stick it out all theseyears!"
"If that was Malmsworth," Mr. Wordsley said, "he must be a very tallman."
"That was merely dimensional mirage. Come along. We'll have to hurry ifwe catch him."
"Why do we want to catch him?" Mr. Wordsley said.
Captain DeCastros made a sound of sober surprise. Even of pious wonder."Malmsworth is my only brother," he said.
Mr. Wordsley wanted to say, "Yes, but you shot at him." He did not,because there was no time. He had to hurry to catch up with DeCastros,who was even now scrambling up the steep slope.
From the rim they could see Malmsworth out there on the flat. He wasmaking good time, but Captain DeCastros proceeded to demonstrate that hewas no mean hiker, himself. Mr. Wordsley's side began to hurt, and hisbreath came with difficulty. He might have died, if he had not fearedto incur DeCastros' anger.
At times the naked man was a broad, flat monster upon that shimmeringtableland. Again he seemed almost invisible; then gigantic and tenuous.
Presently he disappeared altogether.
"Oho!" DeCastros said, "If I am not mistaken, old Malmsworth has holedup in that very same rift where we caught him at his dirty businessseventeen years ago. He's as mad as a Martian; you can lay to that. He'dhave to be."
The rift, when they arrived at its upper reaches, was cool and shadowy.In its depths nothing sparkled. It was ordinary limestone. The wallswere covered with a dull yellow moss, except for great, raw wounds whereit had been torn off.
"That's Malmsworth's work," Captain DeCastros said. "In seventeen years,Mr. Wordsley, one will consume a lot of moss, I daresay. Shall wedescend?"
The rift had reached its depth quite gradually, so that Mr. Wordsleyscarcely realized that they were going down until the surface glare wassuddenly gone, and the green-walled gloom surrounded them. It might havebeen a pleasant place, but Mr. Wordsley did not like it.
Captain DeCastros was taking his time now, resting frequently. There wasnot the slightest chance of Malmsworth's getting away, for at the otherend of the rift lay the cave and the abyss containing, at least, oneghost of Malmsworth's terrible past.
But though it might seem drab after the plateau and the plain, the rifthad its points of interest. Along the walls, everywhere, as high as atall man might reach, the moss had been torn or scraped from thesurface. There was no second growth.
* * * * *
Every quarter of a mile or so they came upon the former campsites of thecastaway, each marked by a flat-topped cairn of small stones three orfour feet in height. DeCastros was at a loss to explain this. Mr.Wordsley supposed that it was one of the marks of a diseased mind.
Not that he actually understood the workings of a diseased mind.Privately, he suspected that DeCastros was a little mad. Certainly hewas subject to violent, unreasonable tempers which could not beexplained. The unfortunate strain might have cropped up more strongly inhis brother.
Might not these walls have rung with lunatic screams after months andyears of hollow-eyed watching for the ship that never came? It mighthave been different, of course, had Malmsworth been able to appreciatethe aesthetic values of life, as Mr. Wordsley did. But doubtless theselovely miles and miles of crystalline oceans had been but a desert tothe castaway.
Eventually the rift widened a little, and they came to a dead end,beyond which lay the cave. It must have been formed ages ago bytrickling waters before Avis Solis lost its clouds and rivers.
Here they found the last of the cairns, and the answer to theirconstruction. The water-maker which the expedition had left withMalmsworth seventeen years ago rested upon this neat platform, and belowit a delicate basin, eighteen inches or so in depth, had beenconstructed of stones and chinked with moss. Fit monument for the god,machine.
It was filled with water, and quite obviously a bathtub.
* * * * *
Captain DeCastros sneered. This proved beyond doubt that Malmsworth wasmad, for in the old days he had been the very last to care about hisbath. In fact, DeCastros said, Malmsworth occasionally stank.
This was probably not true, but it seemed curious, nonetheless.
Captain DeCastros set to work kicking the tub to pieces. He kicked sohard that one stone whistled past the head of Mr. Wordsley, who duckedhandily. Soon the basin lay in rubble, and the water-maker, its supportscollapsed, listed heavily to the right.
"He must be in the cave," Captain DeCastros said. He cupped his hands tohis mouth. "Come out, Malmsworth, we know you're in there!"
But there was no answer, and Malmsworth did not come out, so CaptainDeCastros, blizzer in hand, went in, with Mr. Wordsley following at acautious interval.
Presently they stood upon the edge of something black and yawning, butthere was still no sign of the exile, who seemed, like Elijah, to havebeen called directly to his Maker without residue.
Beyond the gulf, however, Mr. Wordsley had glimpsed a ragged aperturefilled with the purest light. It seemed inconceivable to him--attractedas he had always been by radiance--that this should be inaccessible.
Accordingly, he lay down upon his belly and stretched his hand as fardown as he could reach. His fingers brushed a level surface whichappeared to extend outwards for two or three feet. Gingerly he loweredhimself to this ledge and began to feel his way along the wall. Nor washe greatly surprised (for hardly anything surprised Mr. Wordsley anymore) that it neatly circumnavigated the pit and deposited him safelyupon the other side, where he quickly groped toward the mouth of thecavern and stood gazing out upon a scene that was breathtaking.
From this vantage the easily accessible slope led to the foot of theplateau. Beyond lay the grandeur of Avis Solis.
Captain DeCastros was soon beside him. "A very clever trick, thatledge," he said. "Malmsworth thinks to elude us, but he never shall,eh, Mr. Wordsley?" There were tears of frustration in his eyes.
It embarrassed Mr. Wordsley, who could only point to the pall ofgleaming dust where their ship had lain, and to the silver needle whichglinted for a moment in the sky and was gone.
"Malmsworth would not do that to me," Captain DeCastros said.
But he had.
* * * * *
"We may be here quite a long while," Mr. Wordsley said, and could notcontrive to sound downhearted about it.
But Captain DeCastros had already turned away and was feeling his wayback along the ledge.
Mr. Wordsley waited just a moment longer; then he took from his pocket aheavy object and dropped it upon the slope and it rolled over and over,down and down, until its metallic sheen was lost in that superior glare.
It was a spare irmium alloy plug.
He made his way back to the water-maker. They would have to take goodcare of it from now on.
He was not concerned with the basin. However, in the soft, damp sandbeside the basin, plainly imprinted there, as if someone's raiding partyhad interrupted _someone's_ bathing party, there remained a single,small and dainty footprint.
One could almost imagine that a faint breath of perfume still lingeredupon the sheltered air of the rift, but, of course, only things whichglittered interested Mr. Wordsley.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ September 1958. 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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