The Lost World MEGAPACK®. Lin Carter

alcohol and more complicated reagents.

      “Now I’ll get somewhere,” the biologist asserted, rubbing his hands together. “Pierre wasn’t able to pack more than a few pounds of equipment here to me from the small town of Good Hope, northwest of here. I’ll have the answer soon.”

      “Answer to what?” ventured Crane, nettled at the man’s secretiveness.

      Dr. Damon’s gray eyes veiled themselves.

      “How long will it take you to repair your ship?” he countered in a tone that meant, “How soon will you get out of my way?”

      “I don’t know, probably a week or two,” Crane lied.

      Brief examination had shown him that the ship could leave now. The motor was intact, also the fuel tanks. The left wing was rather badly ripped, and the undercarriage out of line, but with most of its former load gone, the plane would take off easily in the same cleared stretch they had miraculously landed in.

      * * * *

      The plane was ready to go, but Crane wasn’t. Not till he was sure Jondra Damon was in no danger.

      He couldn’t leave a girl—any girl, of course—in the midst of unknown risks.

      “You have a radio in the plane?” Dr. Damon said. “If you contact your airport, to tell them of the delay, I’ll trust you not to reveal this valley’s exact location. Name your price and you’ll go back with my bank draft—”

      “No sale,” Crane snapped, angered at the cheap approach. He turned on his heel, aware that the scientist was staring after him with narrowed eyes.

      He trudged to the plane, following the trail now marked with stones, winding through trees that he could feel with his hands in passing, but whose bulks were as transparent as air.

      The wonder of it was somewhat subdued this second day. His thoughts revolved more around the undertow of human cross-currents gradually shaping themselves.

      He passed Pierre on the trail, lugging a box on his broad shoulders. Reaching the plane, Crane stepped into the cabin. Harlan was there, and he turned with a startled air.

      “The doctor’s supplies are all in the fuselage compartment, not here,” Crane said coldly.

      Harlan’s shrug was studied.

      “I suppose now I’m some sort of spy?” he retorted sarcastically. He stepped out to hoist a box to his shoulders, leaving.

      Crane glanced around the ship. What had Harlan been doing? Then he saw…

      When he left a minute later with the last box, his eyes were hard. He strode rapidly. He set the box down inside the doorway of the cave, and straightened with grim accusation on his face.

      “Who smashed the plane’s radio?” he demanded, eying them one after another. His glance came back to Harlan. “You were there last, Harlan.”

      “You’d have heard it if I did it,” Harlan returned easily. “I was just ahead of you—don’t you remember?” His eyes flicked to Pierre significantly.

      Pierre’s beady eyes met Crane’s, then shifted.

      “Pierre wouldn’t do it,” Dr. Damon declared quickly. “I know him too well.”

      Crane ground his teeth.

      “Someone did it! It was done between the time I talked to you last, and went to the plane.” He smiled grimly. “If Harlan and Pierre are eliminated, that leaves—”

      “How dare you!” Jondra Damon blazed, stepping before him. “Neither Dad nor I would do such a thing. You could have done it yourself, since accusations are in order!”

      Crane threw up his hands.

      “I’m getting tired of all this!” he exploded. “That radio was our only emergency contact with the outside world, since the plane is damaged. Someone in this group smashed it, for reasons of his own. What’s more—” He stopped suddenly and ripped free a lath of the crate he had last brought. Reaching within excelsior packing, he drew out something by a handle and held it up.

      “Grenades!” he hissed. “Potato-masher type. You say there is no danger here, Dr. Damon, yet you had your daughter bring rifles and hand grenades. Are the mosquitoes that big here?”

      Jondra had shuddered at sight of the grenades She clutched her father’s arm.

      “Why did you have me bring them? You must tell me!”

      A swift, disturbed look came over the scientist’s face. Then he drew a smile over his features.

      “You’re both being foolish,” he laughed. “The grenades are handy for any number of things, like blasting down trees.”

      He turned away, in dismissal of the subject.

      “All right,” Crane said calmly. “I’m going to repair the radio if I can. Then I’m going to signal the authorities and ask for an investigation. Something isn’t right here!”

      He stamped back to the ship. In the cabin he sat down and waited, without touching the radio. The set was beyond repair. He knew that from the start. His threat, he hoped, would smoke out something. Far worse than groping through an invisible forest was this groping through undefined human purposes.

      Who would come sneaking around now, to see if he was repairing the radio? Who was it that wished them isolated from the outside world—and why?

      He tensed at a sound—the soft pad of feet under the wing outside. He slowly inched up till his eyes peered over the windshield ledge. Not a soul was there! Puzzled, Crane sank back.

      The sound repeated itself & while later, just outside the cabin door. Crane crouched, waiting. When the sound was near, he rushed out, arms extended, ready to knock away a gun if the intruder carried that.

      He gasped in chorus with a startled shriek. Jondra Damon was tight in his closing arms. Releasing her, he stepped back.

      “You, Miss Damon? But—” Crane was more confused than at any time before.

      Color flushed into the girl’s paled cheeks. And then suspicion leaped into her eyes. Crane was almost grimly amused. He realized his actions must be as queer in her eyes, as hers in his.

      “Sorry,” he murmured. “Let’s call it quits between us. Frankly, I thought the one who had smashed the radio would show up, not you.”

      “Thanks for the implication.” She answered his grin with a smile. “I came to ask you something—”

      “Yes?”

      Her hand touched his arm, before she went on.

      “I trust you, somehow. I want you to guard my father, every minute of the day!” The words came in a rush now. “I feel his life is in danger. I feel there’s something in this valley—something horrible—that threatens him. Maybe all of us! Will you guard him for me, Mr. Crane?”

      Suddenly she was in his arms again, but not by accident. He crushed her to him.

      “Yes,” he whispered fiercely. “And I’ll guard you too—Jondra!”

      She struggled free, her eyes wide, startled. She turned.

      “Let’s go back to camp,” she said quietly.

      CHAPTER IV

      Ally Unseen

      Jondra Damon hurried down the trail, Crane following. The redolence of pine forest was around them, and the rustle of branches in the wind. Almost, Crane could vision the trees themselves, and the girl tripping lithely through them. She glanced around once or twice, her hazel eyes glad to have him as an avowed friend in this queer adventure.

      A hundred yards from the plane he caught her hand, striding beside her despite the danger of colliding with a lurking shadow-tree. He wanted to say something.

      “Jondra—”