Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 108: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

482 Weirdly was it like some intelligence ob- serving, studying, some creature of another species—puzzled by its similarity and un- similarity with the one other creature of its kind it knew, and striving to reconcile those differences. And still like such a questioning brain calling upon others for counsel, it swung her—and even then al- though the application of whatever force it was that held her suspended was not vis- ible, I knew that its source was the disk— swung her, I say, upward to the watching star at the right. A rifle shot rang out! Another—the re- ports breaking the silence like a profana- tion. Unseen by either of us, Ventnor had slipped to one side where he could cover the core of ruby flame that must have seemed to him the heart of the disk’s rose of fire. A few yards away he knelt, white lipped, eyes cold gray ice, sighting care- fully for a third shot. “ Don’t!. Martin—don’t fire!” I shout- ed, leaping toward him. “Stop! | Ventnor—for God’s .sake!” Drake’s panic cry mingled with my own. -But before we could reach him, indeed, before we had gone two paces, there hap- pened that which in the swiftness of its oc- currence was to its telling as the distant lightning stroke is to the thunder that is its record. Like a darting swallow Norhala flew to him. Down the face of the disk glided the upright body of Ruth, struck softly, stood swaying. And out of the blue-black convexity within the left hand star point of one of the opened pyramids darted a lance of in- tense green flame, a lightning bolt as real as any hurled by tempest, upon Ventnor! The shattered air closed behind the streaming spark with the sound of break- ing glass. It struck—Norhala! It struck— seemed to splash upon her, run down her like water! One curling tongue writhed over her bare shoulder, leaped to the barrel of the rifle in Ventnor’s hands, flashed up it and licked him. I saw the gun torn from his grip, hurled high in air, exploding as it went—saw him leap convulsively from his knees and drop roll- ing as though felled by a giant’s buffet! ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. I heard a wailing, low, bitter and heart- broken. Past us ran Ruth, all dream, all unearthliness fled from a face now a tragic mask of human wo and terror. She threw herself down beside her brother, peered into his face, felt of his heart; then raised herself upon her knees and thrust out sup- plicating hands to the shapes. | ‘Don’t hurt him any more! He didn’t mean it!” she cried out to them piteously —like a child. She reached up, caught one of Norhala’s hands. ‘“ Norhala—don’t let thent kill him! Don’t Jet them hurt him any more! Please!’ she sobbed. Beside me I heard Drake cursing, me- thodically, despairingly. “Tf they touch her I’ll kill the woman! I will, by God I will!” I heard him mutter. Face livid, twitching with passion he strode to Norhala’s side. “If you want to live, call off those devils of yours!” His voice was strangled thick with menace. She looked at him, wonder deepening on the tranquil brow, in the clear, untroubled gaze. Of course she could not understand # his words—but it was not that which made. my own sick apprehension grow. It was that she did not understand what called them forth; nay, did not even un- derstand what reason lay behind Ruth’s sorrow, Ruth’s prayer. And more and more wondering grew her eyes as she looked from the threatening Drake to the supplicating Ruth, and from them to the still body of Ventnor! “You tell her what I say, Goodwin, in her own tongue. I mean it!” I shook my head. That was not the way, I knew. I looked toward the disk, still flanked with its sextette of spheres, still guarded by the flaming blue stars. They were motionless, calm, watching. I sensed no hostility, no anger; it was as though they were waiting for us to—to— waiting for us to do what? It came to me—they were indifferent! That was it—as indifferent as we would be of the struggle of an ephemera; and as mildly curious! “ Norhala,” I turned to the woman, ‘‘ she would not have him suffer; she would not have him die. She loves-him.” COUMIUC MICOOOlKKS Colin