A large anthology of sci.., p.279
A Large Anthology of Science Fiction, page 279
The crater looked as though it had been made by a meteorite—but who ever saw a square meteorite? And then it opened . . .
JIM WINTER rode easily in the saddle. He was lanky and the realization of his own height may have caused him to hunch down, shoulders bent forwards, arms hanging limply at his sides. On the trail behind him, he could see June Freemont, slim, at home on the back of her white mare, her long dark hair floating back in the moonlight. As he looked back, she flashed him a smile, “Grand night, isn’t it, Jim?”
He nodded.
“What’s Bob think about it?”
Bob Talmud, fifteen, freckled, called from his position well to the rear, “Uncle Jim, how much farther?”
“Perhaps half mile,” he said. “IPs beyond that last ridge.”
He pointed ahead where the trail climbed abruptly and was lost in the distance. They rode on and the night was silent save for the clop-clop of the horses’ hooves against the graveled trail. The ridge seemed to grow larger and the moon rose behind it. The sky was very dark, with a Wyoming moon bright against the darkness. The horses slowed their pace and halted at the top of the ridge. They seemed ill at ease.
The air was filled with a pungent, burned odor. June rode up and halted at Winter’s side. Together they stared down into the huge, mysterious crater. The girl caught her breath sharply.
“Jim—I didn’t realize it would be as large as this.”
They waited for Bob to reach them. Then Winter swung down easily from the saddle.
“I don’t think anyone realizes,” he admitted. “And there are a lot more things I’d like to know about it.”
The crater was about a mile across, a huge, cup-like depression in the earth. Below, the moon outlined huge boulders and smooth, soft surfaces. Every inch of ground below the rim was dead black in color.
The Mysterious Crater, newspapers had called it for the past week since Winter first discovered the place.
June dismounted and came to Winter’s side.
“What caused it? That is, what’s your guess?”
Winter shook his head. He was sure of one thing. Greater minds than his had been unable to fathom the cause.
“You know as much as I do,” he admitted. “The papers say nothing but a huge falling body could have made that hole. I guided one group of scientists up here yesterday. They haven’t had time to come to any definite conclusion.
They took measurements and went away shaking their heads. So far, they’re stumped.”
She waited, and he went on.
“I’ve a hunch that this can’t be explained by purely scientific study. That’s why I suggested we come up tonight, before too many people have covered the ground.”
He turned to Bob Talmud.
“Well, boy, if we are to be the first explorers, we’d better get started. Are the ropes ready?”
Talmud grinned.
“Sure are,” he said.
June Freemont’s hand was on Winter’s arm. He turned, and was startled by the fear and uncertainty he found in her eyes.
“Jim—are you sure this is all right? That there is no danger?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Winter insisted. “I’m puzzled, that’s all. If a meteor hit here, why wasn’t the vibration of the area felt and recorded? Why didn’t science have a record on their machines of the exact moment the crater was formed?”
She waited.
“It seems to me,” he said finally, “that the disturbance may have come from below, and not from above. That’s what I want to find out. There may be a vent or shaft somewhere down near the bottom.”
“But there’s no trace of an opening from here.”
“I know,” he admitted. “That’s why I promised Bob that we’d have a look before the world snatches our private exploration away from us. After all, this is my ranch. We are entitled to a little fun.”
June stiffened suddenly, becoming frightened and not knowing why. She was determined that they take her with them.
“And you expect me to wait here at the rim, content to watch you two go down to—well—down there without knowing what you’ll find?”
His eyes twinkled.
“Without you at the top, we might not get out again,” he said. “A rope and someone to handle it is mighty important.”
June smiled uncertainly.
“Jim Winter,” she said, “you have a way of making me do exactly as you wish.”
For a moment his eyes searched hers, and his gloved hand brushed her arm. Then Bob was bringing a length of heavy rope and shouting excitedly.
“All set, Uncle Jim? Let’s lower away.”
Winter stepped away from the girl.
“Okay,” he said with enthusiasm. “It’s up to you, June. I’m cinching the rope to Corny’s saddle. We’ll slide down to that slope fifteen feet under the rim. When we give the signal, ride Corny away from the rim, slowly. That’ll be our elevator, coming up.”
He was already busy, cinching the end of the rope to the saddle horn on the horse. Corny whinnied a little and tried to sidestep. Then he stood very still as Winter made the knot fast.
WINTER himself went down first, hand over hand with the rope curled about his knees. He hit the dust below the rim, struggled to keep a foothold and a cloud of black cinders rose about him. Choking, he waited until the dust settled, then jerked lightly on the rope.
“Okay, Bob,” he shouted. “Come down.”
Unlike the air at the top of the rim, down here it was dead and hushed. His voice died against the walls. He felt something on the rope, then Bob came down and Winter grasped him around the waist and stood him on the ground.
The boy was gasping for breath.
Winter looked up. He could see June Freemont’s face peering over the edge of the pit.
“Don’t go away,” he called, “we’ll need you in a little while.”
He started slipping, and sliding toward the bottom of the pit. The dust was worse near the bottom. It billowed up about them, hiding the sky. Winter wondered if they dared go all the way to the bottom. Bob was choking. When the descent seemed hopeless, the ashes cleared and the slope became hard, black rock. Two-thirds of the way to the bottom, the heat had been intense. It had baked everything a polished ebony, so hard that their boots failed to make an impression.
The sky was a round oval that seemed to end at the edge of the pit. The world was gone as completely as though this place was all that remained. A huge, perfectly square boulder stood in the direct center of the crater’s bottom.
It was about eight feet square, without a mar on the surface. It had not been visible from the top of the pit for it blended into the background.
“It couldn’t have fallen from above,” Winter said, “without burying itself, or breaking into a thousand pieces.”
Bob laughed.
“Darned if I know where else it could have come from,” he said. “It isn’t like any of the native rocks.”
Winter didn’t reply. He moved around it slowly, kicking at the solid foundation on which the square rock stood.
He had gone half way around when a loud “click” sounded behind him. Then sounds of a quick scuffle on the floor of the crater came from the far side of the rock. Winter started to run. Something swung out in his path and he hit it, hard, his face smashing into it. He went down. A startled cry came from where he had left Bob. That was all he knew.
He came to, staring up at a moon that was high over the crater. Where was Bob? Far away on the west rim, he knew that June was waiting. It must have been a full hour since he was knocked out. That much time would explain the change in the position of the moon.
He didn’t know what had struck him or why Bob Talmud had cried out. He was sure now, of one thing.
The pit had been made from underneath, and not by a falling object. The pit wasn’t a natural formation.
Someone, or something, had caused the large stone to “click” and swing around abruptly. It had been the sharp movement of the stone that knocked Winter down. Bob had cried out, and now he was gone. Gone below the stone, into a world that was so hot that it had burned a vast crater in the surface of the earth.
JIM WINTER had thought that June Freemont would understand—would know that he could do nothing about Bob. He had stood on the rim of the canyon, dirty and exhausted, trying to explain how useless it was to go back without proper equipment.
“But—you can’t just leave him down there, Jim; it isn’t human. Bob is your nephew; he depends on you. He’s been taken away by someone. We’ve got to try to help him.”
He shook his head.
“I fought with that stone,” he said quietly. “I tried to wrench it away with my bare hands. I tried—and I was helpless. I’ve got to have help—and explosives.”
She mounted slowly, without further conversation. She was riding down the trail before he had finished coiling the rope. He didn’t try to speak to her again. He understood how June felt.
It had been his suggestion that Bob come with them and that they explore the pit.
Inside Jim Winter a burning anger was slowly fanned white hot. He would come back and blast that stone out of the pit.
He was broken hearted over Bob’s disappearance, but he knew that no man could have anticipated what had happened there in the crater.
A DOZEN men were working about the stone. The midday heat was intense, sending heat waves racing across the dull, black surface. No breeze came down from above. It was the heat of the prairie intensified ten-fold. These men were friends of Jim Winter—friends of the boy Winter had raised from childhood. Men who were hard, and prepared for anything.
“I’m darned if this doesn’t sound like a dream,” Frank Briggs said stubbornly. “Packing dynamite around a rock that is supposed to lead to hell—or something just as bad.” Briggs was Winter’s neighbor. He owned fifteen thousand acres of range land, a bad temper, and a share in June Freemont’s affections.
Winter sat alone, worrying about Bob and wondering what the explosion would reveal. A full box of dynamite had been planted around the base. Now, because a stone could be jarred loose from the top, another box was placed above the stone and packed with soil to keep it from exploding without effect.
Sheriff Nate Beasely was here, and three of his men, all carrying shotguns. Winter’s own gun was loose in the holster. Sam Newall, skinny, squint-eyed in the sun, said:
“I guess we got enough powder around it. She ought to move ten feet.”
They moved away, up the sides of the crater. They flopped on their stomachs and hugged the ground, waiting. Newall lighted the fuses and started to run. He flopped beside Winter.
“Get your head down, Son,” he said. “There’s a lot of powder down there.” A dull, earth shaking “BOOM” came from below them. Dust flew into the air, hiding the sun. Winter stood up. He heard Newall cussing loudly. “Didn’t even jar the durn thing.”
The stone was there, as it had been before. Two boxes of dynamite hadn’t moved it.
THEY tried three times. June came in the afternoon and Briggs helped her into the pit. Sheriff Beasely was getting anxious to leave. He and Briggs were beginning to wonder just what had happened last night in the shadows of the crater.
“Look here, Jim,” Beasely said. “You sure that darned rock moved? You sure Bob didn’t wander away somewhere and get killed in a slide?”
Winter’s eyes narrowed.
“It moved,” he said.
Briggs stood at June’s side where she sat on a small boulder.
“Jim, you didn’t hide that boy and forget where to look for him, did you?” Briggs’ voice was accusing.
Winter turned slowly.
“If you’re looking for trouble, Frank,” he said slowly, “say so. No use beating around the bush.”
June stood up. Her eyes were hard and bright. Winter thought he saw tears in them. She stood in front of Briggs.
“There is enough trouble now,” she said. Her lips were white. “I know that Jim wouldn’t hurt Bob purposely. There—there may have been an accident.”
The sheriff was staring at Winter.
“What you got to say about it, Jim? We made sure that nothing would move that stone. You claim it moved easy last night, and swallowed Bob under it. You sure something else didn’t happen to Bob? You sure you ain’t holding something back to keep out of trouble?” Winter was standing alone now, his back to the stone.
“I think more of Bob Talmud than anyone else on earth,” he said. “I brought him down here last night on what I thought was a harmless bit of exploration. I don’t expect you to believe what happened. But I’m not giving up yet. The boy is under that rock and I’ll reach him or die trying.”
He stared straight at June. Her eyes wavered and she turned away.
Sam Newall picked up a box of fuses and dynamite caps.
“Guess you won’t need me any more,” he said. “That boulder ain’t gonna move again, not if I can’t blow it out.” Behind Winter, a clear “click” sounded beneath the stone. He stepped away from it quickly, his gun springing into his hand. He heard Sheriff Beasely swear, and saw from the corner of his eye that Briggs had whipped around, a dozen feet up the trail, his big six-gun in his hand. Briggs’ other hand was on June’s arm.
The rock started to move.
THERE was no doubt of it. The black stone was rolling slowly away from its position, and as it moved, smoke started to streak up against its sides. The men behind him were alert, guns ready. Their eyes were wide with fright. No one doubted now that Jim Winter had told the truth.
Before Winter could fire at anything, a roaring flame shot from under the rock. It passed them in a wide, flaming band and swept toward Briggs and June. It was like a flame from a powerful torch, sweeping forward, falling over June Freemont’s unprotected form.
As Winter’s gun boomed, he knew that there was something, someone in that fire. Men with bright, flaming flesh. A black robe—or perhaps it was billowing dark smoke, fell over June, and as the flames touched Briggs, Winter heard his gun go off twice in quick succession, and a scream came from Briggs’ blistered lips.
The fire retreated swiftly, sucked under the stone.
Winter stood there, gun held limply in his hand. The other men didn’t move. The stone was closed once more, the fire crypt sealed.
But they were not watching the rock.
Up the trail, lying on its face, was the charred corpse of Frank Briggs. His gun was lying beside him, his body burned beyond recognition.
June was gone. She had gone beneath the stone, enveloped in the black cloud of smoke, sucked away by the roaring inferno of flame.
Florence Briggs said:
“Jim Winter, you’re not kidding me a bit. My brother Frank was a stinker. He tried to steal June from you and he’s tried for the past twenty years to pull every dirty trick on you that he could.”
Winter stood near the stone fireplace in the big front room of the Briggs’ ranch. He wasn’t smiling, but the fiery-tempered little red head, Florence Briggs, brought a twinkle into his eyes. The twinkle vanished as he remembered what had happened in the pit.
“You didn’t ask me to come here to talk about Frank,” he said. “Sid Waldo said you wanted to see me about something important.”
FLORENCE sat down on a log bench near the fireplace. She crossed her legs.
“Maybe I’m a darned fool,” she said. “Maybe thinking as much of you as I do, I’d ought to let June go hang and go after you myself. You know I’ve loved you since I was a kid.”
She wasn’t smiling. Her dark blue eyes were troubled.
“But I can’t do it,” she went on. “June is one swell gal, and I think I can help you save her, if she can be saved.”
Winter nodded.
“Go on,” he said.
“You go on,” she urged. “First I’ve got to know what you think of all this. What’s happening below that rock?”
Winter shrugged.
“If I knew,” he admitted, “I might know how to fight back. Someone or something dragged Bobby under it before I could save him. I didn’t see anything but flame when the attack was made on June. Yet, Frank was burned on the spot while June was dragged away in that flame.”
Florence shuddered.
“It—it must have been pretty awful.”
“It was,” Winter said, “I realized we couldn’t do anything about it at the time. I’ve been doing research work on the under earth activity of this region for years.”
Florence nodded.
“I know,” she said. “I remember how you used to be more interested in books than necking.”
Winter’s face reddened slightly.
“The heat of the underworld seems to come closest to the surface of the earth here in Wyoming. I’ve made charts showing all known geysers, hot springs and hidden streams. According to the study that has been made, there was never a trace of under-surface heat on the site of the present crater.”
He paused, staring at her intently.
“Call me crazy, Florence,” he said, “but I think that crater was formed by artificial force, a force controlled by creatures dwelling beneath the crust of the earth.”
To his amazement the girl’s expression never changed.
“I had that figured out last night,” she said. “That’s why I know I’m the only one that can help you enter the cavity under that rock.”
He waited patiently for her to continue.
“In the first place, these fire-creatures, if that’s what they are, stole Bobby. Why didn’t they take you also?”
“I wondered about that,” he said. “Perhaps I was just lucky.”
She shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Once perhaps, but what happened the second time? Frank was killed because he had to be dead for them to reach June. No one else was attacked. They choose women and children but they aren’t interested in men.”
Winter left the fireplace and started to pace up and down the room. She watched him, wondering.
“Look here,” he said suddenly. “If you’re trying to say that being a woman, you also would be taken, forget it. I won’t have . . .”
“You don’t have a thing to say about it,” she interrupted. “Troops have been here from Camp Northern. They failed to blast that rock with high explosives. A number of people don’t even believe your story. The Sheriff is going crazy trying to convince the public that the story he tells is true. But no one can move that rock.
