Part 15 (1/2)

”Some, but not many of the thousands we must face before ever we fight our way through to the outer world. No, my friend Bullard, that will never save us; we are doomed!”

But Chet, unwilling to accept or share the other's convictions, was seeing again the great room beyond those doors--a room of vast proportions; of high-arched, vaulted ceiling where sweeping curves all centered and ended in one tremendous central point. It hung down, that point, a blazing pendant--an inverted keystone; through some magic of that ancient people all the colors of the spectrum had been made to ebb and flow like rainbows of living light.

But something deeper than the beauty of this had impressed Chet. A master pilot does not study design of structures, even structures meant for travel through the air, without gaining knowledge of architectural fundamentals; his mind, subconsciously, had been following strains and stresses through those super-imposed curves. He turned abruptly to Haldgren with a question.

”It seemed to me when I was following Anita that we climbed upward; we were always running upward through the pa.s.sages. We must be near the surface of the Moon; is that true?”

Haldgren nodded slowly. ”I think so--yes! In the great room out there are windows of quartz high in the ceiling. You could not see them from where you were, but they are there. I have seen them lighted; I think it was the light of the sun.”

”In that case,” said Chet quietly, ”I will ask you to open those doors.”

”But they will come in!” the big man protested.

”They will not come in.”

Chet turned to the girl. ”I will ask you, my dear, to accompany me--if you have faith.”

And, to that, Anita Haldgren granted not even a word of reply. She moved more swiftly than her brother to a controlling lever in the wall ... and the ponderous doors swung slowly back.

Beyond those opening doors a din of shrieks went abruptly still. They rose again in a squeaking babel of amazement and again were silenced as Chet Bullard stepped through the arch. Beside him was the slender figure of Anita; following was a stocky man whose unhandsome, face was alight with a broad grin.

”Go to it, my bhoy!” Spud O'Malley was saying. ”I don't know what you're up to, but you'll be countin' me in--and here's hopin' you give those devils h.e.l.l!”

And, behind them all, in great strides that brought him up with the rest, came Haldgren, recovered now from the stupefaction that had held him momentarily. The four went silently where Chet led to the highest point of the great terraced rostrum.

It was a stepped pyramid, Chet found, split in half and the half placed against the wall. There was a stairway of smaller steps where priests, some thousands of years before, had made their way to the top. And the dust of centuries arose in smoky puffs as the four trod that path where the holy ones had gone. Below them the silence was ending in sibilant hissing calls as the black-winged beast-men watched that procession to the heights. Some few had launched themselves into the air, Chet saw when he turned.

”Tell them to go back,” he said to Anita; ”tell them to listen to what I have to say!” There followed immediately the sound of Anita's soft voice distorted to shrill sounds that echoed throughout the hall.

”Tell them now,” said Chet when the hall was still, ”that I have come from another world. Tell them that I hold the thunderbolts of their ancient G.o.ds in my hands. Then tell them if they permit us to depart we will go and leave them in peace. But if they try to harm us, the temple of their G.o.ds will be destroyed, and they, too, shall die. Tell them!”

There was something of unwonted solemnity in the voice of the master pilot--something of quiet power and the dignity that became a messenger of the G.o.ds--as he gave his orders and faced the throng.

And there was the patience of a G.o.d who is sickened of slaughter as he faced the discordant din and the threatening forward surge of the demon throng below. The girl had spoken, and the air was black with their thres.h.i.+ng wings, while still Chet waited with outstretched hand.

To the creatures below--the things half-men and half-beasts--the s.h.i.+ning tube in that extended hand meant nothing of threat. And even to the Irish pilot, who stood silently watching, the gesture seemed futile.

”You've overplayed your hand, lad,” he said in a tone of despair. ”'Tis no little gun like that will stop them now!”

He was watching that hand and the s.h.i.+ning tube; watching in amazement as he saw it swing slowly up toward the advancing horde risen level with them in the air--up above their ma.s.sed blackness of wings--on and up, until the tube was pointing toward the base of a carven pendant, whose blending colors were fairy lights at play.

And still the weapon waited until the snarling faces of the enemy were close. Then the pistol cracked once, and the roar of its exploding sh.e.l.l came thundering after.