Edgar Burroughs: Escape on Venus

We had been running without colors, as we really didn’t know what we were and couldn’t have decided until we had been able to see the colors of any potential enemy, when we would immediately have run up his colors on the flagstaff that rises above the pilot’s seat.

Positive that these were Pangan herders, and not wishing to get into a fight with them or anyone else, I now ran up the Pangan ensign.

A man stood up behind the breastwork then and shouted, “Who are you?”

“Friends,” I replied. “Come over. I want to talk to you.”

“Anyone can run up a Pangan ensign,” he replied. “What are your names?”

“You don’t know us,” I replied, “but we are friends of the yorkokor Banat, whom we have just left at Hor.”

“He was captured by the Hangors,” replied the man.

“I know it,” I said, “and so were we. We just escaped with Banat yesterday.”

The herder walked toward us then, but he kept his rifle ready. He was a nice-looking young fellow, with a fine face and a splendid physique. As he approached I opened the door and dropped to the ground. He stopped when he saw me, immediately suspicious.

“You’re no Pangan,” he said.

“I didn’t say that I was, but I fought with the Pangan fleet when it went to fight Hangor; and I was captured when the fleet was routed.”

“Are you sure that the yorkokor Banat is safe in Hor?” he demanded.

“We let him out last night near the gates,” I said; “and if Hor is not in the hands of the Falsans, he is safe. It was because of the fear that it might be that we did not go any closer to the city.”

“Then he is safe,” said the young fellow, “for the Falsans were defeated and sent home on foot.”

“We knew that,” I replied, “but things turn about so suddenly here in this country that we didn’t know but what they had returned and conquered Hor. You knew Banat?” I asked.

“I am his son, and this is his herd. I am in charge of it.”

Duare and Ero Shan had come out and joined us by this time and the young fellow looked them over curiously. “May I ask,” he said, “what you are doing up in these mountains?”

“Our country lies beyond them,” I explained, “and we are trying to find a pass to the other side.”

He shook his head. “There is none, and if there were, the Cloud People would get you before you could get through.”

“Your father told me that Pangan herders had sometimes seen a low place in the range when the clouds rose.”

“Yes,” he said. “That is about ten miles down the valley; but if I were you, I’d turn back. If you are friends of my father, you can go and live in Hor, but if you keep on you will surely die. No man has ever crossed this range.”

“We are going to try it, nevertheless,” I told him; “but if we find we can’t make it, we’ll come back to Hor.”

“Then if you live I will see you there,” he said, “for you will never get through this range. I have been in it a little way in several places, and I can tell you that the cliffs and gorges are simply terrific.”

His men had followed him out and they were standing around listening to our conversation. Finally one of the older men spoke up. “I was up in that canyon ten miles from here about five years ago when the clouds rose higher than I have ever seen them. I could see sky beyond the low peaks. The canyon branches after you have gone into it about a mile and if there is any way to cross the range there, it would be up the righthand fork. That’s the one I’d take if I were going to try it.”

“Well, thanks for the information,” I said; “and now we must be on our way. Tell your father that we got this far at least.”

“How are you fixed for meat?”

“We haven’t any,” I replied.

He turned to one of his men. “Go and get a quarter of that zaldar we butchered yesterday,” he said; “and you go with him,” he said to another, “and help him with it, and bring along a bundle of smoked meat, too.”

I was certainly grateful for these additional provisions. I had no Pangan money to pay for them with, but I offered him some of our ammunition. He refused, saying that we might need it; and after the meat was brought we bade them goodby and started in search of the canyon that might lead us to Korva, or to death.

We found the mouth of a large canyon exactly where they had told us we would, and after going up it about a mile we came to the fork and took the one that led to the right. It was getting late and the clouds were pretty low above us now, so we decided to stop for the night. We were all armed now with rifles and pistols, but we were mighty careful to keep a sharp lookout as we descended from the 975 to gather wood for a fire to cook our zaldar steaks.

We finally had a good fire going and were broiling the steaks when we heard savage roars coming toward us from up the canyon. We were immediately on the alert, standing with our rifles ready, for I recognized the roars as those of the tharban, a lion-like Amtorian carnivore. But it wasn’t any tharban that came in sight first, but the strangest looking figure that I have ever seen—a human being entirely encased in furs, with only holes for its eyes and for breathing purposes.

“One of the Cloud People,” said Duare.

“And he is about to be not even that,” said Ero Shan.

When the Cloud Man saw us he hesitated, but then a terrific roar of the tharban sent him on again.

“Get the tharban,” I said, and raised my rifle. Ero Shan and I fired simultaneously and the great cat leaped high into the air with a piercing shriek and then Duare put another stream of r-rays into it as it hit the ground, but I think it was already dead. By that time the Cloud Man was right in front of us, and he stood looking at us, still hesitating.

“You had a close call,” I said. “I am glad that we were here to kill the tharban.”

He still stood looking at us in silence for a moment, and then he said, “Aren’t you going to kill me?”

“Of course not,” I said; “why should we?”

“All the plains people try to kill us,” he replied.

“Well, we won’t kill you,” I assured him; “and you are free to go whenever you wish to.”

“What are you doing up in these mountains?” he asked. “These belong to the Cloud People.”

“Our country is on the other side of these mountains,” I told him. “We were trying to find the way through.”

Again he was silent; this time for a full minute. It is strange to stand looking at a man all muffled up like that and not to have any inkling of what is passing in his mind because his eyes and his face are hidden from you.

“My name is Mor,” he said presently. “You have saved my life and for that I will guide you through the Mountains of the Clouds. You cannot go through by night, but in the morning I will come for you;” and without another word he turned and walked away.

“We must have left the jinx behind,” said Duare.

“I think I buried him under the fertilizer back there in Hangor,” I said. “This is certainly a lucky break if it is true, but it is almost too good to be true.”

We ate our steaks and some dried fruit and vegetables which Duare had boiled in water for us, and then we went into the 975, locked the door, and threw ourselves down to sleep, utterly exhausted.

When morning came we were up early and while we were eating our breakfast we saw fully a hundred fur-clad Cloud Men coming down the canyon toward us. They stopped about a hundred yards from the 975 and one of them advanced.

“I am Mor,” he said; “do not be afraid. We have come to take you through the Mountains of the Clouds.”

“Those are about the pleasantest words I have heard for a long time,” said Duare, in an aside to me.