Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (8)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (8)

Безпощадна битка

Силите бяха неравни. Мартин се бореше отчаяно. Горивото му свършваше и той спусна амфибията към езерото.

Човекът хвърли поглед зад себе си: двете гигантски птици се бяха насочили към него. Въпреки необикновената скорост, с която летяха, те не можеха да стигнат „Летящата риба“. Мартин набираше преднина.

Той загаси мотора, забави ход и кацна на водната повърхност, след което се плъзна леко към входа на тунела.

Младият пилот си мислеше, че орлите няма да го преследват по вода, но уви! — те го нападнаха още по-ожесточено. Този път той зае по-добра отбранителна позиция, защото нямаше нужда да мисли за управлението на машината. Бързо извади пистолета си и стреля срещу едната птица. Куршумът я улучи точно в гърдите. Тя падна във водата и безпомощно започна да пляска с грамадните си криле.

Мартин се обърна към втория си нападател и изтръпна от ужас, защото пълнителят на пистолета му беше празен.

Вторият орел се спусна над него. Мартин легна по корем и бързо зареди пистолета си, опита се да стреля, но той засече.

Безпомощен, Мартин очакваше нападението.

Той ясно чуваше плясъка на криле по водната повърхност. Ужасна миризма стигна до него. Любопитството надви страха му. Той вдигна глава и погледна наоколо. Това, което видя, го смрази.

От дълбоките води на езерото се подаваше нещо, което той взе за огромна змия. Между водното чудовище и орела се водеше жестока борба.

Мартин гледаше смаяно двубоя. Той съвсем бе забравил за собствената си безопасност.

Едва сега разбра, че водното животно не е змия. В главата и шията то приличаше на костенурките, които живеят в тропическите води. Устата беше широка, челюстта грамадна, а ципестата кожа на шията висеше на меки гънки. Тялото на животното беше покрито със зеленикава черупка.

Това същество движеше бързо главата си на всички страни. Челюстите глухо изтракваха, а очите под изпъкналите рогообразни клепачи святкаха свирепо.

Мартин се възхищаваше на орела, който се спускаше върху този страшен неприятел, удряше го с грамадните си криле и го разкъсваше със стоманената си човка. Ударите бяха сполучливи, защото от главата на грамадната риба-гущер бликаше кръв.

От време на време гущерът излизаше целият над водата. Огромни вълни се плискаха в черупката на това чудовище. Дебелата опашка се вдигаше и биеше по водата. Мартин разбра, че животното може да потопи с един удар неговата амфибия.

Той скочи на крака и хвана лоста, който автоматично пускаше в ход машината. Чу се оглушителен шум и моторът отказа да запали.

Отчаян, той започна да търси причината за повредата, докато „Летящата риба“ се люлееше безпомощно над вълните. Всеки момент победителят в двубоя можеше да се насочи към него.

Около Мартин хвърчаха пера. Гущерът беше тежко ранен. Орелът беше леко засегнат и се биеше с още по-голяма стръв. Миризмата задавяше Мартин. Животното се завъртя и опашката му се удари в „Летящата риба“. Мартин видя как святкат малките зли очи и си помисли, че с него е свършено.

Неочаквано се разнесе силен гърмеж. Водното чудовище се олюля и запляска в почервенялата вода.

Орелът отлетя, изплашен от гърмежа, но в следващия миг отново се хвърли върху противника си, който бавно се надигаше във водата.

Дългата люспеста шия на животното се отпусна. Островърхите му челюсти захапаха крилото на орела. Чудовището и царствената птица изчезнаха в бездните на вулканичното езеро.

Развълнуван, Мартин се изправи на крака.

— Благодариш, Боже! Ти спасен, масса — разнесе се познатият глас на Сципион и моторната лодка се приближи.

Професорът седеше на руля, а Сципион, въоръжен с пушка, стоеше до него.

— Благодарение на теб, Сципион — отговори Мартин. — Ти дойде точно навреме. Какво беше това ужасно същество, професоре?

— Мисля, че е плезиозавър. Влечуго, което се смята за изчезнало, но както виждате, в този чуден земен кът се е запазило. Намерихте ли лемура?

— Да — каза Мартин. — Той е горе в планината. Орлите го нападнаха. След това се насочиха към мен и аз трябваше бързо да се върна в езерото.

— Ранен ли е?

— Да, доста сериозно.

Професорът се замисли.

— Трябва да му помогнем. Сципион ще хвърли това въже и ще влачим след себе си „Летящата риба“. После ще отидем в планината.

Тръгнаха към пещерата. Тримата мъже взеха провизии, въжета, пушките си, куп превързочни материали и се покатериха по скалистия склон на планината.

— Това е трудно за вас — каза Мартин, като забеляза, че професорът се задъхва и спира. — По-добре почакайте тук, а ние със Сципион ще продължим.

Професорът се съгласи. Сципион и Мартин се отдалечиха бързо. Половин час по-късно младият мъж се спря и показа с пръст скалната площадка над тях.

— Там го оставих — каза той на Сципион.

Изкачването беше трудно.

Мартин пръв стигна до скалната площадка и извика от учудване. Сципион, който го следваше, попита:

— Какво види, масса?

— Той е изчезнал!

— Ти дошъл на място на него, масса Мартин?

— Сигурен съм в това.

— Той бил на земя, той много ранен?

— Беше в безсъзнание. Виж, ето едно кърваво петно.

Сципион погледна. Наистина върху тъмния камък имаше червено петно. Той изръмжа:

— Аз мисли, че магьосници, масса.

— Глупости! — извика Мартин. — Сигурно не е стигнал много далеч. Не може да изчезне.

Едно малко камъче се търколи по склона и отскочи близо до тях. Те бързо погледнаха нагоре. Върху друга площадка, три метра над тях, стоеше лемурът и ги наблюдаваше. Небесносините му очи бяха вперени в двамата мъже.

Сципион пръв наруши мълчанието.

— Пусто да остане, масса! Ти не знае какво каже. Той съвсем не умрял!

VIII. Battle Royal

The odds were too great. In a flash Martin saw that his only chance of safety lay in flight. Pushing over the control he let the nose of the Bat dip sharply, and, at the same moment opened his throttle to the widest. Instantly he was swooping lakewards at terrific speed.

In an ordinary volplane, or dipping flight, the pilot shuts off his engine completely. Even then the pace is tremendous. Imagine, then, what happens when you are not only dropping, but driving at the same time with the whole of your engine power.

Never since he had first handled a plane had Martin traveled so fast. The air howled past him like a hurricane; beneath, the rugged mountainside shot away like a cinema film. The strain on the Bat’s planes was terrific. Martin knew well the heavy risk he was taking, yet, aware of the eagles’ powers of flight, he realized that this was his only chance to get away. He ventured to glance back, and there were the two giant birds hurtling in pursuit. But even their marvellous wing power did not equal those of the Bat. He was escaping rapidly.

But he was getting dangerously close to the surface of the lake. To hit it at anything like this speed meant certain destruction. He switched off his engine, flattened out, and alighted.

Once more switching on his engine, he started “taxying” across the lake towards the mouth of the Tunnel Cove.

He had had some sort of hope that, once he was on the water, the eagles would leave him. Nothing of the sort. Almost before he had started they came swooping down at him.

But now Martin was in a better position to deal with them. For the moment he could leave the plane to take care of itself. Snatching up his automatic, he opened fire upon the first of the great birds of prey, which was close upon him. One of the bullets struck it full in the breast, and down it came upon the water, thrashing the calm surface into foam with its wings.

An automatic is like a machine gun. It goes on firing as long as the finger is pressed on the trigger. As Martin swung round to fire at his second assailant the rapid explosions ceased, and he realized with a thrill of horror that the magazine was exhausted.

The second eagle—the female, and the larger of the two—seemed roused to fresh fury by the downfall of her mate, and came at Martin like a bolt shot from a catapult. He did the only thing possible—flung himself down at the bottom of the “nacelle,” or hull, of the flying boat, and lay flat, while he feverishly strove to thrust fresh cartridges into his pistol.

He felt the wind of the vast pinions as the bird swung just above him, heard a rending tear as her hooked talons ripped the canvas of the plane just overhead, and knew that her first swoop had missed.

Then came a fresh misfortune. In his hurry he jammed the pistol. A cartridge stuck half in and half out. The weapon was useless. It was hardly likely that the eagle would fail a second time.

Nothing happened, however—at least, nothing happened to Martin, yet he could still hear the beating of the great bird’s wings. He could also hear a splashing sound, and at the same time was conscious of a curious harsh, musky odor.

After a moment or two curiosity got the better of fright, and he ventured to raise his head and look round. The sight that met his eyes nearly paralyzed him.

Out of the deep water of the lake had risen something that looked like the head and neck of a great snake, and between this new horror and the eagle a battle royal was raging.

Petrified with amazement, Martin stared at this marvelous combat. The engine had stopped, the tractors had ceased to revolve, but Martin never thought of pressing the electric starter again. He utterly forgot his own danger in watching such a sight as perhaps no human being had seen since the dawn of man’s history.

The first thing he realized was that the water beast was not a snake. The head and neck were more like those of one of the snapping turtles which are common in all tropical waters. The neck looked as if cased in loose leather, while the head was purely a turtle’s with a wide mouth armed with jaws of solid bone. Then he saw, beneath the surface, the body of the monster shaped like a monstrous dish-cover and plated with a greenish shell.

The creature’s head flashed this way and that in movements so quick that he could hardly follow them, while its beak-like jaws kept snapping together with a harsh clipping sound. Its eyes, with raised horny lids like those of an alligator, had an indescribably vicious gleam.

Quick as it was, the eagle was quicker. Martin could not help admiring the dauntless pluck with which she hurled herself against this fearful enemy, buffeting the monster with her powerful wings and slashing it with her great curved beak. Good blows, too, for dark red blood was already dripping from the head of the huge fish-lizard.

The lizard rose higher in the water, so that its vast domed shell came above the surface. Waves washed against the hull of the Bat, the reddened foam splashing right over the coaming. Its thick tail rose, lashing the surface of the lake; and Martin felt that a single stroke would be enough to smash his frail craft and sink it.

Then what chance would he stand, swimming for his life in water haunted by such terrors?

Martin jumped up and pressed the electric starter. There was a splitting sound, but nothing happened. For some reason unknown, the engine refused to fire.

He set to work with desperate energy to find out what was wrong, while the Bat heaved and swung upon the swells flung up by the titanic struggles of the water monster. At any moment the fight might swing down upon him. Or if either of the fighters won, the survivor would, he felt, be certain to turn upon him.

Feathers drifted in a shower all over him. The lizard had got a blow home. But the eagle was not badly damaged, for she fought more furiously than ever. The reek of musk from the water-beast nearly made him sick. The creature whirled again, and its thick, stumpy tail actually struck the hull of the Bat. He saw it half turn, caught the gleam of its wicked eyes, and gave himself up for lost.

Next moment the roar of a heavy explosion sent echoes clattering along the cliffs; Martin heard the unmistakable hiss of a charge of heavy shot passing close to his head, and at the same instant the water-beast went over sideways, floundering hideously in the blood-stained waves.

The eagle, startled by the crash, rose a little, only to swoop down again at once, striking at her adversary with the same fury as ever.

But the beast was not dead, and next instant up it reared again. Out shot its long, scaly neck, and struck like a serpent at the eagle. This time the horned jaws caught her fairly by the wing. A moment later, she, the fish-lizard and all, had vanished into the fathomless depths of the tarn.

Still breathless with his ordeal, Martin rose to his feet.

“Thanks be to gracious, you’s safe, boss,” came Scipio’s familiar voice; and there was the launch right alongside, the Professor at the tiller, Scipio, armed with a heavy ten-bore duck-gun, standing in the bows.

“Thanks to you, Scipio,” answered Martin. “But it was touch and go. What was that awful creature, Professor?”

“A plesiosaurus, I believe, Martin,” replied the old gentleman gravely. “A reptile belonging to the world’s earliest days, and long supposed to be extinct, but in some way preserved in this strange corner of the earth. It was a narrow escape indeed, lad. Now, tell me, did you find the Lemurian?”

“I found him,” Martin answered gravely. “He is far up the mountain-side. The eagles were attacking him. Then they went for me; and I had to clear as quickly as ever I could.”

“Is the man hurt?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.”

The Professor looked grave.

“We must go to his help,” he said. “Scipio, throw Mr. Vaile the rope. We will tow the Bat in, then start at once up the mountain.”

When Martin got back into the cave he was amazed to find that it was not yet eleven. It seemed hours since he had left the cave, yet was actually no more than fifty minutes. The Professor insisted on his drinking a cup of coffee. Then the three took food, a rope, their guns, and a first-aid outfit, and started at once up the steep, rocky side of the mountain.

Pretty soon Martin saw that the Professor was breathing hard. He stopped.

“It’s too much for you, sir,” he said. “You wait, and Scipio and I will go on.”

Alone, Scipio and Martin made much quicker time; and in about an hour Martin stopped and pointed to a ledge overhead.

“That’s where I left him,” he said in a low voice to the negro.

Scipio pulled up.

It was a stiff scramble up to the ledge, and the last part of the way they had to drag themselves up by their hands.

Martin was the first to get his head above the rim of the rugged platform of rock. Scipio, close behind, heard him gasp.

“What’s de matter, boss?”

“He’s gone!” answered Martin sharply. “There isn’t a sign of him.”

“Yo’ suah dis de right place, Marse Martin?”

“Dead certain,” replied Martin.

“And de feller was lyin’ heah dead when yo’ flew away?”

“He was lying wounded and insensible. Why, there’s a patch of blood. See?” Scipio looked. Sure enough, there was an ugly red stain on the dark stone. He grunted uncomfortably.

“Dey do say dese heah island folk am magic men, sah.”

“Bosh!” retorted Martin impatiently. “The man must be quite close. He couldn’t have gone far.”

A small stone rattling down from above made both look up sharply. Martin drew a quick breath. Well he might, for there, on another ledge, ten or twelve feet higher up, was the Lemurian himself, looking down upon them.

He was a magnificent yet terrible figure. Fully six feet six inches in height, and splendidly proportioned, he stood leaning on his sword. His helmet gleamed golden in the vertical rays of the blazing sun, but the rest of his dress and armor were dull and dabbled with blood. His eyes, blue as the sky above, were fixed upon the intruders.

For a moment there was complete silence. Scipio was the first to speak.

“Oh, golly, boss!” he gasped. “Yo’ didn’t know what yo’ was talking about. Dat man ain’t dead at all!”