The Second Time Travel Megapack: 23 Modern and Classic Stories Read online

  “We must find it now,” said Athos; “the reputation of the Queen, as well as the fate of France, is at stake.” He turned and started back down the road, the others swung in alongside, and all four marched toward the stream. As Clive watched them depart a sudden longing for adventure swept over him —story book adventure, as this obviously was.

  “Wait!” he cried. “Let me go with you.” The four men stopped momentarily, and in that moment a motorcycle roared over the knoll, and straight toward them. The appearance of this “monster” was so sudden that the musketeers had barely drawn their swords when it dodged between them and passed on up the road at full speed. They had seen a man astride the vehicle, and they now stood staring after it as it disappeared over the next hill.

  “This is truly a land of devils,” said Porthos.

  “What manner of contraption was that which just passed down the road?” d’Artagnan asked Clive, who had by this time caught up with the others.

  “That was a motorcycle,” he answered. “It has the same kind of power as that which runs my truck. These machines are quite handy for getting around the country with one man,”

  “Indeed!”

  “If you gentlemen will wait until I pull my truck off the road, I would like to tag along with you, at least as far as the cavern you spoke about.” They waited, and when Clive returned they continued toward the stream.

  They followed along the banks of the stream until the banks became so precipitous that they had to take to the water and continue their journey wading up stream. This was not such a great difficulty since the stream was fairly shallow, and unlike most mountain streams the bed was covered with coarse gravel rather than large rocks and boulders. Rounding a bend in the stream the five men found themselves in a box canyon, the sides of which were formed by perpendicular ledges, while a twenty-foot high waterfall closed the opposite end. Clive recognized the spot, for he had fished many times at the foot of that water-fall.

  “Excuse me for asking,” he remarked, “but could we by any chance be up the wrong gulch?” Clive was again being troubled with doubts as to the mental stability of his companions. He was even beginning to feel ashamed of himself for his gullibility.

  The musketeers, on the other hand, showed genuine consternation at the absence of the cavern.

  “There is still one possibility,” said d’Artagnan; “the cavern may lie behind the waterfall—although the appearance of the place has changed entirely.” He strode forward and as he neared the falls the water became deeper so that he had to turn back when within 30 feet of his destination. The water here was up to his shoulders, and to attempt to swim, attired as he was would have been an impossibility. He gained the bank and by climbing precariously over large, moss-covered boulders he found a spot where he could peer behind the wall of water. His face registered only disappointment to the four men who had followed him with their eyes.

  “There is a recess back here that appears to extend backward only about ten feet, although I can not see where it meets the water,” he said.

  “Well there is one way of finding out,” said Clive. He quickly shed the few clothes he was wearing, and plunged into the pool at the base of the falls. Swimming under water he passed behind the falls, and then came to the surface to inspect his surroundings. By means of the subdued light that filtered through the cascade behind him Clive saw the recess that d’Artagnan had mentioned, but to his own surprise he also saw at a slight angle of the grotto wall the entrance to a cavern, the top of which extended about six inches above the surface of the water. He peered into this hole, but could see nothing but darkness. By diving to the bottom he found the water to be about ten feet deep at this point, and under water he could see the hazy outline of the cavern. He came to the surface long enough to get his breath, and then recklessly dove into the mouth of the cavern. He swam under water, coming to the surface every few seconds to assure himself that there was still an air space above the water, and he soon discovered that the ceiling of the cavern was getting higher and higher above the surface of the water. Soon he was able to swim on the surface, although it was now getting so dark that he had difficulty in keeping clear of the somewhat jagged walls. Behind him the water still had a greenish translucence from the sunlight, and as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the cavern he was aware of a strange bluish light that seemed to cling to the walls.

  “Phosphorescence,” he thought, but as he swam on farther into the cavern the light became brighter until he was able to distinguish details of the walls. He was soon able to touch the bottom of the tunnel with his feet, and he welcomed the opportunity to rest after what he calculated was a one hundred yard swim. The cavern had become wider, and a short distance further on the water had become so shallow that swimming was no longer possible, and Clive waded through water knee deep.

  Since he had first noticed the blue light an oppressive weight seemed to have settled upon Clive’s mind. At first he was merely unable to correlate his thoughts, but as the light grew brighter all thoughts left him except the knowledge that he must forge onward.

  It was now nearly as light as day in the cavern, and as Clive stumbled on through the water a strange vertigo seized him. He seemed to be in the center of a gigantic balloon that was being inflated with every step he took. Ahead of him he was aware of two tunnels. He tried to reason which he should take, but finding this impossible he stumbled on, trusting in luck that he would find the right one. The water was again becoming deeper, so that when he reached the junction of the three caverns he was swimming. The walls were still ballooning away from him when he plunged into the nearest tunnel, but as soon as he had passed the portal the blue light vanished, and the weight was lifted from his mind, as though the balloon had suddenly burst. Ahead of him he could see the light from outdoors, although this light had a strange red cast. The air seemed very thin and he experienced great difficulty in breathing. He soon had to swim under water again, and this last dash brought him put into the open.

  “Great guns!” He exclaimed, as he viewed the landscape before him. He was looking upon a dead world. Directly before him moldered the ruins of what appeared to have been a mighty city, and beyond these stretched an endless ocean. The sky above was nearly black, stars were visible, and a somewhat faded, orange moon could be seen descending beyond the horizon. The sun appeared as a reddish orb, suspended almost directly overhead. No sign of life was to be seen anywhere.

  Clive knew he must get back to the main cavern, and take the other tunnel. He was about to dive back into the cavern when the figures of D’Artagnan and Porthos appeared at his side.

  “Mordieu!” the latter exclaimed as he gazed upon the dismal landscape before him. “This is not France, either.” His voice had a strange high pitch in the thin atmosphere.

  “Indeed not,” said d’Artagnan; “so we must rejoin Athos and Aramis who evidently took the other tunnel.”

  “But that cursed blue light,” said Porthos. “It makes you want to tear your hair out when you try to think what you are doing.”

  “Tell me,” said Clive, “when you rode through the cavern this morning, was there any water?”

  “No, nor that blue light,” said d’Artagnan. “When we entered the cavern we could see the light from the other end. It took us about three minutes to ride through.”

  “Let us get back,” gasped Porthos. “I’m having the devil’s own time trying to breathe.”

  “Good idea, I was just about to start back when you came.” Taking a deep breath Clive plunged into the entrance to the cavern, the others followed.

  Knowing what to expect the three men were able to find their way into the “other” tunnel, and soon they were with Athos and Aramis on the bank of the stream, although still within the cavern. Ahead of them, framed by the entrance to the cave they looked out upon a beautiful green landscape.

 
“France at last,” sighed Porthos. Athos motioned him to silence, and pointed to a clump of brush about fifty yards past the entrance to the cave.

  “It’s an ambush,” he whispered; “and here we are unarmed.”

  “But what shall we do?” asked Porthos.

  “We could wait until dark and try to slip past them,” said d’Artagnan; “but if it is the cardinal that has sent them after us, we would never reach Paris.”

  “Perhaps Monsieur Clive has a suggestion,” said Athos.

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Clive. “But I should know what this is all about first.” The musketeers exchanged questioning glances, and then d’Artagnan spoke: “We found a man dying at the side of the road. He was an Englishman bearing a message from a party in England to the queen. The message consisted of a picture, a miniature of the English party, upon which was written a message which would have been very incriminating since we are at war with England. The man had been beaten and robbed of his precious portmanteau containing the picture. He described his assailant to us and then died.

  “We located the man at an inn at the next town. He was in the act of transferring the picture to an agent of the cardinal when we found him. Athos and Porthos sought a quarrel with the two men, which ended in a duel, and while this matter was being attended to, Aramis and I recovered the picture along with military plans and secrets that this fellow had intended turning over to the English.”

  D’Artagnan finished speaking, and the four musketeers looked at Clive.

  “It is obvious that we will have to return to my country to get weapons,” said Clive; “and I have a plan whereby we can drag motorcycles through these caverns—that will solve the problem of how to get to Paris.”

  “Bravo!” cried the musketeers. “How long will it take to carry out your plan?” asked d’Artagnan.

  “We should be back here with the equipment by tomorrow night,” Clive replied. “But we can’t waste any time.”

  * * * *

  On the journey back through the caverns Clive estimated the distance to be less than two hundred yards. He also discovered that it had taken them only thirty minutes to make the round trip, although it had seemed like days had elapsed in passing through the zone of blue light:

  They lost no time in getting back to the truck, and were soon speeding toward town. At first the musketeers showed signs of uneasiness which might have been construed as fear, had it been anyone else, at the “tremendous” speed of the tanker. Soon, however, they became accustomed to the speed, and became as enthusiastic as children over their first ride, even wanting Clive to race a car that had just passed the truck.

  Clive’s first stop upon reaching town was at the local clothing store.

  “Fix these fellows up with some Levis and shirts and things, George,” he said to the storekeeper. “I’ll be back in about an hour to pick them up. Incidentally, they don’t speak English.” He then called upon the sheriff who informed him that the four horses had gone to the ranch of Bill Price, the breeder of fancy horses, who had asked the sheriff to try to find the owners as he would like to acquire the beautiful animals. Clive couldn’t have asked for better luck, and he soon had closed a deal with the rancher who paid him enough for the horses and their furnishings to completely equip the expedition. The musketeers reluctantly parted with the noble beasts, realizing, however, that it would be impossible to take the horses with them.

  The five motorcycles had to be ordered from Las Vegas—to be delivered in the morning—and in the meantime many other preparations had to be made. Clive then purchased five rifles and an equal number of .38 revolvers, and all the ammunition in town that could be used in these firearms. He also purchased a large quantity of hemp rope. His next call was upon the tinsmith, where he had a tin box made in which to pack the firearms, ammunition, and clothing, as well as the picture and priceless documents that d’Artagnan was carrying. Finally he had a sledge built upon which a motorcycle could be firmly mounted.

  As a gesture to his own vanity Clive got out the dress saber that had been presented to him as Cadet Colonel of the R.O.T.C. in college, and had the edge honed to razor sharpness. He felt that this weapon might stand him in good stead, since he had been captain of the varsity fencing team in his undergraduate days.

  That evening Clive spent several hours in explaining the principle of the operation of the motorcycles and firearms to the musketeers, so that when the motorcycles arrived next morning they required very little coaching.

  The last thing Clive did was pack the tin box. In it he placed the firearms and ammunition, as well as their swords, the French clothes of the musketeers, his own R.O.T.C. uniform, a few medical instruments and a first aid kit, a few cans of food, and finally the picture and documents. He then soldered the lid down so that the box was perfectly waterproof, and loaded it upon a truck he had hired for the occasion, along with the sledge, rope, and a number of five-gallon cans of gasoline. They were now ready to start.

  They found it a fairly simple matter to drive the motorcycles up the stream bed, and the driver of the truck was able to bring the load within a half mile of the waterfall by driving through the water. Here they unloaded the truck, and sent it back to town. They found that they could fasten the sledge behind two of the motorcycles and drag it to the box canyon, together with the cans of gasoline. The tin box was dragged by a third motorcycle while the fourth and fifth brought the large coils of rope.

  When they had their equipment all assembled at the waterfall, Clive melted some paraffin that he had brought with him, and applied a generous coat to all parts of the motors that might be injured by water. While he was doing this, Athos, Porthos and Aramis took the end of one of the ropes and started through the cavern. D’Artagnan “fed” the rope out to them as they proceeded, and watched for prearranged jerk signals. He soon received the signal that indicated the others had reached the other end, and he fastened the rope to the sledge at this point. Clive and d’Artagnan then securely clamped one of the motorcycles to the sledge, and fastened another rope to the other end of the sledge. D’Artagnan gave the rope a jerk and in a movement the sledge began moving toward the falls. The two men accompanied this first load as far as the entrance to the cavern, in order to get it started right, and then returned to wait for the signal to pull the empty sledge back.

  By late afternoon they had transferred all of the equipment to the French end of the cavern. Clive took a farewell look at the twentieth century landscape, and followed d’Artagnan into the cavern, headed for seventeenth century adventures even wilder than he could imagine.

  “Are your friends still out there?” Clive asked, as once again the five men were reunited on the banks of the stream within the cavern.

  “Yes, they are still there,” said Athos, “but they are showing signs of restlessness—they don’t make much pretense of hiding themselves, and they have openly changed guard three times today.”

  “If it is a fight they are looking for they won’t have to wait much longer,” muttered d’Artagnan.

  “Fight you say? Mordieu, I’d fight an army now to get back to the inn for a bite to eat,” said Porthos.

  “Fortunately,” said Clive; “you won’t have to fight an army for something to eat, as I brought a few cans along that we can open.” He opened the large tin box, and withdrew the canned food, as well as the clothing he had packed in the box. They were soon dressed, and Clive demonstrated the marvel of the twentieth century, the can-opener, to the wondering musketeers.

  “You must truly have some wondrous plants in your country, to grow this kind of fruit,” remarked Porthos as he picked up a can of beans that Clive had just opened. “That’s odd,” he remarked after tasting the contents; “They taste just like beans after you get that hard shell opened. Say—that shell is metal.” This last remark was prompted by a closer scrutiny of the can. The others burst into
a roar of laughter that echoed through the cavern like a peal of thunder.

  The sound of their own laughter reminded the musketeers of their indiscretion, and they immediately turned toward the cavern entrance, to see whether the guards outside had heard them.

  “I don’t see what you were laughing at,” said Porthos; “and like as not the cardinal’s guards heard you, because they seem to be preparing to attack us.”

  “There must be thirty of them out there,” said Aramis.

  “A mere handful,” replied d’Artagnan.

  “Protect yourselves, Messieurs, they appear to be preparing to fire blindly into the cavern with their muskets, and as you know, fate is a more deadly marksman than the cardinal’s guards,” Athos warned.

  As he finished these words a volley of musket shots staccatoed outside, and Clive heard the whine of musket balls uncomfortably near. He quickly distributed the arms that he had brought in the tin box, while the others occupied themselves drying up the excess moisture on the motorcycles.

  The guards outside moved up ten paces and fired another volley with their muskets.

  “It is du Bois that is leading them,” muttered Aramis, a suggestion of contempt in his voice; “I would know his swaggering form even if he wore a mask, instead of hiding behind his high collar.” Clive could not see that this man swaggered any more than any one of his four companions, and he smiled inwardly.