they’re evidently suffering because they neglect them. Look how few they are. Only fifty men! They must have lost quite a few through raids from other savage tribes, both from those who live upon the plain itself and from those who live on other roaming islands. They’re down to the point now where they must die out within a generation, even without help from such as those,” he said, pointing to the Ving ‘rollers.
“Yes, and I suppose that during the daytime, when the island is stopped, grass cats and dire dogs board it. These must take their toll of the humans.”
He gazed again at the red sails and wheels of the Vings. “I’d think that those pirates would take every island they could and would use them as bases from which to operate.”
“They do,” said Amra. “For a generation now the Vings have been scouring the plains, locating the islands and exterminating the savages on them. Then they’ve fortified the islands, so that you might say that today the Xurdimur is dominated by them. But there’s a drawback to an island as a harbor. No large ‘roller may get very close except in the daylight. They have to put out to grass every night and follow their base at a safe distance until dawn. However, though the Vings are well established on many roamers, they’re often attacked by the navies of various nations and sometimes driven off. Then the nation that takes possession of the island has a nice little base. And, of course, quite often they use it to launch their own piratical ventures against the craft of countries at peace with them.
“Oh, the Xurdimur is a land where every man’s hand is against the other, and the devil take the ones with short sail! A man may make his fortune or break his heart, all in a night’s work. But, then, you know that only too well.”
Green interrupted, “We’ll leave them, and the natives, too, when moonlight gets here. I only hope that there aren’t other Ving craft in the neighborhood.”
“What the gods will, happens,” replied Miran. His sad face reflected the belief that if he, the favorite of Mennirox, could come to grief, then Green could expect even worse.
When dusk came, Green walked from the cave into the dark and hard rain. Behind him came Amra, one hand upon his shoulder, the other supporting Paxi. The rest were stretched out in a line behind her, each person’s hand on the shoulder of the one ahead.
The black cat was underneath Green’s coat, riding in a large pocket of his shirt. She had made it plain to him that where he went, she went. And Green, to avoid a big fuss and also because he was beginning to feel very affectionate toward her, allowed her to come along.
The descent from the hilltop was an anxious and stumbling trip. Green, after ten minutes of groping along the path, had to acknowledge he did not know where he was. So many windings had the path taken that he did not know whether he was going east, north, south, or in the right direction, west.
Actually, it didn’t really matter, as long as it brought him to the edge of the island. He could skirt the edge until he arrived at the fleet craft that would give them a chance for flight.
The trouble was in finding that rim. He was afraid that it would be possible to wander in circles and figure eights until moonlight. Then, though they’d be able to orient themselves, they’d also be exposed to the view of the cannibals. And if they found themselves, say, at the eastern edge, their journey around would be perilous indeed.
Occasional lightning flashed, and then he could make out his immediate environment. These brief revelations weren’t much help. All he could see were the solid-seeming walls of tree trunks and bushes.
Suddenly Amra spoke. “Do you think we’re getting close?”
He stopped so suddenly that the entire line lurched into him. Lightning burst again, quite close by. The cat, curled in his coat pocket, spat and tried to shrink into an even smaller ball. Absently, Green patted her from outside the coat. He said, “Your name isLady Luck. I just saw the village. Now we’re getting some place. I really needed that referent.”
He wasn’t worried about the inhabitants of the village. All were undoubtedly cowering under the roofs of their long houses, praying to whatever gods they worshiped that they would not send the lightning their way. There would be little danger if the whole party were to walk through the center of the village. He planned to take no chances at all, however, and ordered everybody to follow him around the clearing.
“It won’t be long now!” he said to Amra. “Pass the word back and cheer everybody up.”
Half an hour later he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. It was true that he’d followed the wandering path to the cove where their boats were kept. But he’d at once drawn his breath in pain of surprise.
A lightning bolt had illuminated the gray rock walls of the cove, its broad shelf, and the high black iron davits.
But the yachts were gone!
22
Later Green thought that if ever the time came when he should have cracked up, that instant of loss, white and sudden as the lightning itself, should have been the one.
The others cried out loudly in their grief and shock, but he was as silent as the empty stone shelf. He could not move nor utter a word; all seemed hopeless, so what was the use of motion or talk?
Nevertheless, he was human, and human beings hope even when there is no justification for it. Nor could he remain frozen until the next stroke of lightning would reveal to the others the state of their leader. He had to act. What if his actions weremeaningless? Mere movement answered for the demands of the body, and at that moment it was his body that could move. His mind was congealed.
Shouting to the others to scatter and look about in the brush, but not to scatter too far, he began climbing up the slope of the hill. When he had reached its top he left the path and plunged into the forest to his right on the theory that if the yachts were anywhere they must be there. He had two ideas about where they might be. One was that the Vings had spotted them and had sent in a party aboard a gig to push them over the side of the island. Thus, when the island had begun its nightly voyage it had left the ‘rollers sitting upon the plain. The other theory was also inspired by the presence of the Vings. Perhaps the savages had hidden their craft because of just such an event as his first theory put forth. To do that they would have had to haul the ‘rollers up the less steep slant of the cove.
At the point where he would have looped a rope around a tree and used it to pull a yacht uphill, he saw all three of the missing craft. They were nestling side by side just over the lip of the slope, their hulls hidden by brush piled up before them. Their tall masts, of course, would be taken for tree trunks by anybody but a very close observer.
Green yelled with joy, then whirled to run back and tell the others. And slammed into a tree trunk. He picked himself up, swearing because he’d hurt his nose. And tripped over something and fell again. Thereafter, he seemed to be in a night-mare of frustration, of conspiracy between tree and night to catch and delay him. Where his trip up had been easy, his trip back was a continued barking of shins, bumping of nose, and tearing loose from clutching bushes and thorns. His confusion wasn’t at all helped when the lightning ceased, because he’d been guiding himself by its frequent flashes. And Lady Luck, alarmed at all the hard knocks she was getting, struggled out of his shirt pocket and slipped into the forest. He called to her to come back, but she had had enough of him, for the time being, anyway.
For a brief moment he thought of the fantastic device of grabbing hold of her tail and following her through the dark. But
