“Money’s no good,” said Eben. “It’s got to be a swap.”
They again went into a huddle and then the spokesman said, “We haven’t anything to swap you except guns. There aren’t anything but guns in our whole country because when we conquered everybody there was nobody left to produce anything except guns.”
“Well . . .” said Eben doubtfully, “guns ain’t worth much.”
“But you’ll take them?”
“Well . . .”
The four officers were gone in a flurry of chalk dust.
Eben sat down on a boulder beside his wagon and watched Lucy crop grass now that she was released from harness. The gold worried him and these officers worried him for he could not quite understand why they really would trade. If they had guns it seemed more likely that they use them to take what they wanted. Perhaps, though, they didn’t want to disclose the source of the brandy or cut off its supply. Still, if they found this gold they wouldn’t bargain about that. They’d just take it without so much as giving him a blessing. Eben went over to see how the gold was getting along and was engaged in covering up some of it that could be seen to glitter. It grieved him that he had to abandon it, it was so pretty. The most he could take would be some necklaces and bracelets for Maria.
While so engaged he was again accosted and at the sound of the hail he turned to find the soldiers coming back. Hastily he got away from the gold and then, seeing what was arriving, momentarily forgot about it.
He had said guns and now, it seemed, he was getting guns! In a long procession he saw soldiers dragging at wheeled machine guns and ammunition carts and light antitank rifles and their caissons. Soldiers, soldiers, soldiers and guns, guns, guns. And each soldier had a furtive look about him.
The young officer who had made the bargain was evidently a businessman beneath his rank stripes. “Sir,” he said, “we are bringing you guns. All these guns for all that brandy. We offer the trade and if you refuse it, we offer the guns another way.”
Eben stared at the arsenal which was mounting up beside his wagon, towering and then towering again until the pyramid was spilling arms into the road. He wanted to say no but the sign of this force got the better of his judgment. He made no protest when the brandy was carted away, all hundred and seventy gallons of it. The memory of the five dead prisoners was strong upon him. And so the brandy and the soldiers were soon vanished, leaving Eben with enough materials for a good-sized war. He tried to be hopeful. But he was certain, the longer he sat looking at that pile of weapons, that he had been bested. What good were machine guns against rabbits? And there were only rabbits in Jefferson County. Why, all he knew about the things was what young Tom Stebbins had said when he came back from the marines.
Dolorously he took one of the long barrels and mounted it upon its tripod. And then, being a Yankee, his mechanical spirit was stirred by the mystery of it. The thing was so complicated that it challenged his ingenuity. He finally found how to pull back the loading handle and then, going from there, figured out the way to put a belt through the loading slot. The result far exceeded his expectations. With a shattering roar bullets flung out from the weapon and carved a long trench in the hill. He let go of the trigger and blinked at the thing. Little by little he pieced together the way it worked and so engrossed did he become that he was startled when the old man from the Glory Monastery put a hand on his shoulder.
“Wh—oh, hello,” said Eben.
The old man was staring in fascination at the machine gun. “What manner of instrument is that?”
“It’s a machine gun,” said Eben.
The old man looked at the mighty pile of them. “But you have so many!”
“Enough to start a war,” said Eben.
“War?”
“Well, that’s what they use these for,” said Eben. And wishing to show off his newly acquired skill he sent a ferocious burst into the hill. Rocks and dust flew violently.
“Do . . . do they all act like that?” said the old man.
“Yep,” said Eben. And he showed him how to load and fire it. The old man got up from the tripod shaking, but evidently not from fear.
“You wait here,” said the old man and then, with beard and cassock flowing behind, streamed up the hill and out of sight. He was gone for nearly two hours and Eben began to think that he had been scared away and was just beginning to swear at himself for not having traded off some more vegetables when the old man came streaming back, followed closely by several monks.
“Now do that again,” said the old man.
“What?”
“Shoot that thing.”
Eben loaded and fired it and the newcomers tch-tched as they watched the dirt fly out of the hill.
“Are they all alike?” said the old man.
“Well, some of them are bigger,” said Eben.
“Let’s see how they work,” said the old man.
Eben wheeled out an antitank rifle and, after thinking it over for a few minutes, got it loaded and fired. The shell blew a great gouge from the hill and lifted a boulder ten feet in the air.
“You see?” said the old man to his friends.
“We see,” they said grimly.
“And?” said the old man.
“You are right,” said his friends.
“Bring the donkeys,” said the old man.
At a signal, nearly a hundred donkeys came tinkling over the hill, each one loaded with two five gallon jugs of brandy.
“Wait a minute,” said Eben. “You want to trade that for these guns?”
“Certainly,” said the old man. “We’re sick of shouting ‘Long Live Byles’ from morning until night. Besides we don’t think he’s the Messiah. We’re almost certain that I am.”
“Well,” said Eben, chewing thoughtfully on a shoot of grass, “these here machine guns and cannons come pretty high. Now you got just about enough there to buy three of them.”
“Thr-Three?” said the old man.
“The ammunition, of course,” said Eben, “is extra.”
The old man looked at the guns and then at the long line of donkeys. He sighed and then, glancing at the gouged hill, brightened. “All right. Men, unload and go back for more.”
Some four hours later there were no more guns anywhere in sight. But nearly a half-acre of ground was covered by stone jars. Eben walked thoughtfully between the wide rows, lifting a cover here and there and smelling the stuff.
It was better, far better, to have brandy, though he did not know exactly why. It was something tangible and, unlike guns or gold, was not likely to get him into trouble. Of course he would have to figure out a way to transport all this and a way to sell it. . . .
With a swoosh, the rectangular box slid to a halt beside the spring wagon. Lucy looked inquiringly at it and then went on champing her grass.
“ERTDBRDTD!” said the driver.
“Hello,” said Eben, walking over and putting his elbow on the window.
“I came back about those apples,” said the driver.
“Yep?” said Eben.
“I brought another truck load of gold for a basket of them.”
Eben swiftly shook his head. “Nope.”
“You mean you won’t trade like you did?”
“Nope.”
“Say, you can’t do that! Why . . . why, I sold those apples for a labor unit apiece and I’ve got buyers until I can’t count them. You can’t refuse!”
“Nope,” said Eben. “No trade.”
The driver pushed out of the truck. “Not even one basket? Not just one? This is much better gold. I got it off the dump north of town. It’s in bars!”
“Nope,” said Eben.
The driver pointed to the brandy. “You don’t have to give me one of those. That made everybody sick. So
you are getting a better bargain than ever. Only half of what you gave me before! And twice as much weight in gold!”
“Nope,” said Eben.
The antennae waved in disgust and the driver leaped into the other end of his wheelless truck and swooshed away from there, without even saying goodbye.
Eben sighed deeply. It pained him to have to refuse such a trade. But if the guvvermunt said that having gold was agin the law, then it was agin the law. He’d already put his neck in the noose for having a couple tons of it. . . .
There was a steady tramp nearby and Eben whirled to see that the white road was thick with soldiers and guns! They were marching without regard to order and each one was eagerly towing some sort of weapon and some had, among them, a big piece of artillery and its caissons. The air was thick with the dust of their coming and the road about Eben was thick with clamoring men.
“We want some of that stuff,” said a junior officer, thrusting a submachine gun at Eben. He had evidently already had a drink from his luckier mates, just enough to stimulate his desire for more.
“Nope,” said Eben. “That brandy—”
“We offer a trade and if we don’t get what we came for,” growled the officer, “then we’ll take it anyway! We are the regimental guard of Lomano the Lurid himself and what we do we do and what we want we want. Now is it a trade?”
Eben sat down dejectedly and watched his brandy vanish jar by jar up the long chalk road. And some time later he dolorously inspected a park of miscellaneous weapons and ammunition. Business was not so good, he decided, for it was not likely that there could be much more brandy at the Glory Monastery. Well . . . he still had his vegetables. And ten baskets of apples. Maybe he’d better get out of here while he possessed that much negotiable capital.
SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
Truck after wheelless truck came to a stop on the metal road and driver after driver, big-headed and spindle-legged, jumped out to surround Eben.
“Now,” said the driver who had already been there. “Do we trade or don’t we trade? This is my union and in each one of these trucks is a full load of gold.”
“I reckon I have to be sorry,” said Eben, “but—”
There was a whirr and a crackle as of a leaping arc and the world grew dim for Eben. He caught at his wagon and slumped down, wholly unconscious.
It was, of course, still high noon when he woke up. The trucks were gone. The vegetables and apples were gone.
Eben sighed, staring into the empty spring wagon. He was thankful to at least show no mark of what they had done to him save for a slight headache. The robbers!
And then he turned and saw that in some twenty places at the rate of two tons or more a place the trucks had dumped their contents. Gold! Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold! And more gold! ! ! ! ! !
“Oh . . . ,” groaned Eben. There must be forty or fifty tons of it!
Gold, gold, gold, gold . . .
“Hullo!”
Eben nodded wearily to the old man. And then, noticing that he was powder-stained and high with excitement, took interest.
“More guns,” said the old man. “He’s got the United Order of Fanatics against us! We’ve got to have more guns and more ammunition!”
Eben waved a tired hand toward the wide park of guns.
“Ah!” cried the old man ecstatically. “And as for the trade, our credit will have to be good. We have brandy but no time to transport it.”
“Brandy in hand,” said Eben, reviving, “or no guns!”
There was a shattering roar up on the hill and Eben ducked from the swarm of singing slugs which barely missed his head.
“Is our credit good?” demanded the old man.
“Sure!” said Eben.
And then the park was emptied by half a hundred toiling, battle-stained monks and Eben’s capital went rolling over the boulders and out of sight up the hill.
He sank down upon a boulder. His capital was gone save for this accursed gold. And if the guvvermunt found all this gold around him they’d put him away for years if not as a thief then at least as a horder. Life became bitter to Eben. He was hungry. Lucy was out of grain. His wagon was empty and he had nothing negotiable unless it was gold, a commodity which would surely get him into a great deal of trouble.
It could not be worse. He had better abandon the wagon and ride Lucy back home.
He had made this decision and was in the act of whistling for Lucy when he saw a knot of men come hurrying down the chalk road toward him. They stopped, threw themselves down and fired with their rifles at something Eben could not see. Then they leaped up and sped swiftly toward him.
A gray-headed, corpse-faced giant was in the lead. His muchly-braided uniform was torn and his hat was gone and his sword scabbard was empty. He almost rushed by Eben and then came to an abrupt halt, glaring. The few soldiers with him clustered about.
“Is this the devil?” said the giant.
“Probably,” said a soldier.
“Did you or did you not sell brandy to my bodyguard in return for their guns?” snarled the giant.
“Well—” said Eben.
“So it is true! It is true that I, Lomano the Lurid, am revolted against because of you, you miserable lout! Colcha! Shoot this man!”
“Your Dictatorship, there isn’t much time. The people are hard on our heels!”
“Shoot him! He has cost me my realms!” roared Lomano.
But just as Colcha raised his rifle there was a burst of firing from down the chalk road and the soldiers dropped down and fired swiftly back, driving their pursuers to cover. Then, once more Colcha started to do his duty.
“You, the trader!” hailed a voice. And Eben was almost happy to see the old man and an armed bodyguard come rushing down the hill.
“What’s this?” said Lomano.
Then the chalk road’s distance belched more bullets and Lomano and his troops decided they had tarried too long. Not knowing the intentions of the old man and his group, they dashed off and around the cliff and out of sight. A moment later a stream of indifferently armed peasants loped up the chalk road and rounded the chalk cliff in pursuit of Lomano.
Eben sighed with relief and was ready to express his thanks to the old man when that worthy came up, panting and glaring.
“You, the trader!” said the old man. “Have you any more guns?”
“No,” said Eben swiftly, “but if you pay me what you owe me I can possibly get you as many more as you want.”
“Hah! I thought so. What use have I for guns now that I have won! And you would sell them to another who would oppose me. Sir, you find before you the Messiah! And you who threatens my existence must be disposed of here and now!”
“Hey!” said Eben. “You owe me money. You took my guns and you owe me—”
“Sir, if you have any last prayers, say them.”
“Wait a minute,” begged Eben. “You can’t do this. If you say you don’t want me to sell guns then just pay me what you owe me and I’ll be on my way and never come back—”
“Sir, this cannot be. I, the Messiah after Byles (God rest his soul), command that this menace to my rule be removed!”
SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
Three wheelless cars, not dissimilar to the trucks save that they had windows instead of blank sides, rushed up to a halt on the metal road. Out of them poured a swarm of big-eyed men with antennae.
The new Messiah gaped at the weird beings and his men, in alarm, fell back. The beings swarmed around Eben and the Messiah took to his heels with his crew.
“BN FRDH HYST MAHG?” said an officer to the driver Eben had first seen.
“FRYST,” said the driver, quivering.
The officer fished into his metal shirt and pulled
out a sheet with dots on it. He looked at Eben and then at the paper.
“I understand that you speak vulgar English. Therefore I shall decipher this order as I go. Attend!
‘Whereas the strange being at the Crossroads delivered into the hands of one CARTD various articles to be known as HYSTFA and FACRT and whereas one CARTD did disseminate to the populace of FEJAUG said HYSTFA and FACRT and whereas the populace of FEJAUG does now clamor for fresh and bulky food against the wise counsel of the GAUANFT PYHSTRA that food pills are far superior thus upsetting the public order, it is hereby discovered that there has been a sag in the time tracks and that appropriate steps must be taken to rectify the error.
‘Signed
‘HAYCST’”
Thereupon the workmen, with magnetic slings, whisked blasters out of their cars and made holes. After this they produced a dozen weighty hydraulic jacks which soon had their heads thrusting against the boulder-strewn road. Up, up, up went the road and then, abruptly, vanished.
Next they attacked the problem of the chalk road, working efficiently and without a sound. Up, up, up went the chalk road and then faded into nothingness.
The jacks were shifted and more holes blasted. And then the workmen had purchase on the metal road and, with them on it, it began to rise. Up, up, up!
Eben leaped for the edge and landed with a jar upon his own world’s dirt track. Overhead the metal strip continued to lift and then, with a puff, it was no longer to be seen.
Lucy raised her head from cropping grass and looked thoughtfully at Eben. She gave a startled grunt as some clods of dirt dropped out of the clear sky and something sparkled as it hit her on the nose. She looked pained.
Dejectedly Eben dragged her over to the spring wagon and hitched her up. He sat for a while looking upward and then, with a shake of his head which designated complete abandonment of the whole thing, he went over to where Lucy had been standing and picked up the diamond ring and two ruby bracelets which had fallen out of the bottom of the hole in which he had buried them.
The next morning Eben drove into his yard and was instantly almost devoured by an ecstatic Boozer. The dog leaped down out of the wagon and ran in circles, emitting glad yelps which noise set the whole barnyard into an uproar.