The Lost World MEGAPACK®. Lin Carter

doing he loosened a great boulder of rock, which fell upon George Curtis’s right leg, crushing it frightfully. From that day he had been so lame that he found it impossible to go either forward or back, and had preferred to take the chances of dying in the oasis to the certainty of perishing in the desert.

      As for food, however, they got on pretty well, for they had a good supply of ammunition, and the oasis was frequented, especially at night, by large quantities of game, which came thither for water. These they shot, or trapped in pitfalls, using the flesh for food, and, after their clothes wore out, the hides for clothing.

      “And so,” George Curtis ended, “we have lived for nearly two years, like a second Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, hoping against hope that some natives might come here to help us away, but none have come. Only last night we settled that Jim should leave me, and try to reach Sitanda’s Kraal to get assistance. He was to go tomorrow, but I had little hope of ever seeing him back again. And now you, of all people in the world, you, who, as I fancied, had long ago forgotten all about me, and were living comfortably in old England, turn up in a promiscuous way and find me where you least expected. It is the most wonderful thing that I have ever heard of, and the most merciful too.”

      Then Sir Henry set to work, and told him the main facts of our adventures, sitting till late into the night to do it.

      “By Jove!” said George Curtis, when I showed him some of the diamonds: “well, at least you have got something for your pains, besides my worthless self.”

      Sir Henry laughed. “They belong to Quatermain and Good. It was a part of the bargain that they should divide any spoils there might be.”

      This remark set me thinking, and having spoken to Good, I told Sir Henry that it was our joint wish that he should take a third portion of the diamonds, or, if he would not, that his share should be handed to his brother, who had suffered even more than ourselves on the chance of getting them. Finally, we prevailed upon him to consent to this arrangement, but George Curtis did not know of it until some time afterwards.

      * * * *

      Here, at this point, I think that I shall end my history. Our journey across the desert back to Sitanda’s Kraal was most arduous, especially as we had to support George Curtis, whose right leg was very weak indeed, and continually threw out splinters of bone. But we did accomplish it somehow, and to give its details would only be to reproduce much of what happened to us on the former occasion.

      Six months from the date of our re-arrival at Sitanda’s, where we found our guns and other goods quite safe, though the old rascal in charge was much disgusted at our surviving to claim them, saw us all once more safe and sound at my little place on the Berea, near Durban, where I am now writing. Thence I bid farewell to all who have accompanied me through the strangest trip I ever made in the course of a long and varied experience.

      P.S.—Just as I had written the last word, a Kafir came up my avenue of orange trees, carrying a letter in a cleft stick, which he had brought from the post. It turned out to be from Sir Henry, and as it speaks for itself I give it in full.

      October 1, 1884.

      Brayley Hall, Yorkshire.

      My Dear Quatermain,

      I send you a line a few mails back to say that the three of us, George, Good, and myself, fetched up all right in England. We got off the boat at Southampton, and went up to town. You should have seen what a swell Good turned out the very next day, beautifully shaved, frock coat fitting like a glove, brand new eye-glass, etc., etc. I went and walked in the park with him, where I met some people I know, and at once told them the story of his “beautiful white legs.”

      He is furious, especially as some ill-natured person has printed it in a Society paper.

      To come to business, Good and I took the diamonds to Streeter’s to be valued, as we arranged, and really I am afraid to tell you what they put them at, it seems so enormous. They say that of course it is more or less guess-work, as such stones have never to their knowledge been put on the market in anything like such quantities. It appears that (with the exception of one or two of the largest) they are of the finest water, and equal in every way to the best Brazilian stones. I asked them if they would buy them, but they said that it was beyond their power to do so, and recommended us to sell by degrees, over a period of years indeed, for fear lest we should flood the market. They offer, however, a hundred and eighty thousand for a very small portion of them.

      You must come home, Quatermain, and see about these things, especially if you insist upon making the magnificent present of the third share, which does not belong to me, to my brother George. As for Good, he is no good. His time is too much occupied in shaving, and other matters connected with the vain adorning of the body. But I think he is still down on his luck about Foulata. He told me that since he had been home he hadn’t seen a woman to touch her, either as regards her figure or the sweetness of her expression.

      I want you to come home, my dear old comrade, and to buy a house near here. You have done your day’s work, and have lots of money now, and there is a place for sale quite close which would suit you admirably. Do come; the sooner the better; you can finish writing the story of our adventures on board ship. We have refused to tell the tale till it is written by you, for fear lest we shall not be believed. If you start on receipt of this you will reach here by Christmas, and I book you to stay with me for that. Good is coming, and George; and so, by the way, is your boy Harry (there’s a bribe for you). I have had him down for a week’s shooting, and like him. He is a cool young hand; he shot me in the leg, cut out the pellets, and then remarked upon the advantages of having a medical student with every shooting party!

      Good-bye, old boy; I can’t say any more, but I know that you will come, if it is only to oblige

      Your sincere friend,

      Henry Curtis.

      P.S.—The tusks of the great bull that killed poor Khiva have now been put up in the hall here, over the pair of buffalo horns you gave me, and look magnificent; and the axe with which I chopped off Twala’s head is fixed above my writing-table. I wish that we could have managed to bring away the coats of chain armour. Don’t lose poor Foulata’s basket in which you brought away the diamonds.

      —H.C.

      Today is Tuesday. There is a steamer going on Friday, and I really think that I must take Curtis at his word, and sail by her for England, if it is only to see you, Harry, my boy, and to look after the printing of this history, which is a task that I do not like to trust to anybody else.

      —ALLAN QUATERMAIN

14 Vulture.

LAND OF THE SHADOW DRAGONS, by Eando Binder

      Originally published in Fantastic Adventures, May 1941.

      The chartered plane’s motor roared as it left Chicago’s Municipal Airport. A low-winged cabin ship, it raised sluggishly, loaded almost to capacity with crated supplies.

      Pilot Hugh Crane tensed at the controls. The ship was acting almost as though it were overloaded! He gunned for altitude desperately. Far down the field were high-tension wires. Once a plane had blundered into them, ending up a broken, burning mass of junk.

      Why wasn’t the plane rising normally? The motor hummed smooth as silk and Crane had full control of ailerons. Yet the craft inched itself from the ground with agonizing reluctance.

      The suspense was over in seconds. The plane barely cleared the wires. The margin had been uncomfortably close. If the undercarriage had not been retractable, the ship would have crashed.

      Crane unclamped his lower lip from his teeth. In his years of piloting, he had never come that near to disaster. But now the plane slanted up into the safe aerial highways.

      He turned to his two passengers wondering if they had noticed.

      “Rather a poor take-off, wasn’t it?” Paul Harlan said sharply. “We were careful not to overload the ship, according to airport instructions