Astounding Science Fiction (British Edition), April 1944 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

THE BEAST There was a roar of pain, and a hard thud, as Troger described a cartwheel in the air and landed twenty feet away. The man bounced up instantly, raging: “Tll beat your brains out. No one-armed guy can—’” He stopped; his gaze fastened on some- body behind Pendrake, and his whole body grew rigid. Pendrake, trembling from the nauseation produced by his effort and stunned at his utter stupidity in revealing how strong he could be, turned dizzily. A creature stood in the gate; and one glance was enough to identify it: Here was Big Oaf, Neanderthal monstrosity. He was a man; he had a roughly human shape, a head with eyes, nose and mouth. But at that point the physical resemblance to anything human ended. His figure was five foot four in height, and about three feet wide in the chest. His arms hung below his knees. His face was— beast; the teeth far too long, and projecting from between enormously thick lips. He stood there like some nightmare out of hell, naked and hairy except for a black fur that hung from a strap around his belly. He stood slouching, and it took a long moment for Pendrake to grasp that the creature’s piglike eyes were studying him shrewdly. Even as realization came, the thing parted those tremendous lips and said in throaty but unmistakable English: “Bring the feller inside! Ill talk to him from my throne. Let about fifty people in.” The inside of the stockade was ordinary. There was a big, glowing, shell-like house, a little river of gurgling water, fruit trees, a vegetable garden, and a wooden dais on which stood a huge wooden chair. The wooden chair was the throne, and it was obvious to the grim Pendrake that whoever had given Big Oaf the idea of kingship hadn’t had too clear an idea of regal splendor. But Big Oaf seated himself with assur- ance and said: ““What’s your handle?” It was no time for resistance. Pendrake gave his name quietly. Big Oaf whirled in his chair, pointed with a thick hairy finger at a tall, gray-eyed man in a faded black suit. “What kind of a handle is that, Mac- Intosh?” The tall man shrugged. “English.” “Oh!” The pig eyes turned back to Pen- drake, stared speculatively. The beast said: “Better talk fast, stranger.” 31 It was the Western twang of speech that made it almost impossible for Pendrake to grasp that he was on trial. A psychological hurdle it was that he had to force his mind over. But finally, with gathering conscious- ness that he was talking for his life, Pen- drake began his explanation. He finished with a rush, twisting on his heel and facing straight toward the thin-faced young man who had been his jailer, saying in a ringing voice : “And Morrison, here, will bear out every word. He says I talked in my delirium about what I’d been through. Isn’t that right, Morrison?” _ Pendrake stared at the young man’s face and felt a brief, icy sardonicism at the petrified expression that was there. Morri- son’s eyes grew wide, and then Morrison was gulping: “Yup, that’s right, Big Oaf. You ’member you told me to listen, and that’s what he said. He—” “Shurrup!” said Big Oaf; and Morrison collapsed into silence like a pricked balloon. To Pendrake came a brief compassion for the frightened young man,. but there was no regret at all that he had put pres- sure on the little coward. He saw that the monster was studying him intently; and there was something in the expression— Pendrake forgot Morrison as Big Oaf said in a strangely gentle voice: “Hit him a little guys; I like to see how a feller takes punishment.” After a minute he said: “All right, that'll do.” Pendrake climbed groggily to his feet; and it wasn’t all acting. In the excitement of the—trial—he had forgotten that he was a sick man. He steod shakily, and heard the beast man say: “Well, fellers, what'll we do with him?” “Kill him!’ It was a raucous cry from several throats. “Throw him to the devil- beast. We ain’t had a show for a long time.” “That ain’t no reason to kill anybody,” ' said a thick-faced maan in the back of the crowd. “If these fellers had their way, they’d have a show every week, and we'd all be dead soon.” “Yah, Chris Devlin,” a man snarled, “and that’s just where you'll be one of these days.” “Just start something!” Devlin snapped back. ““We’re waitin’ for ya.” “That'll do!” It was Big Oaf. “The stranger lives. You can stay with Morrison for a while. And listen, Pendrake, I wanna comiclooks (©)