Part 2

Garth didn't finish, but Prokle nodded and said the last word for him. "Madness. You're right, Hype, that's all it can mean. We've got a madman on our hands. Let's go home."

* * * * *

Garth shook his head and pointed across the chasm. Fifty yards away the opposite precipice, a bit higher, was limned raggedly against the stars.

"Our best bet is to get over there unobserved. It may not be easy dealing with him."

Prokle patted his own ray-pistol at his side.

"No," Garth cautioned. "We don't want to use those and I don't think we'll have to."

Slowly, circuitously and with much effort they gained the opposite rim. It took them nearly ten minutes but the negotiation was masterful and noiseless. Finally, from behind a protecting rock formation they peered again into the depths, their eyes becoming slowly accustomed to that darker darkness. Then Garth silently pointed.

"What is it?" Prokle whispered. "I don't see a thing."

"Keep looking. A little to the right."

Then Prokle saw it. The missing life-boat, lying quite still there below, like a tiny silver bug with its nose smashed. And that disseminated whatever slight doubt they may have had.

"What now?" Prokle whispered.

"We've got to go down!" Garth said hoarsely. "Nothing else. This side doesn't seem so steep; if we get to a point where we can see him, we'll talk to him."

"Can't do that, unless he's got a phone, too!"

"We'll see about that when we have to. Keep looking down there a while, let your eyes get used to it."

Presently, Garth first, they began the descent. It was slow and ticklish work, but now they could dimly see their way enough to proceed in safety. Garth followed a little gully which at times was only arm's width. For perhaps two hundred feet they descended; then Garth stopped so suddenly that Prokle bumped into him and nearly lost balance.

"What is it?" Prokle forged carefully forward.

Garth merely pointed.

They had come nearer to the bottom than they supposed. They now stood upon a narrow ledge scarcely forty feet above the sharp little valley. And below the edge of their protecting ledge they saw a light.

That was not surprising. It was half expected. But the light wasn't a signal-flare, it was a crude, open bonfire.

"Well, Hype, you were right about that, too!" Prokle murmured. "That means there's air of some kind down here."

Hype nodded, and pointed to another ledge perhaps twenty feet below them, and to the right. Carefully they negotiated to it. Again they peered below.

* * * * *

Then, for the first time, they saw the man, but only a silhouette. Really a smallish figure, but looming up large beside the flickering fire. He stood quite still, one hand at his hip grasping a ray-pistol, peering up at the opposite precipice edge; the edge where he had fired at Prokle.

Very still he stood and very still the two men above him watched. Then the figure turned, still very cautious, toward the fire. He bent and threw several handfuls of something on the blaze. It immediately leaped high, illumining the rocky terrain for a hundred feet around. The two men crouched back, but the light did not quite touch the ledge where they stood. His hand still by his hip, the tiny figure turned in a complete circle and surveyed the line of cliffs above him. Then, still peering around, he huddled miserably by the fire, seeking warmth.

But that brief glimpse was enough. Both men had recognized the grotesque figure below. And it was Prokle who pronounced the name first, in a hoarse whisper:

"Chiswell! J. P. Chiswell, president of EMV Lines! Of all men to survive in this hellish place, it had to be him."

"Why not?" Garth snapped venomously. His lips were tight and his face was pale beneath his helmet. He was remembering again, with all the old bitterness, the exceedingly unethical ruse by which he'd been captured in the spaceways many years ago--the ruse engineered by Chiswell himself. "Why shouldn't it be him?" he went on. "The survival of the fittest, remember? Look at that ray-gun!"

For a moment Prokle was uncomprehending; then he said in a rush of fierce words:

"Hype, I'll bet you're right! Of course, you're right! The survival of the fittest, and with that gun old Chiswell _was_ the fittest. I'll bet you he murdered the others and kept all the provisions of that life-boat for himself! There's no other way he could have subsisted here so long."

Garth nodded grimly. "Maybe. Some of 'em may have been lost in space somewhere, though. We've no proof of murder yet; but I know he's capable of it if it means his own hide."

"Sure, I know that, too. Look at the two pot shots he took at me! We've got a maniac on our hands, Hype, what'll we do now?"

"For one thing, he hasn't a helmet. I'm gonna get out of this damned uncomfortable head-gear."

Cautiously Garth unscrewed the helmet at his neck; lifted it slightly, and sniffed the air. Then he threw it back, where it dangled from his shoulders. "Don't breathe too deeply," he warned Prokle who followed his example.

Garth reached into a rocky cleft near by and brought out a handful of greenish, lichen-like growth. "See there? That's the stuff I told you sometimes grows on these big rocks. Maybe it's what he's burning down there. He could dry it out if the sun hits down this far. All right, I'm going to call to him now, so watch out for that ray-gun."

With that, Garth peered down and called loudly:

"Chiswell! J. P. Chiswell!"

* * * * *

Through that thin air his voice rang clear as a bell of doom; echoed eerily between rocky walls and went shivering away into the black distance.

The man below at the fire was on his feet and facing them with a fierce snarl. His hand darted up and a ray flashed toward the voice, to splutter harmlessly on the rock some distance from where the men stood in darkness. That act alone proved to them he was mad; from where they stood they could have rayed him with ease. But they didn't need that mad act as proof of the man's madness.

For in the full glare of the fire his face was a fierce caricature. Even from their distance they could see the wild gleam of his eyes as he leaned tautly forward trying to pierce the dark; could see the gaunt face, beak-like nose, shaggy brows and tangled growth of beard; they could see the flick of his tongue over lips drawn tight, and could hear the animal snarl that rumbled warningly out of that throat. There in the red glare of fire-light he was a demon out of Hell.

For only a moment he stood there tautly facing them, fiercely peering; then, with an agile bound he leaped away from the fire and scuttled like a huge beetle toward the opposite cliff. They could only see him dimly now, but they saw him turn in a posture of defiance, arms spread out as though protecting the cliff behind him.

"Whew!" Prokle breathed.

"That goes double for me," said Garth. "Come on." He leaped the remaining distance to the base of their cliff, and Prokle alighted easily beside him. They peered across at Chiswell.

"There's a sort of cave over there," Prokle exclaimed, "and he's standing in front of it! Say, he's gone mad all right, but there's something else behind his madness."

Garth nodded. He grasped his partner's arm and moved forward slowly, saying: "Careful now; we'll try to reason with him."

They had almost reached the fire when they saw Chiswell's hand come up again with unexpected swiftness. They fell flat upon the rock, and just in time, as the ray flashed close above them. Garth realized they must have been easily visible in the fire-glow, and could have kicked himself for a fool.

But now Prokle was chuckling. "Didn't you notice?" he whispered. "That last ray was dim, it didn't much more than reach us. His charge must be getting low. A couple more like that and it'll be finished."

A few minutes they lay there, watching, as Chiswell made no further move. They could see the cave plainer now, a cave as high as Chiswell's head, but narrow, extending darkly back into the towering rock.

Without warning Prokle leaped up, ran a few feet forward and flopped down again, just as Chiswell's ray stabbed over him.

"Prokle! You damn fool!" Garth crept forward beside him.

"It's all right. I doubt if he has another full charge in that gun now."

"Chiswell!" Garth called, but softly. "We're your friends, don't you understand that? Put down the gun. We've come to take you away from here!"

For the first time, then, they heard the madman's voice. It was just as soft as Garth's had been, but cunning. The voice spoke five words:

"I know what you want!"

"We want to get you off that rock, that's what we want." Then Garth added: "The _Martian Princess_, don't you remember? The space-wreck? All the others were saved--don't you want to be saved?

"You sound like some street-corner missionary," Prokle said, chuckling.

And again the madman's words came--cunning, but with a certain cool menace:

"I know what you want!"

"See?" Prokle said. "You can't reason with him. Hell, I wonder what he does think we want?" Prokle leaped up, stood exposed in the dying fire-light. Again the ray spurted. Gravity was light, and before Prokle could fall away from it, the ray caught him in the chest. Prokle fell and Garth cursed.

"It's all right, all right!" Prokle assured him quickly. "Just scorched my suit a little. Well, that finishes his ray."

"You're still a fool!" Garth snapped.

* * * * *

Now, from where Chiswell crouched they heard an animal-scream of rage as he realized how he'd been tricked: "Damn you!" And they heard the clatter of the gun as he flung it toward them. And their blood ran cold as Chiswell burst forth in a profane and garbled rush of mad words. The speech was so inarticulate, that it wasn't until he was nearly out of breath that they began to gather the purport:

"... damn tricky are you? But I know you. I know why you're here, too ... want to get me away do you--but you won't!... it's all mine, do you hear, all mine!... mine!... you'll never get it.... I was here first ... keep away from me, keep away!... you just try it ... ha ha!... all mine!"

The rush of words ended in a high pitched scream. They couldn't see him clearly now at all, but they could imagine froth on his lips. They heard his gurgling breath for a moment, then it died away and he was abruptly, cunningly silent.

Prokle grabbed his partner's arm so tightly it hurt. His whispered voice was hoarse with emotion. "Hype! Did you hear? Did you? It means--it must mean--tell me I'm right, Hype! Tell me!"

Garth jerked his arm away. He frowned, but there was a light in his eyes nearly as bright as Prokle's.

"Sure," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I guess maybe I'm thinking the same thing you are."

"Gold! It's happened, Hype, it's happened at last! And Chiswell found it for us; no wonder he's protecting that entrance over there, it's a vein!" Prokle laughed almost shrilly. "I never thought we'd make a strike, Hype. Never really. This means back to Earth, back to Chicago. We can buy off the rest of our time! There are ways, if you work it right!"

But Hype Garth, long ago pirate of the spaceways, was looking at his partner silently and calmly. Prokle saw that look and stopped suddenly, abashed. He remembered.

"Oh, I'm--damn, Hype, that's right. I didn't think--"

"Sure, Prokle. I'm serving forty years on the Station. Might as well be life, for it was Chiswell and his crowd who put me there and were tickled to get me there. Sure, you can buy _your_ time, through the obvious channels, but not me. For me there's only one slight chance, a chance in a million. Know what that is?" Garth laughed softly. "One chance in a million, and here it is in my lap! If I can get Chiswell away from here and back to the Station, his sanity might return. I think it would! This sort of madness is only temporary. And then--_then_--he might be very appreciative."

"_You_ of all persons oughta know better'n that, Hype!"

But Garth went on musingly: "Yes, he might be appreciative to the extent of fixing pardons for both of us. And if he isn't ... why, then I'd just have to persuade him, wouldn't I? And I know some very good methods." His eyes glittered.

"Damn it, Hype, listen! You know what'd happen then as well as I do. Suppose he did fix the pardons, even willingly. D'you think we'd ever get out here to this gold again? Never! We could never beat out the Chiswell interests."

Garth, smiling thinly, looked straight at Prokle. "Sure, I realize that perfectly. You want the gold, sure. But to get it, and get away with it, you're going to have to dispose of Chiswell over there. And if you do that, there goes _my_ one chance of a pardon. Nice little stalemate, huh?"

And Garth, as he watched his partner's indecision, was suddenly enjoying the grim stalemate. But Prokle wasn't. He stared sullenly at Garth for a moment, rubbed his chin and grumbled baffledly in his throat.

Garth grinned back at him.

Suddenly across to them came Chiswell's jumbled words again, this time tinged with fear:

"Whispering, are you? I hear you over there, plotting. You just try it! ... rob me--no! ... ah-h-h! ... two of 'em! ... two ... no, you can't! ... it isn't fair, I'm all alone!" This time his voice ended in a little sob of terror, perhaps because he realized for the first time the odds against him; perhaps because he remembered that he'd thrown his gun away.

Garth, from where he lay, reached out and threw a handful of dry matted lichen upon the fire. For only a few seconds it blazed up, to reveal Chiswell crouched before his cave, a wild sight, trembling and waiting.

And it revealed something else.

* * * * *

"Look!" Again Prokle grabbed Garth's arm in his excitement.

But Garth had seen it, too, within the cave behind Chiswell. Along the sides, only dimly discernible in outline, were masses of something that was not rock. Seemingly sacks of something.

That was enough for Prokle; and Garth, too, was sure his own eyes were blazing as he tried not to let Prokle's fanaticism get him.

"Can you beat that for luck?" Prokle was whispering. "He's started getting the gold out already! Or it's platinum maybe! Anyway it's going to save us a lot of time and work. Lord knows how _he_ ever expected to get it away from here, but--well, I guess I'd have started mining, too, if I was in his shoes. Come on, Hype, let's get over there!"

Prokle had quite lost sight of the issue. Garth kept his own voice calm as he said:

"Not yet; it'll wait. Well, which is it going to be?"

Prokle was still staring over at the cave. Now he looked back at Garth. "Which--what did you say?"

"I said: what happened to our little stalemate? You know, the one we were at a moment ago?"

The light in Prokle's eyes died. "But--but Hype--you can't be serious--to pass up this?"

"I've got to pass it up, pal. You know that all the wealth on this rock couldn't buy my freedom! There's my passport to freedom, crouching over there in front of that cave. And he's got to stay alive."

Prokle was becoming angry. "You're--you're just exaggerating!"

Garth merely shook his head, smiling wryly.

"All right, Hype, I've got an idea. We'll finish off Chiswell--we've _got_ to do that. Then we'll mine the gold. We'll get every ounce that's here, and that ought to be plenty! Then I could get back to Earth myself--and with all that wealth I could help _you_! I'd make the proper contacts, bribe the right people--you know how it's done. And I'd really try, Hype. And you know you can trust me!"

"Yes, I know I can. And I know you'd try, Prokle. But you simply haven't any idea what you'd be up against, trying to buy a pardon for _me_. Any other man, yes. But you see, Prokle, the Earth Corporations would never let it go through. They know I'd soon be back pirating the Space Lanes again, and I would, too! I hear that pirating has been pretty tame since I've been away, if you know what I mean." Garth smiled reminiscently.

Across to them came Chiswell's whimpering, his half-sobs of fright as he heard them whispering. He was like a trapped wild animal, not quite daring to flee for fear they would pounce upon him.

Prokle's sullenness was slowly mounting to anger again. There was sweat upon his brow. His face twisted with indecision. Neither man had moved from where they lay, prone beside the dying fire.

Garth looked at his partner and said: "I'm going to leave it squarely to you, Prokle. The decision's all yours."

"Damn you, Hype!"

Hype simply watched. He wasn't smiling any more, for already he knew what the decision would be. He saw the fanatic light return to his partner's eyes. He saw his jaw set determinedly. Prokle wiped the sweat from his brow, and his body tensed. The lure of the gold....

Prokle twisted around to face Garth squarely then, but he couldn't look at him squarely as he said in a voice that was hardly audible:

"I--I can't give it up, Hype! It's too much to ask!"

And with a sudden little push he was on his feet and bounding low across the space toward the cave and Chiswell.

* * * * *

The action was too sudden for Garth to do anything. He couldn't even get to his feet, much less intervene. He saw two leaps carry Prokle halfway across the space. He heard a frightened little cry from Chiswell, and suddenly he felt very sorry for him. The last twenty feet Prokle literally soared, almost horizontally. He leaped too wide, but managed to reach out and grasp the startled Chiswell by the throat. They fell lazily to the ground in a tangled heap, Chiswell bleating in thin terror like a lamb with a wolf at its throat.

Trapped animals can be very dangerous in their terror. Prokle's hold loosened and he rolled over lightly. From his distance, Garth saw Chiswell's hand come up. He glimpsed something massive in it. He cried out a warning, and Prokle twisted around.

But not in time. Garth saw the mass of rock descend, and he heard an awful crunching sound as it smashed Prokle's skull.

Chiswell bleated no longer. The bleat was a snarl as he leaped astride Prokle and without waiting to see if he were dead, gripped his neck with unbelievable strength. Garth heard the vertebrae snap sickeningly, and still the madman clung. He clung until he was quite sure Prokle wasn't going to move any more, and then his hands slowly loosened. He leaped aside, and with the mien of a sculptor surveying his masterpiece he gazed on the thing at his feet. Then, uttering horrible little throat noises he grasped Prokle's hands and dragged him to the cave and into the darkness beyond.

Garth staggered blindly to his feet and stood there swaying. Prokle was dead, but there was something else. A semblance of thought and reason was trying to flow back to his brain, but it came too slowly.

Garth moved toward the cave just as Chiswell emerged. If there had been any doubt before that the man was mad there could not be now. As Garth approached him he stood there half erect, gibbering, ghastly in the pale ghost-light of the sun that was just beginning to reach down into the chasm.

Garth stood before the disgusting thing that was no longer a man. His fist moved only a foot and caught the thing in the throat. On Chiswell's face as he sailed backward there was a look of mild surprise, as if he could not quite understand how it happened or why; but when he hit the rocky wall he crumpled and lay still.

Garth looked at his fist wonderingly. He passed a hand across his brow. That's what he had needed. Clear, concise thought was coming back. He entered the cave and stood a full minute there in the darkness, before he remembered the torch at his side. He lifted it, and was about to flood the cave with light.

Then that familiar premonitory "awareness" was with him again; abruptly, startlingly, vividly it came, engulfing him. It told him not to click on that light.

Garth stood stock still for a moment, hand half lifted, indecision creeping on him.

Prokle's body was in here, he knew that. But--yes, that's what had brought the numb fear a minute ago! That's why this was different! _Why had that madman dragged Prokle in here?_

For the first time in his life Garth disregarded his warning premonition.

He clicked on the torch.

* * * * *

Out on the Station, in the long dreary days to come, Garth was to remember that scene.

His torch remained on for only about ten seconds. But in those seconds he remembered telling Prokle, "Some of the party may have been lost in space somewhere"--but now he knew none of them had been.

He recalled telling about the lichen and moss here, which desperate men might conceivably use as food--but now he knew Chiswell had not.

His ears rang again with the madman's words, "All mine!"--and now he knew their horrible purport.

He remembered when the fire had flared up and they had glimpsed dim masses of something along the sides of the cave, something that was not rock, something that was seemingly sacks of gold--but now he knew those dim shapes were not sacks of gold.

It was not gold that Chiswell guarded so viciously, for there was no gold here.

In those few seconds before he clicked off the torch Garth felt his mind slowly slipping away into a chaos of vertiginous horror, but he caught it on the brink. He retained enough of sanity to realize why he must not leave his dead friend here.

He emerged with the body of Prokle into the palely creeping sunlight. He saw the thing that was Chiswell stir and breathe and try to sit up. Garth reached for his ray-pistol, aimed it and tried to press the button. Then he let his hand drop. That was strange--he had thought he felt sorry for the thing there before him, but now he didn't feel sorry. He simply didn't feel anything.

But _he_ had Prokle! With the body lightly across his shoulders Garth began the ascent of the cliff to where the cruiser waited. He did not once look back. An idiotic desire to laugh seized him, but he did not laugh; he knew that if once he laughed it would be wildly, and he could never stop, and he'd become as mad as the thing down there....