Atta (1953) by Francis Rufus Bellamy
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interest of his was a most remarkable thing. It must be
ascribed, I suppose, to a kind of unrecognized gratitude
for my having saved his life. For otherwise he never mentioned this obvious fact until fate finally brought it out into the open; and I am sure that during all the time we
lived in the wooden hut he never fully realized the birth
in him of a new and, in his society, unconventional feeling.
X
Meanwhile his warning brought back to me in full tide
the recollection of my encounter with the squat monster
on the plateau, and ibis alone was enough to make clear
to me that the greatest ingenuity was going to be needed
if I were to survive; particularly if my new companion
left me or if I endeavored to accompany him on his de
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ferred journey home. Even on such a journey a heavy
lance would present a drawback; for with it I should
always have to fight at close quarters, and one glance at
Atta’s burnished armor and powerful arms showed that
at close quarters I should stand little chance against what
he called savages, if I should ever lose my weapon at the
outset. What I obviously needed was a good repeating
rifle and a thousand rounds of ammunition, or, lacking
this, a bow and arrows, an ax or at least a sharp club.
All three of these admittedly primitive weapons presented themselves to me for consideration; and so I was reminded of my almost forgotten find of the black rope
on the plateau. For it had occurred to me that its strands
were of precisely the kind from which to string a bow.
There was even the possibility that certain lengths of it,
unraveled, might make a presentable lasso, in the throwing of which I still had a boyish knack. Sharp rocks or stones, which would be necessary if I wanted arrowheads
or a decent hatchet or ax, seemed to be wholly lacking in
our surrounding desert jungle; but certainly on the plateau or at the foot of the cliffs in the valley, sharp rock could be found.
In this view Atta concurred after a while. For a time
I had a little difficulty in explaining what weapons I had
in mind, but once he got the idea he agreed with me
completely—he was keenly interested in all the fine points
of fighting—and in the end he listened with the greatest
attention and approval while I demonstrated what could
be done with an ax or a bow and arrow. For my unarmed
condition had finally begun to weigh on him, and to my
surprise it was evident that he was genuinely concerned.
Indeed, I do not think it an exaggeration to say that
when finally we set out for the rocky plateau where I
had found my lance there was already something that
amounted almost to friendship between us. Atta’s leg was
nearly healed, and its improvement seemed to induce in
him a plethora of good spirits that was almost boyish.
Occasionally he rushed ahead at great speed under pre
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A T T A
tence of showing me how quickly enemies could come
upon us. At other times he insisted on carrying the lance,
and he did it with an ease that put me to shame. Once
in a while he even suggested with mock solicitude that
he carry me and thus conserve my strength. But underneath it all was an almost open acknowledgment of comradeship, an admission that our original reservations regarding each other had begun to fade, and that if the truth were said we were not far from being genuine
friends.
As for the journey itself, it took us the better part of
four hours to arrive at the cliffs, as I remember, and since
we did not get started until long after dawn, the sun was
by that time almost directly overhead—a circumstance
that in Atta’s judgment called for a siesta, this being the
habit of his race. My metal shelter was as hot as a
griddle, however—a discovery that somewhat alleviated
the regret I still felt over having had to leave it—and
after examining the length of black rope that still lay
just where I had left it, we proceeded to look for some
other place to rest.
This I was loath to do, for I felt an irresistible desire to
stare endlessly at this valley where I had first recovered
consciousness. But Atta soon found a cool ravine in the
rock, a deep cleft at the bottom of which something lay
glistening beside the rock walls, and nothing would do
but we must examine it.
“Water again, I suppose,” I said ironically, remembering my experience with the globule in the tree cleft.
But it was not water, Atta insisted, despite the fact that
the rays of the sun were reflected from it. It was some
other material.
“Well, we can’t get down to it, anyway,” I said, “without going back to die head of the ravine.” For the wall of the cleft below us was smooth and nearly perpendicular—
a drop of nearly a hundred feet. “Do you have to have a
siesta?” I demanded.
His only answer was to look over the edge, try it with
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39
his forearms, and then, without any further preamble,
launch himself down the steep leaning wall. To my
amazement he ran down it as easily as if he were a football player on the gridiron, “Come on!” he shouted to me from the bottom, and began excitedly tugging at the
shining material that had first attracted our attention.
For a moment I had an impulse to try to emulate his
feat. But common sense prevailed, and I waited a little
shamefacedly for him to climb up the slope again, as he
did very easily a few seconds later, bringing with him a
piece of the shining stuff. It rang or clacked as he flung it
down triumphantly at my feet.
“Why, it looks like coarse glass!” I exclaimed, picking
up the glistening splinter and examining it. “How much
of it is there?”
There was a great deal of it, he told me, of various
sizes, part buried under rubbish, part out in the open but
so dirty that it did not shine.
“It’s just what I want,” I said with some excitement
of my own. “It’s just coarse enough and sharp enough.”
Indeed, glass or not, it had a sharpness and a texture
that rock could never equal. As material for either arrowheads or axes it was perfect, provided that pieces of the right size with sharp edges could be found. Arrows so
tipped or an ax thus bladed would be far more likely to
penetrate the hard armor of any creature I might encounter than any mere sharpened bit of stone.
“I’ll go up to the head of the -ravine and come down,”
I said. “You can run down and wait for me if you like.”
“I can carry you down,” he offered. “Though of course,”
he admitted doubtfully, “I might drop you.”
“It could break every bone in my body,” I retorted. “I’ll
get down my own way,”
He started to protest at this, but I insisted, and we
ended by walking together to the top of the. ravine and
threading our way down its increasing depths—a journey
that he insisted on sharing. It would be unwise for us to
separate even for a moment, he said; we were in the
/>
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A T T A
heart of a hostile country. We made our way down the
rocky incline and soon reached the bottom without mishap. Then it was a mere matter of a few hundred yards to the place'where the great jagged crystals were lying
strewn about on the ground.
Many of them were too large to be moved; one in
particular, a great sheet a foot thick and twenty feet high,
which lay leaning against the ravine wall at a slight
angle. I asked Atta sardonically if he could walk up this;
he tried several times, but slipped back at each attempt,
not being able to gain a foothold on the polished surface.
I may mention here that I laughed heartily. But this was
the only substance I ever found on which he could not
climb with ease; he even had the ability to grasp things
so tightly with his feet that he afterward showed me how
he could walk upside down on the ceiling of our house.
He did this with perfect speed and co-ordination, and he
demonstrated his gift not once but many times without
a single fall.
We hunted about among the rocks in the ravine for
several hours, and I was fortunate enough to find eleven
splinters that would do for arrowheads, as well as half a
dozen larger, irregular pieces ranging in size up to a
dinner plate. These had thin curved edges and were
sharp as razors, and I conceived that they would make
excellent ax heads or sharpening tools. But my best find
of all was a strangely shaped piece a foot and a half long,
narrow and tapering at one end and spreading at the
other into an almost square head with a sharp cutting
edge and a kind of spike on it. Set in a cloven stick and
bound with some of the strands of rope on the plateau
above us, this piece, I saw ^t once, would make a very
serviceable ax—not only an extremely useful tool in any
wilderness, but a formidable weapon as well. I little
thought that I was so soon to find a use for it.
All this time we had been searching among the crystals
and kicking the rubbish aside, and we had paid little
attention to our actual situation, down in a deep ravine
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41
with only a narrow exit at the top and its lower end a
mere rocky ledge overhanging the still deeper jungle
valley below. All this had rather belatedly occurred' to
me as I began stuffing the arrowheads into my pockets
and wondering how we could transport the rest of the
treasure! Now, at a sudden sound, I raised my head.
At the upper end of the ravine four antlike savages had
appeared and were threading their way down in single
file. Smaller in build than Atta, they were clad in black
armor that shone under the overhead sun, and there was
a kind of quick eagerness about them that I did not like
at all.
Atta must have seen them almost at the same instant,
for he tapped me urgently on the shoulder and half
pushed, half crowded me behind a large boulder that
lay against the ravine wall. Here we crouched for a moment, a good ten feet from my lance, which lay out in the open.
There was no escape, Atta said in a low tone. We
should have to fight if they came all the way down. The
only question was, how?
It was all I could do to keep myself from rushing out
and securing my lance as a first step. But I restrained myself and in hurried whispers suggested a plan of action.
I was to remain hidden behind the boulder while Atta
emerged, went to the far side of the ravine, and retreated
toward the rocky ledge. This I counted on to lure our
enemies past the boulder and my lance. At the proper
moment, then, Atta was to turn and show fight, and the
instant they fell upon him I was to rush forth to his assistance, snatch up my lance, and attack them in the rear.
Not only did it seem to me that my strange appearance
would terrify the savages, but they would also be wholly
unprepared for an assault from behind, and I ought to
be able to despatch at least two before they knew what
had hit them. At any rate this was our plan, and since it
was in nearly all respects my own suggestion—Atta dis
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A T T A
played a singular irritation with it, for reasons which I
understood later—I was very much pleased indeed.
Meanwhile our four antagonists were coming down the
ravine with almost audible exclamations of surprise over
the shining crystals below the cliff, and in a matter of
moments they were nearly abreast of our boulder. Without further hesitation Atta gave a shout and dashed out and across the ravine to the crystals, where he assumed
a threatening attitude and then, as the four drew together into a closely knit group, began slowly to give ground and retreat.
This action seemed to arouse what I can only call
sneers among the black-armored warriors. But it served
to concentrate all their attention on their one antagonist.
Not one of them turned around or gave the slightest indication that my boulder held any interest for them.
They saw Atta well enough, however, as their actions
attested. Indeed, I scarcely had time to get out into the
open and snatch up my lance before they were upon him,
crowding him backward, seeking to seize his arms and
tear him with their cruel saw-toothed jaws.
Already, however, f had my lance braced under my
right arm in the manner of the knights of old, and before
our four enemies could accomplish anything I was upon
them. The one nearest me was on the right, and him I
charged. He saw me and tried to turn around and fight.
But before he could get in position I was upon him; the
point of the lance struck him full in the neck and transfixed him, and he fell writhing to the ground, carrying the lance with him.
Meanwhile the others were still advancing on Atta. But
the sight of their companion felled by a strange weapon
made one of them turn to see what was happening, and
before I could lean down and recover my lance I was
confronted with a second antagonist. He took just one
look at his slain comrade still holding die lance in his
death grip and then advanced murderously upon me.
It was a most desperate moment. For my bare hands,
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I knew* were useless in a fight with a foe so well armed
and protected. Then I remembered the crystal ax head
that I had just found by the boulder. Without hesitation
I turned and ran back, the black stranger close on my
heels. Just what I intended to do once I secured the sharp
crystal, I had no idea; the whole action was reflex. But
I knew this one jagged piece was a weapon that, even
in its rough form, I should not care to face. And fortunately I ran fast enough to get to it in time. My pursuer was very close behind me; so close, I surmise, that he
could not have stopped and evaded me even if he had
realized what I was going to do. But I still had that
invaluable three-second lead on him, and this it was that
saved me.
Wi
thout even looking back I leaned down at the boulder, snatched up the heavy crystal beside it, and, turning swiftly, brought the heavy end down with terrific force squarely on the top of my enemy’s shining head.
His dome crushed like an eggshell. He sank to the ground.
It was all over. I leaned against the boulder, panting, perspiring, and with too strange a weak feeling at the pit of my stomach even to look and see if Atta were still alive.
He was. He was coming cheerfully and nonchalantly
up the ravine, dusting his forearms.
“What has become of the others?” I asked hoarsely.
He tapped me all over with his feelers as if to assure
himself that I had sustained no injury. Then he said dryly:
“All disposed of. The wounded one I let get away. The
other I slew in fair fight.” And he began burnishing his
brown armor as calmly as if nothing had happened.
“Well, I’m glad the plan worked,” I said faintly.
“I didn’t like it,” he said frankly. “Did you hear what
they called me? A coward!”
' And with that he began rather glumly gathering up the
rest of the pieces of crystal and preparing to depart. Indeed, for the rest of the afternoon I could hardly induce him to discuss the fight or anything else. We tore loose
some strands from the black rope; with these we bound
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up our big pieces of crystal, and I carried the bundle
along on my lance. Atta took charge of the rope and all
alone carried and dragged it the entire distance to our
house—a matter of some sixteen miles, I should judge, and
all through the desert jungle. But of the fight he said no
more, a happenstance that was just as well. For I myself
had had a bad fright, and my nerves had been badly
shaken—a fact that I was reluctant to admit in the face of
his evident nonchalance.
It was well that I did not admit it; for such a confession
would have branded me inevitably as a coward in Atta’s
eyes, and to him, I found later, cowardice was the one
deadly sin. So afraid of its stigma were all his countrymen that through an excess of bravery they often seriously and unnecessarily endangered their lives. For they were possessed of many admirable qualities, but