.

I AM NO SCIENTIST. I am a fighting man. My most beloved weapon is the sword, and during a long life I have seen no reason to alter my theories as to its proper application to the many problems with which I have been faced. This is not true of the scientists. They are constantly abandoning one theory for another one.

The law of gravitation is about the only theory that has held throughout my lifetime and if the earth should suddenly start rotating seventeen times faster than it now does, even the law of gravitation would fail us and we would all go sailing off into s.p.a.ce.

Theories come and theories go scientific theories. I recall that there was once a theory that Time and s.p.a.ce moved forward constantly in a straight line.

There was also a theory that neither Time nor s.p.a.ce existed it was all in your mind's eye. Then came the theory that Time and s.p.a.ce curved in upon themselves.

Tomorrow, some scientist may show us reams and reams of paper and hundreds of square feet of blackboard covered with equations, formulae, signs, symbols, and diagrams to prove that Time and s.p.a.ce curve out away from themselves. Then our theoretic universe will come tumbling about our ears, and we shall have to start all over again from scratch.

Like many fighting men, I am inclined to be credulous concerning matters outside my vocation; or at least I used to be. I believed whatever the scientists said.

Long ago, I believed with Flammarion that Mars was habitable and inhabited; then a newer and more reputable school of scientists convinced me that it was neither. Without losing hope, I was yet forced to believe them until I came to Mars to live. They still insist that Mars is neither habitable nor inhabited, but I live here. Fact and theory seem to be opposed. Unquestionably, the scientists appear to be correct in theory. Equally incontrovertible is it that I am correct in fact.

In the adventure that I am about to narrate, fact and theory will again cross swords. I hate to do this to my long-suffering scientific friends; but if they would only consult me first rather than dogmatically postulating theories which do not meet with popular acclaim, they would save themselves much embarra.s.sment.

Dejah Thoris, my incomparable princess, and I were sitting upon a carved ersite bench in one of the gardens of our palace in Lesser Helium when an officer in the leather of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, Approached and saluted.

”From Tardos Mors to John Carter, kaor!” he said. ”The jeddak requests your immediate presence in the Hall of Jeddaks in the imperial palace in Greater Helium.”

”At once,” I replied.

”May I fly you over, sir?” he asked. ”I came in a two seater.”

”Thanks,” I replied. ”I'll join you at the hangar in a moment.” He saluted and left us.

”Who was he?” asked Dejah Thoris. ”I don't recall ever having seen him before.”