and, as Ouglat tried to scuttle away, reacheddown to grasp him by the nape of his neck.
High above his head he lifted his enemy and dashed him to the ground.With a leap he was on the prostrate figure, trampling it apart, smashingit into the ground. With wild cries he stamped the earth, treading outthe last of Ouglat, the Black Horror.
When no trace of the thing that had been Ouglat remained, he moved awayand viewed the trampled ground.
Then, for the first time he noticed that the crest of the hill wascrowded with other monstrous figures. He glared at them, half insurprise, half in anger. He had not noticed their silent approach.
"It is Mal Shaff!" cried one.
"Yes, I am Mal Shaff. What do you want?"
"But, Mal Shaff, Ouglat destroyed you once long ago!"
"And I, just now," replied Mal Shaff, "have destroyed Ouglat."
The figures were silent, shifting uneasily. Then one stepped forward.
"Mal Shaff," it said, "we thought you were dead. Apparently it was notso. We welcome you to our land again. Ouglat, who once tried to kill youand apparently failed, you have killed, which is right and proper. Comeand live with us again in peace. We welcome you."
Mal Shaff bowed.
Gone was all thought of the third dimension. Through Mal Shaff's mindraced strange, haunting memories of a red desert scattered with scarletboulders, of silver cliffs of gleaming metallic stone, of huge seasbattering against towering headlands. There were other things, too.Great palaces of shining jewels, and weird nights of inhuman joy wherehellish flames lit deep, black caverns.
He bowed again.
"I thank you, Bathazar," he said.
Without a backward look he shambled down the hill with the others.
* * * * *
"Yes?" said the editor. "What's that you say? Doctor White is dead! Asuicide! Yeah, I understand. Worry, hey! Here, Roberts, take thisstory."
He handed over the phone.
"When you write it," he said, "play up the fact he was worried about notbeing able to bring the men back to the third dimension. Give him plentyof praise for ending the Black Horror. It's a big story."
"Sure," said Roberts, then spoke into the phone: "All right, Bill, shootthe works."
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Astounding Stories_ June 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
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