Star Ship on Saddle Mountain

by Richard Ackley

  "But—" he began aloud, then left the thought unspoken. Not removing his Levis or boots, Charlie went across the big room and lay down on his bed to think. He knew he should notify the authorities about the thing out there. Somebody ought to know.

  He sat up suddenly. He looked down on the floor, staring silently at the beam of moonlight moving slowly across the ranch house floor. Still watching it closely, he moved further toward the foot of the bed as it came up the side, to his pillow. He didn't want the shaft of light to spotlight him. He didn't know exactly why he did that, for he had never even thought of doing such a thing at other times. But right now, he just didn't like the idea of having the moonlight on him, that was all. Perhaps . . . and just in case those black- robed figures were around—anywhere around the Shack.

  Getting to his feet, Charlie brushed aside the thought in irritation. Striding across the room, he caught up the telephone receiver once more. The static was as strong as ever. He was totally cut off from Parker. From the rest of the world, he told himself, as he let the receiver drop back in the phone cradle.

  "There's nothing to be scared of," he said aloud, more for the sake of hearing his own voice. "There's nobody around these parts."

  Halfway across the room, Charlie stopped short.

  There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to fear.

  Charlie stood there. He felt a slight twinge of pain, maybe a headache coming on, though that was unusual for him. Charlie shook his head hard. Maybe it would be better to just hit the

  sack, he thought now, like Uncle John always used to say. Get some sleep. Staying up late like this and just worrying, that was no good. He stretched out on the bunk again, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he closed his eyes. He was tired, very tired.

  A loud whinny from the corral startled him. Not the usual whinny when Navajo called, but a frightened one. Jumping to his feet, Charlie raced across the room to the corral side of the house. Forgetting his own fear as he looked out the window, he was now concerned for Navajo. The horse stood by the shed, head up and erect, sniffing the air. Recognizing his alertness, Charlie felt a bunch of tiny dots race up the back of his spine. Swiftly he looked over the corral and all about it, for a possible prowling mountain lion or—something else. It was the something else that Charlie was afraid of, the something that he didn't want to remember. He knew pretty surely that it wasn't a big cat down this close to the Dam and Parker. Mountain cat could find all the game they wanted up in the hills, in their own country.

  Even as Charlie stood there watching Navajo for further signs of trouble, the swift shadow of a passing cloud blanked out the moon's light. Darkness fell heavily down, blanketing the corral and all the yard and fields about the Shack. Charlie felt the weight of the shadow as the cloud wiped out the last trace of light on the broad sands.

  Turning from the darkened window—as though he expected to see someone in the room behind him—he went noiselessly, carefully, to the other side of the house. Charlie's nerves were taut from the prickly feeling of the hair on the back of his head as he cautiously approached the opposite window. He told himself that he didn't know what he expected to see when he looked out that window. But he did. He knew exactly what he might see, at that window—facing the gently rolling stretch of sand that went off down toward the river.

  His eyes roved out across the spotted landscape with its quick-moving cloud shadows. Then a bright streak of moonlight, gliding swiftly, moved down the lonesome stretch of road toward the low, dark hills near the river. Charlie's eyes went with it as he held his breath. A small sound choked in his throat as the moonlight threw its ghastly light on the spot where the dirt road turned around the bend. He saw them.

  The three black-hooded figures stood out clear and ominous against the stark whiteness of the sand. They were coming, slowly and steadily along the road, heading directly toward the Shack.

  Fascinated like a coyote by a rattlesnake, Charlie stood there staring as they approached. Maybe they didn't even have feet like ordinary people, for they just seemed to be standing on the road—but moving closer all the time. Forcing himself to turn away from the window, Charlie ran to the big fireplace. He reached up, and this time he took down Uncle John's old army 30-30 rifle. The old Springfield had a kick that was almost as good as the one Navajo used on the side of the house. It was much more powerful than the Winchester which had not been made for battle.

  Hurriedly opening the old cigar box of brass cartridges clips, he shoved one clip home, ramming it down into the open breech with his thumb. Then he shoved the bolt home and flicked up the safety-catch—to OFF. Charlie half-opened the bolt, just to make sure the first of the cartridge shells had been engaged and shoved into the rifle's chamber. Satisfied, he closed it again. With his finger in the trigger- guard, he walked over to the window.

  At first, Charlie couldn't see them. Maybe they might have decided to go back. Then he put his face close to the window, and looked out toward the front of the house. There— standing a short distance from the Shack, Charlie saw the three tall black figures! He could make out now that they did have legs and, also, that their black robes seemed to join what looked like heavy black boots which came up to their knees. The dark hoods hid their heads completely. But Charlie could tell, even as he silently watched them now, they were just standing there. Waiting.

  Navajo whinnied loudly, shrilly, stamping about out there in the corral. Charlie could hear him kicking the stagger poles of the fence. Good old Nav. He was trying to let him know that strangers were about. Charlie lowered the rifle from the port breast position. He held it down in a shoot-from-the-hip position now. He'd fire from the hip. Point blank range. Muzzle pointed toward the door, he took up the trigger slack.

  "If any one of them busts in," Charlie breathed the words slowly, "he'll get it. The first one that comes through that door gets it."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Prisoner of the Silent Visitors

  Only the pounding of his heart came to Charlie as he gripped the rifle steadily. Standing in the middle of the room, he faced the door, waiting. But as he stood there a shock of pain flashed through his head. It struck like lightning. Dropping the rifle, Charlie slapped both hands to the sides of his head, holding his temples tightly. He doubled over, reeling from the shock as it came again. Gasping for breath, Charlie cried out.

  Slowly, cautiously, he straightened up again. But as he stood up fully, glad that the door was still safely barred and the black figures hadn't tried to break in just when he had that headache, he began to wonder a little about it. He never got headaches. Not much, anyway. Only that one time long ago, when he and Uncle John were out hunting and they had

  gone without food for a day and a half. But that headache disappeared quickly, as soon as they got back home to the Shack and had a big feed.

  Just as he began trying to figure out if those three strangers outside could have had anything to do with that sudden pain, he went toward the window again. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. He realized he was nearly across the room and hadn't picked up the rifle again! It was still there on the floor. Doggone fool! He wanted to kick himself for pulling a dumb one like that. But he didn't move. He heard that voice again. It wasn't from the outside. It was right in the room. Behind him.

  Open the door and go outside.

  "Like fun!" Charlie thought grimly.

  Bracing himself, he knew he'd have to make it fast—when he turned to get it. In one desperate move Charlie whirled and flung himself down on the floor in the darkness, where he knew the rifle would be. It took him only a second to grab it. He laid there, very still, waiting for whoever it was to make the next move. Then he heard the voice again, and it seemed dim and far away.

  Open the door and go outside.

  His head pulsing from that first pained shock, Charlie glanced about the room carefully now. Seeing no one at all, he stood up. A quick check of the bedroom and the back porch and the other room showed that he was all al
one in the house. There was no one there. His hands were shaky now, as he thought of that voice, positive that he had heard it right behind him. Then the same voice came to him again, distinctly, calmly, telling him to open the door and go out. But the voice—it had no sound.

  It—it was just in his head.

  "It's like a—"

  Charlie stopped his spoken words abruptly. He felt chilled suddenly, all over. For the first time, he connected that headache with the voice that wasn't a voice. In his mind now, he could see, even feel, the three hooded figures who were standing outside. And he wasn't even near the window! Shuddering again, Charlie braced himself, even as the voice once more repeated the words in his mind. He fought it hard this time. But it was in vain. He heard it quite clearly, and he realized that there was no hiding, no escape from that voice.

  "Yes—I'll go," Charlie heard himself saying aloud. "I'll go with you .. . whatever you say."

  Suddenly he felt quiet and at ease all over. It was a good feeling, and he was no longer afraid. He walked toward the barred door. Pausing a moment, he leaned the rifle against the wall, under the turned-off water cooler. Turning to the door, he placed a hand on the knob, then with his other hand he slid back the heavy crossbar. With one push he shoved it all the way back. Now he opened the door wide. Aware of what he was doing, Charlie still couldn't make himself stop. He felt sure he must go out there to the three black- hooded figures, for he had to do it. He couldn't hold back.

  Across the sandy, hard-packed yard and some distance from the Shack, the three tall figures were standing motionless, watching him. They made no move to come nearer.

  "Wh—what do you want around here, strangers?"

  The sound of his voice sounded shaky and alone in the still night. They did not reply to him. Fear rising abruptly within him, Charlie turned to go back inside the house. But as he did he felt a quick tinge of that headache again. He stopped, shaking his head to clear it.

  Now come with us.

  There had been no sound. Charlie stared at them, wondering how he knew what they wanted him to do and why he was powerless to understand their unspoken wishes. Whatever their strange power was, they were using it on him. But most of all, Charlie was surprised that he could get their thought impulses and understand them. It scared him. He was actually able to hear or feel their thoughts in his mind.

  Starting across the yard toward them, Charlie felt that he was forced to go along, though he didn't like the idea. His mind was telling him to do it, to go with them, even though he knew he didn't want to go. But he couldn't make himself disobey their orders. He stopped for a moment, glancing back to the corral and Navajo. The old horse was watching him, and as he looked back, Navajo whinnied questioningly, as though to ask Charlie why he didn't take him along, too. The plaintive whinny made the three hooded figures stop, too, and turn around. They looked from Navajo back to Charlie, and he clearly got their mental impulse.

  That over there—whatever it is, tell it to come with us.

  There was something soothing now, something about the way the thought impulses came to him. Charlie didn't want to go with them, but the tumbling mental pictures that came to him made him not care or worry much, and he was even

  feeling a little sleepy now. It was a groggy sort of feeling. Charlie didn't mind it much, as he raised his hand to his mouth.

  Charlie gave a low whistle toward the corral. Navajo stamped about briefly, getting his head back through the stagger fence bars. Then he came trotting out to Charlie, with a pleased, low whinny.

  "It's okay, Nav," Charlie said, patting the old horse. "It's okay, boy, we'll be all right."

  Navajo tramped about nervously beside Charlie, tossing his head high as another thought impulse came from the three hooded figures nearby. Charlie realized now that Navajo, too, could also feel their telepathic words. He was also aware, as he took the head harness from the hook by the door, that the three strangers were trying to calm his feelings with their impulses, to ease his mind. Their every thought sent to him seemed to be toned down, sort of in a low key, like Miss Peters used to call it in Music Appreciation class. Their impulses were coming to him mildly and steadily. He felt very little of that first shock of pain now, and for that he was very grateful. He adjusted Navajo's head harness then turned to the strangers again.

  Come with us now, their thoughts told him. Just follow us.

  "You—you're aliens," Charlie said aloud, as he started after the three. "You're not from this part of the—the country? Not from any part of the country."

  They did not reply. Charlie felt a tenseness as the swift and high speed thoughts were exchanged between the three. And he also realized that in that high frequency buzzing

  beyond his comprehension, they were able to talk without his catching on to anything they were saying. But then they glanced back at him and Navajo again, and Charlie was once more aware that they were using the slower, and more calming technique on him and Navajo.

  Charlie knew that, whoever they were, there was no mistaking where they were from. And he eliminated Parker, Arizona, and everywhere else he had ever heard of, on this world. They really were strangers, Charlie told himself. They were aliens, from somewhere very far away. They were from a place much farther away than he dared ask them about.

  In spite of his predicament and whatever danger might be just ahead, Charlie couldn't help wondering just how he was able to understand the strange mental language, the telepathy they used. He knew very little about it, only what he had read in books at the library. He certainly had never read up on it because he thought he would ever have to use it. But here he was now, using that same telepathy, to talk to these three strangers who had not spoken a single word since he had first met them.

  But whoever or whatever they were, he had been able to understand and receive their thought impulses, and also, to send back his own to them, though he had also spoken the words along with his thoughts. All their talk had been solely through the means of mind impulses.

  "Where—where're you taking me?" Charlie asked, as they left the Dam road and started upriver in the opposite direction from the Engineer's camp. "Where are we going?"

  They did not answer. Charlie felt sure they had heard and understood him. He tried another question.

  "Is it all right if I ride my horse? Can I?"

  One of the three turned his hooded head, his face still unseen by Charlie, and glanced back at him a moment.

  You may ride the horse, came the impulse. But do not try to run from us. It would be useless. You cannot escape.

  Charlie realized in a flash they knew all about his carefully guarded plan. "I—I'll stay with you," he stammered.

  Patting Navajo as he turned to mount him, Charlie noticed that the three hooded figures hadn't even stopped. They were up ahead, just walking silently along as though he were right behind them. The fleeting thought barely touched his mind again—to make a run for it now. Perhaps they couldn't run fast enough to catch up with him.

  We can, came the cool, sure impulse.

  Charlie bit his lip, a little angry at their cleverness in reading his thoughts. Taking the reins, Charlie started off after the three who still hadn't looked back, even when they replied to that last thought of his. Charlie sniffed angrily again as he jogged along. The old horse wasn't in any mood to hurry after the three black figures up ahead, and neither was Charlie.

  "Feel doggone sure of themselves, Nav," Charlie said in a low voice.

  He had no further doubts as to where they were taking him when they turned by the hill and headed straight out across the white sand toward Saddle Mountain. And there was no doubt now in Charlie's mind about the thing that was in

  there between the two peaks. Filling the tremendous basin formed by the peaks, the "saddle" between the twins, there was something that stood out clearly, glistening dully in the pale light. And though it was much wider than it was high, Charlie guessed that the strange ship must be at least as high as a five-story buil
ding. Forgetting his own fears, he gave a low whistle as he stared in admiration at the masterwork of a science far beyond anything known on Earth. Then, as a dim glow of lights went on somewhere far up in about the middle of the big ship, Charlie saw the special kind of window or view-port it had. It was a broad band of glass-like stuff, and it seemed to circle entirely around the great circular ship. Then as they got still closer, he could make out other bands, but these were not lighted. Counting them, from the smallest band about the narrower bottom bulge of the space ship, Charlie counted all the way up to the bulge, or dome, on top. There were eleven bands, or rows of windows! That would mean, Charlie figured, at least eleven decks.

  Navajo became more jittery now than ever as the three figures led them under the giant space ship. Fearing the horse might bolt and make the aliens show their hand, Charlie began talking to Navajo and patting his neck, while he wondered just how far under the ship they would have to go before reaching some port or door, or whatever entrance the thing had. Then the three stopped abruptly just ahead of Charlie and Navajo.

  "It's okay, Nav, it's okay. We'll be all right," Charlie said, still stroking the horse, "so don't you go worryin' none."

  Charlie let his voice die away as he became aware of the great circle of lights all about them, slowly rising in glow, instead of going on suddenly. The lights about them were at least several hundred feet across, and now they seemed to be descending about them—or so it seemed! He had just noticed this, when he was aware of a tiny jarring motion, almost imperceptible. It was as though the desert floor beneath them had suddenly stopped. It had stopped! Charlie found this out as the lights glowed brilliantly now. The circle of light had not been a band of lights lowered about them. Rather, they themselves had been hoisted up smoothly on a great platform—the platform that was the bottom deck of the space ship! They had risen so smoothly on the great platform, that only now he knew it, when the lights were on full.