by Don Wilcox
And yet the fight was by no means one-sided. Vammerick was doing more than dodging. He watched his chance for body blows. His great arms swung up like a windmill wheel in a storm. Three times he caught Rippyick full force, and then there was some tottering back on the heels for the grayeared giant.
“Come on, Vammerick!” Bruce yelled. “Give it to him, Vammerick!”
“Oh, Bruce, how can you take sides in such a dreadful fight?”
“If Vammerick is this man’s friend, then he might be our friend,” said Bruce. “Anyway, I like his looks better than the others’.”
“Yes, I do, too,” Mary agreed.
Red Mouth heard, and he felt a growing interest in these well-dressed strangers. He studied them closely when he thought they were not looking.
Now the girl joined her companion in the cry, “Come on, Vammerick!” The cry rang out to the combatant. He heard his name called by the voice that had attracted him so. And he was, unfortunately, entranced.
That split second of virtual paralysis was Vammerick’s undoing. Rippyick slugged him with the blow of a freight train, and he left his feet and landed on his posterior.
The fight was over and the giants all shouted for the victor.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Mary cried. “Well, you did it,” Red Mouth said to her in a matter-of-fact voice, “You two folks are now the property of Rippyick, and I’m sorry for you. Sir—er—Bruce, if it isn’t asking too much, could I have your shoes before your owner takes you in charge?”
“If it isn’t asking too much,” Bruce retorted hotly, “could you kindly help us get out of here the quickest way?”
CHAPTER IV
Visitor of the Night
The village of the potato giants was a little like the villages of the jungle people in some tropical regions of the earth, Bruce thought. It had been laid out cow-path fashion—or, more accurately, beetle-path. Every dwelling, or kwazz, was tall enough to accommodate a full-grown native standing on the back of his beetle.
Thus the kwazzes were thirty to forty feet tall. It was a weird looking village—an uncut jungle with rustic, loosely thatched towers protruding.
The natives would ride into their homes standing on the backs of their beetle-buses. These beasts of burden would walk right on out through the large door on the other side, minus their passengers, and wander aimlessly through the village in search of grazing. If a neighbor’s front yard and doorstep offered tempting berries or luscious grass, the beetle would make himself at home until driven off.
If tropical foliage formed a part of a potato giant’s kwazz, the beasts might feast their way right through a wall and cause the roof to cave in. In which case the irate owner, as often as not, would gather up his goods and walk away to build himself another kwazz, rather than patch up an old one. The jungle materials grew rank and plentiful.
Unfortunately for Mary and Bruce, the prison in which they were stored was not so flimsy a structure. Apparently the potato giants’ proudest architectural achievements were their prisons. This one was twelve yards wide and fourteen long. Bruce got the dimensions through his feet in the course of hours of pacing.
Mary sat quietly in one corner, watching the sun move the shadows of the tall, closely set, pointed stakes that formed the wall. She applied her mathematics to the shadow and the angle of the sun, and informed her husband that the pointed stakes were twenty-two feet high.
“And to think,” Bruce muttered, “I brought you here for the world’s most wonderful honeymoon.”
Mary nodded. “I always wondered what a honeymoon would be like,” she said. “I’ve always heard it was the time when a couple really got acquainted.”
“Yes, when the wife discovers what a bad temper she’s married.”
“And the husband,” said Mary, “finds out he’s tied to a cry-baby.”
“Right now,” said Bruce, “I’ve got such a bad temper I could bite a hole through that wall.”
“I could cry,” said Mary. “What will they do with us?”
“You heard what Red Mouth said.”
“Do you trust him?” Mary asked.
“I don’t have much choice. He’s the only human being we’ve seen. He’s the only creature that talks our language. His explanations usually hit the nail right on the head. He’s our only chance.”
“It’s a shaky chance,” said Mary dolefully. “I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way. Did you see the way he jumped toward me when he first saw us, right after you killed the big animal?”
“It all happened so fast,” said Bruce. “He called you some name, didn’t he? He was awfully surprised, and I remember having a sudden fear that he wanted to grab you and kiss you. But just then this giant named Rippyick was pouncing down on me and I was trying to shoot him. I thought he meant to kill us.”
“He does,” said Mary. “But speaking of Red Mouth, I seem to remind him of someone. When he came at me he held out his arms and said ‘Lena!’ Just like that. I said, ‘I’m not Lena.’ Then for a minute he touched his head as if he was trying to remember something. But the next thing you knew he went into that monkey act, climbing up on the giants’ heads, shouting at them, trying to tell them what was what.”
“He’s a strange one,” Bruce said. “I can’t account for his being here. And all those grotesque tricks—you’d think he was something out of a cartoon comedy.”
“He doesn’t remember a thing about where he came from. Three or four times on our way to the village he looked at me that way, and said, ‘Are you sure you aren’t Lena?’ It gives me the creeps.”
Through the cracks in the wall of stakes they could watch the activities of the village. When the day’s sunlight faded to twilight they could still see the white, ghostlike forms of the giants coming and going along the paths.
Occasionally they would catch sight of Red Mouth, running and chasing with some of the native children of his own size. They were evidently clamoring for him to teach them some new games, and he was putting them off, on account of darkness.
“Not one of them can outrun or outjump him,” Bruce observed. “He’s a remarkable athlete.”
“The gravity helps,” said Mary. “Remember how light we felt when we first stepped out of the ship.”
“But even allowing for that, his handsprings and flipflops and climbing are phenomenal. I don’t believe they could keep him in this prison ten minutes.”
Bruce caught the questioning look from Mary, and he answered the challenge of his own statement.
“All right, give me ten Earth hours,” he said in a low voice, “and we’ll be out.”
“I’ll help you,” Mary said.
They walked along the rectangular wall, carefully examining the base of each stake. Somewhere there must be a weak spot in this man-tight enclosure.
They talked only in a whisper. Any sort of walls might have ears. They decided it wouldn’t be wise to let Red Mouth know.
“He’s too anxious for my shoes,” Bruce muttered. “Goodness knows I’d hardly miss them in this climate. For perfect comfort I’d as soon strip down to his style of nothing but trunks.”
“From his ragged condition,” said Mary, “he’ll soon be after your trousers.”
“He takes for granted,” said Bruce, “that they’ll soon use us for the same purpose for which they talked of using that dead beetle—for some sort of barter with another bribe—”
“The snail-eaters,” said Mary. “They intend to set the price on us tonight.”
Bruce found what he thought might be the weakest spot in the wall, and he began to make his calculations.
Before he had time to settle upon a plan, a visitor came tapping at the opposite side of the wall.
“Hello, in there! How are you getting along?”
“Hello, Red Mouth,” Bruce called back. “What the news?”
“They’ve set their prices on you.” Red Mouth’s voice was low and confidential. “You both did very well.”
“I suppose we ought
to ask how much,” said Bruce.
“The girl is worth all of two snails,” said Red Mouth. “And you, Bruce, they’ve guessed that you weigh enough to go at three snails. But don’t let it go to your head.”
“I suppose there’s a catch in it somewhere,” said Bruce.
“They might have to reduce you to two snails if the snail-eaters guess how tough you are.”
“I resent that,” Bruce said. “Mary and I are worth four snails apiece, and if anyone tries to sell us for less we’ll kick up a devil of a row.”
Mary gave him a pat on the back. It filled her with admiration to see how his scrapping spirit held up.
“Listen to me, Red Mouth,” said Bruce.
“Go ahead,” came Red Mouth’s voice out of the darkness beyond the prison wall. “There’s no one here but us.”
“Where do you think you came from —the Earth?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t you want to go back?” Bruce asked.
“I might if I could only remember what it was like. But I’m not so bad off here. I’m used to the potato giants; I understand their language and their customs.”
“What did you do yesterday when it rained?” Red Mouth asked one night.
“We kept in the dry,” said Bruce. “One corner of this prison is roofed over, after a fashion. It gives about as much protection as a leaky tent.”
“Tent!” Red Mouth exclaimed, suddenly interested. “There’s another word I hadn’t thought of for a long time. Tent! Where’s Lena? Will she talk with me tonight? I mean Mary.”
“For a thousand dollars would you help us escape?”
“I haven’t any more use for a thousand dollars than for a pair of horns and a tail,” Red Mouth chuckled.
“You’re a strange fellow,” said Bruce. “Why do you wear that red around your mouth?”
“Couldn’t say. It seems like the proper thing to do. Same with wearing those worn-out pants. Something tells me I ought to. And this fancy brass belt-buckle—maybe you haven’t noticed it, but I’ll show you, come daylight. Things like that are just naturally a part of me, I guess.”
There was no way of getting any more information out of Red Mouth and apparently no hope of gaining his cooperation for an escape. Bruce and Mary both wished he would go so they could return to their work on the weak spot in the wall.
However, Red Mouth chose to remain for an all-night visit through the stakes.
On the following night he came again. And the night after.
Bruce looked longingly at the weak spot in the fence. But the village was too close at hand for him to risk any woodcutting activities by daylight.
At nights he prevailed upon Red Mouth to teach him bits of the native language. That might be a useful weapon if this prison term didn’t end soon.
Bruce let Mary stand near the fence and talk by the hour, since it gave him a chance to utilize the night’s blackness for whittling at the stake. He had converted his belt-buckle into a crude blade.
“I wish,” he had confided to Mary, “I could get that fancy bit of brass and steel that Red Mouth wears in his belt.”
“You might catch him in a mood to trade,” Mary suggested.
Soon afterward Bruce began to pay Red Mouth for teaching him the potato giant language. He tossed over one shoe one night, another the next, and slipped a shirt through on the third. He was on the verge of making a deal for a trade of his good trousers for Red Mouth’s old ones, belt-buckle and all.
But the deal didn’t go through. The nimble athlete abruptly decided that he was encumbered by too many clothes. He tossed everything back, no strings attached.
And so Bruce put on his shoes again and paced the dirt floor by day and chopped away at a section of wood by night.
Now, at last, the cutting went faster. The interior of the chosen post was partially rotted. And the conditions of work were decidedly more favorable. Red Mouth had gone off on a prolonged expedition with thirty-five or forty giants to gather in the errant livestock again. Bruce and Mary were left with their nights to themselves.
It was on one of these nights that a surprising voice sounded just outside the prison.
“Hsst . . . Hsst . . . Hello, in there!”
“Who is it?” said Bruce, trying to peer through the darkness.
“Your stowaway Major Vickering. Remember?”
CHAPTER V
The Major Has a Plan
Major Vickering came tiptoeing along the outside of the wall, looking for a favorable place through which to talk. He boldly flashed a light across the stakes that sent a row of bold shadows fanning across the floor.
“Keep that light off,” Bruce snapped. “You’ll get yourself killed, and us too.”
“Don’t you have a window in this joint? Ah, here’s a spot. Get your faces over here, friends. I want to see if you look starved.” The Major flashed the light again. “You’re both in the very pink. What do they feed you?”
“Potatoes and more potatoes,” Mary said. “I’ll be surprised if we don’t take on the shape of these potato giants.” In the pitch blackness the three talked and joked in a way they had never done on the space ship journey. Here in this lost jungle of Mercury, deep in trouble, perhaps they could afford to be friends.
“I’ve been making a survey of this region since you—er—dropped me off,” said Major Vickering. “Most enlightening. Have you noticed a high mountainous ridge by daylight? I’ve taken a look on the other side. Some very different people over there. Far more savage than these big-headed fellows.”
“How,” said Bruce, “did you know where to find us?”
“My binoculars have directed my steps. I’ve managed to keep in touch with you remotely, as it were.”
“Where is your parachute?” Mary asked.
“Surplus baggage,” the Major said lightly. “I trust I’ll never need it again. It was too heavy to carry so I discarded it. Where’s our ship?”
“Our ship?” said Mary. She gave
Bruce a warning touch on the arm. Here was the old stowaway spirit returning.
“Our ship,” said Bruce, “is parked in a certain private parking ground that might be mistaken for a jungle swamp. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m planning to go back with you,” said Major Vickering, airily. “I came here to make a quick and inexpensive survey of resources—”
“Inexpensive,” Mary whispered for her husband’s benefit. “Free transportation!”
“Now that I’ve accomplished the business end of our trip, I’m ready to go back as soon as you two gay honey-mooners can accommodate me.”
The Major said it in a most ingratiating tone. His words met the cold silence of Bruce’s anger.
“Perhaps the Major thinks we aren’t enjoying our honeymoon,” Mary said icily.
The Major chose this moment to reveal his own hopeful countenance.
“Shut that damned thing off,” Bruce barked. “And give us no more wisecracks. We’re in prison with a death sentence hanging over us. The space ship is mired in the swamp. If you’ve any bright ideas that don’t require a flashlight—ssssh!”
Someone was approaching with a heavy step. Vickering skipped off into the darkness. For several minutes the tread of the giant could be heard making the rounds of the prison. It may have been one of the older males who did not accompany the younger group on their trek to round up the live stock. Or it may have been one of the wives, performing the duties of a guard. At any rate, the footsteps pounded back to the village shortly.
Then after a long silence Major Vickering came back to the wall. Bruce answered him in a low whisper and repeated the warning about the flashlight.
“I’ve got a plan for that ship,” said the Major. “You say it’s mired down? Don’t worry for a minute. I’ve got a bag of tricks for handling space ships that come down unexpectedly. Now, as to your other complaint, being stuck here in prison—”
“With a death sentence hanging over us,” Mary repeat
ed.
“Well, I think I can trust you to meet that situation yourselves.” The Major tapped the upright pole that was the very weak spot in the wall.
So he knew. By the flashlight he had seen the marks of Bruce’s carving and knew that a short section from the base of this tall stake was soon to be cut free.
“Aren’t you afraid the native giants will see what you’re up to?”
“We fill the crevices with clay in the daytime,” Bruce said, and added pointedly, “and at night there are no lights, ordinarily.”
“How soon do you expect to get out?”
“It depends” said Bruce. “If you can get that space ship lifted out of the mud and ready for a take-off, we’d better stay inside these walls till everything is ready.”
“That’s using your head,” the Major said. “Our chances are good until they discover we’re up to something. So far, they haven’t even seen me. Take it easy and I’ll report back later.”
With another darkness Major Vickering returned. He was fairly exploding with ideas.
Bruce and Mary listened, at once both hopeful and skeptical. Between themselves they had talked things over during the recent hours. On several scores they had found reason to be suspicious of the Major. His whole attitude toward the space ship trouble was much too confident. How did he know he’d ever be able to set the faulty mechanisms to rights?
How, indeed, had he known that the ship had come down “unexpectedly”? That the trouble had developed so soon after the Major had bailed out over the jungle seemed to imply that this canny stowaway had somehow fixed that trouble just before he jumped.
In support of this theory, Mary recalled another implication. The Major had come here to the prison perfectly confident that he could depend on a space ship ride back to the Earth. One would think that this whole honeymoon had been arranged simply for his personal benefit.
“I wonder,” said Mary, pondering this problem, “whether my father had anything to with his coming. “You know, Dad was the one who rented our ship and gave it a final checking over. And if you don’t know it, Dad is forever taking a whirl at some freak investment. Four out of five usually flop and the fifth makes a killing. I’m sure, now that I recall it, that he has tried to find out whether there would be cheap native labor here on Mercury for an extension of his manufacturing.”
