Part 3 (1/2)

Enoch's gun flashed up and he fired without aiming. The bullet struck one of the robot's huge eyes, shattering the gla.s.s and sending the towering figure cras.h.i.+ng headlong into a tree. At the same instant, an ear-shattering wail came from the fallen robot, and powerful rays of light flashed from the rim of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p to bathe the spot where the two Wetzels stood.

Mixed with the siren wail from the fallen man of steel came a chorus of blood-curdling warhoops as the Indians made out the figures of the two men, and a hundred braves came pouring across the clearing toward them. Instantly the two scouts took to their heels, darting through the inky blackness of the forest with the sure-footed celerity of long practice.

They would have escaped easily under ordinary circ.u.mstances. But suddenly the blast of another siren sounded directly ahead and a lance of light impaled them. Blinded, they stumbled aside, only to be caught by still another beam.

The two men split apart and dived for cover. Enoch, finding himself s.h.i.+elded from the rays by the thick bole of a tree, scrambled into its branches. A moment later the first wave of Indians pa.s.sed below him.

For fully ten minutes he crouched there among the leaves. The barrage of light, he discovered, had come from the towering robots, and he recalled the dozen or so steel monsters that had left the camp soon after the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p landed. Evidently they had been sent out to encircle the camp so that no one might leave or enter until the visitors permitted it.

Finally Enoch heard the Indians returning toward camp. He knew they would search every tree hunting for him. Reloading his rifle, he dropped to the ground and adopting the only maneuver they would not expect, made his way cautiously back toward the camp.

He had hoped to skirt the camp itself and find an avenue to freedom in the opposite direction. But his hopes were almost immediately dashed, for he soon made out the darting rays of light marking more of the robots.

Enoch was trapped. Taking advantage of every possible means of cover, he inched ahead, changing his direction a dozen times, until he suddenly stopped short, his path barred by the towering s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p itself. Staying within the dense shadows at its base, he began to skirt the s.h.i.+p, hoping to find a place where he could hide out until the enemy gave up the search.

But again his luck failed to hold. This time he was stopped by a wall of metal fully ten feet high, which turned out to be one side of the entrance ramp to the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. Circling it would bring him right into the camp, to climb over it was impossible; to turn back, useless. This was the end of the line!

As he stood there trying to figure out his next move, he caught the sound of a guarded movement some distance behind him. Instantly he dropped to the gra.s.s, his long rifle ready to take at least one of his enemies with him. And that was when he learned that the bottom of the ramp was nearly two feet above the ground.

Even Macy's shopping service couldn't have furnished him with a better hiding place. Enoch wriggled himself under the edge and lay there breathing quietly, while, a moment later, three pairs of moccasined feet moved over the spot where he had been hiding.

Some time pa.s.sed. He could hear voices very near and the rustle of feet moving through the gra.s.s. Then came the dull thud of metal against metal over his head in a rhythmic tempo like the tread of marching soldiers. Hardly had this ceased before he heard another sound which he could not identify, and the ramp itself began to move!

It was drawing in toward the s.h.i.+p, very slowly. To stay where he was would mean the loss of his hiding place; to try to run away would almost certainly be fatal. And so Enoch acted in the only way left to him.

By hooking his arms and legs around the girders forming the underside of the ramp, he was able to lift himself clear of the ground. It meant being carried into the s.h.i.+p, but even that, he decided, was better than falling into the hands of Indians.

He clung there like a sloth to a branch. Fortunately the beams were recessed enough to prevent his being sc.r.a.ped off when he reached the opening into the hull. When the ramp finally ground to a halt he found himself in darkness beyond anything in his experience. There was cold metal under him now and he lowered himself gingerly onto it. When he tried to crawl into the open, he discovered that the edges of the ramp were now flush with the floor.

Suddenly a deep humming note tore at his ears, became a shrill whine, then pa.s.sed into silence. The floor seemed to press harder and harder into his back, his lungs fought for air, a sharp burst of light seemed to explode soundlessly before his bulging eyes and consciousness left him....

The rasp of metal against metal aroused him. The ramp was moving again. Once more he attached himself to its girders and was slowly carried from the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. Sunlight on the gra.s.s told him the night had pa.s.sed, and the moment the ramp came to a halt, he dropped to the ground and squirmed into the open. He was close enough to the s.h.i.+p to keep from being seen by those aboard, and he slipped quickly around one side before making a break for the shelter of a clump of trees bordering the clearing.

”And that, Mr. Quinlan,” Kramer said, ”just about brings you up to date. At 4:07 this afternoon Mr. Wetzel was found by the crew of an Army tank twelve miles west of Burdette, Colorado. He told his story to the colonel in charge of that perimeter of operations, and was then flown directly to Was.h.i.+ngton.” He paused and allowed himself a humorless smile. ”I a.s.sume you have some questions?”

I said, ”I'm not going to ask if you take this man's story seriously.

Considering the positions of the men in this room you obviously do.

What I'd like to know is why?”

Kramer hesitated. ”Let me ask you this, Quinlan,” he said, choosing his words carefully. ”Based solely on this man's costume and speech, would you say he is an impostor?”

”No,” I told him promptly. ”Frontiersmen dressed exactly that way, the long gun is authentic and his p.r.o.nunciation, phrases and idiom comes straight out of pre-Revolutionary times. But I still fail to see why you give a second thought to his story.”

”You don't think it true?”

”My G.o.d, man, how can it be? Unless you're trying to tell me that this character was brought here by a time machine!”