I had Crest, and we had learned each other’s ways through a long year’s journeying.
I caught Julius’s eye.
“Sir, if I might suggest . . .”
• • •
We used a green dye on Crest, which would wash off afterward. He took the indignity well, with no more than a snort of disgust. The color was bright emerald, the effect startling. I wore a jacket and trousers of the same eye-wrenching hue. I objected when Beanpole approached my face with a rag dipped in the dye but, on Julius’s confirmation, submitted. Fritz burst into laughter. He was not given to expressing mirth, so I must have been a truly comic sight.
During the previous nine days I had many times rehearsed my part in this morning’s events. I was to pick up the Tripod as it came around the hill and, as soon as it made a move in my direction, gallop at full speed for the pitfall. We had built a narrow causeway across the top, which we hoped would take Crest’s weight and mine, and marked it with signs meant to be conspicuous enough for me to pick out but unlikely to make the occupants of the Tripod suspicious. It was a narrow and ill-defined path we had to follow, and more than once I had found myself off course and only been saved by a last-minute swerve from plunging into the pit.
Now, at last, all was ready. I checked Crest’s girths for the tenth time. The others shook hands with me, and withdrew. I was very lonely as I watched them go. Now there was the waiting again, familiar and yet different. This time things were more crucial, and this time I was alone.
I felt it first: the earth vibrating to the stamp of huge metal feet. Another, and another—a steady succession, eventually audible. I patted Crest’s head as I watched for the Tripod. It came at last: a monstrous leg broke the line of the hillside, followed by the hemisphere. I shivered, and felt Crest shiver too. I was on the alert for any deviation from the course the Tripod had followed on the last two occasions. If it did not move toward me, I must move toward it. I hoped I would not have to.
Suddenly one of the legs swung sharply around. It had spotted me, and was coming after me. I touched my heels to Crest’s sides. He shot off, and the chase was on.
I had an urge to look back, but dared not; every scrap of effort must go into the gallop. I could tell, though, by the shortening intervals between footfalls, that the Tripod was increasing speed. Familiar landmarks fell away on either side. Ahead there was the coast, the sea dark gray, capped with white by a freshening wind. I knew it was fast gaining on me. The wind blew in my face, and I resented it for slowing my flight even by a fraction of a second. I passed a thorn bush I knew, a rock shaped like a cottage loaf. Less than a quarter of a mile to go . . . And as I framed that thought, I heard the whistling of steel through the air, the sound of the tentacle swishing down.
I made a guess, and urged Crest to the right. I thought I had got away with it, then felt Crest shudder violently from the shock of being hit by the metal flail. It must have caught him on the hind quarters, just behind the saddle. He swayed and collapsed. I managed to get my feet out of the stirrups and went forward over his head as he fell. I hit the ground, rolling, scrambled to my feet, and ran.
At every instant I expected to be plucked into the air. But the Tripod was more immediately concerned with Crest. I glanced back and saw him lifted, jerking feebly, and brought close to the green ports at the bottom of the hemisphere. I ran on furiously. Only a couple of hundred yards . . . If the Tripod busied itself with Crest for even half a minute, I would be there.
I risked another look back in time to see my poor horse dropped, from a height of some sixty feet, to land in a broken heap on the ground; and to see the Tripod move in renewed pursuit. I could go no faster. The metal feet thudded behind, and the edge of the pitfall seemed to get no
I caught Julius’s eye.
“Sir, if I might suggest . . .”
• • •
We used a green dye on Crest, which would wash off afterward. He took the indignity well, with no more than a snort of disgust. The color was bright emerald, the effect startling. I wore a jacket and trousers of the same eye-wrenching hue. I objected when Beanpole approached my face with a rag dipped in the dye but, on Julius’s confirmation, submitted. Fritz burst into laughter. He was not given to expressing mirth, so I must have been a truly comic sight.
During the previous nine days I had many times rehearsed my part in this morning’s events. I was to pick up the Tripod as it came around the hill and, as soon as it made a move in my direction, gallop at full speed for the pitfall. We had built a narrow causeway across the top, which we hoped would take Crest’s weight and mine, and marked it with signs meant to be conspicuous enough for me to pick out but unlikely to make the occupants of the Tripod suspicious. It was a narrow and ill-defined path we had to follow, and more than once I had found myself off course and only been saved by a last-minute swerve from plunging into the pit.
Now, at last, all was ready. I checked Crest’s girths for the tenth time. The others shook hands with me, and withdrew. I was very lonely as I watched them go. Now there was the waiting again, familiar and yet different. This time things were more crucial, and this time I was alone.
I felt it first: the earth vibrating to the stamp of huge metal feet. Another, and another—a steady succession, eventually audible. I patted Crest’s head as I watched for the Tripod. It came at last: a monstrous leg broke the line of the hillside, followed by the hemisphere. I shivered, and felt Crest shiver too. I was on the alert for any deviation from the course the Tripod had followed on the last two occasions. If it did not move toward me, I must move toward it. I hoped I would not have to.
Suddenly one of the legs swung sharply around. It had spotted me, and was coming after me. I touched my heels to Crest’s sides. He shot off, and the chase was on.
I had an urge to look back, but dared not; every scrap of effort must go into the gallop. I could tell, though, by the shortening intervals between footfalls, that the Tripod was increasing speed. Familiar landmarks fell away on either side. Ahead there was the coast, the sea dark gray, capped with white by a freshening wind. I knew it was fast gaining on me. The wind blew in my face, and I resented it for slowing my flight even by a fraction of a second. I passed a thorn bush I knew, a rock shaped like a cottage loaf. Less than a quarter of a mile to go . . . And as I framed that thought, I heard the whistling of steel through the air, the sound of the tentacle swishing down.
I made a guess, and urged Crest to the right. I thought I had got away with it, then felt Crest shudder violently from the shock of being hit by the metal flail. It must have caught him on the hind quarters, just behind the saddle. He swayed and collapsed. I managed to get my feet out of the stirrups and went forward over his head as he fell. I hit the ground, rolling, scrambled to my feet, and ran.
At every instant I expected to be plucked into the air. But the Tripod was more immediately concerned with Crest. I glanced back and saw him lifted, jerking feebly, and brought close to the green ports at the bottom of the hemisphere. I ran on furiously. Only a couple of hundred yards . . . If the Tripod busied itself with Crest for even half a minute, I would be there.
I risked another look back in time to see my poor horse dropped, from a height of some sixty feet, to land in a broken heap on the ground; and to see the Tripod move in renewed pursuit. I could go no faster. The metal feet thudded behind, and the edge of the pitfall seemed to get no
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