Chapter 2: Rash Advances
Not more than ten or fifteen miles we judged it from our
landing rock to that last village. For all our eagerness we thought
it wise to keep to the woods and go carefully.
Even Terry's ardor was held in check by his firm conviction
that there were men to be met, and we saw to it that each of us
had a good stock of cartridges.
"They may be scarce, and they may be hidden away somewhere--
some kind of a matriarchate, as Jeff tells us; for that matter, they may live up in the mountains yonder and keep the women in this part of the country--sort of a national harem! But there are men somewhere--didn't you see the babies?"
We had all seen babies, children big and little, everywhere
that we had come near enough to distinguish the people. And
though by dress we could not be sure of all the grown persons, still there had not been one man that we were certain of.
"I always liked that Arab saying, `First tie your camel and
then trust in the Lord,'" Jeff murmured; so we all had our weapons
in hand, and stole cautiously through the forest. Terry studied
it as we progressed.
"Talk of civilization," he cried softly in restrained
enthusiasm. "I never saw a forest so petted, even in Germany. Look, there's not a dead bough--the vines are trained--actually! And see here"--he stopped and looked about him, calling Jeff's attention to the kinds of trees.
They left me for a landmark and made a limited excursion on
either side.
"Food-bearing, practically all of them," they announced returning. "The rest, splendid hardwood. Call this a forest? It's a truck farm!"
"Good thing to have a botanist on hand," I agreed. "Sure there are no medicinal ones? Or any for pure ornament?"
As a matter of fact they were quite right. These towering trees
were under as careful cultivation as so many cabbages. In other
conditions we should have found those woods full of fair foresters
and fruit gatherers; but an airship is a conspicuous object, and
by no means quiet--and women are cautious.
All we found moving in those woods, as we started through
them, were birds, some gorgeous, some musical, all so tame that
it seemed almost to contradict our theory of cultivation--at least
until we came upon occasional little glades, where carved stone
seats and tables stood in the shade beside clear fountains, with
shallow bird baths always added.
"They don't kill birds, and apparently they do kill cats," Terry declared. "MUST be men here. Hark!"
We had heard something: something not in the least like a
birdsong, and very much like a suppressed whisper of laughter
--a little happy sound, instantly smothered. We stood like so
many pointers, and then used our glasses, swiftly, carefully.
"It couldn't have been far off," said Terry excitedly. "How about this big tree?"
There was a very large and beautiful tree in the glade we had
just entered, with thick wide-spreading branches that sloped out
in lapping fans like a beech or pine. It was trimmed underneath
some twenty feet up, and stood there like a huge umbrella, with
circling seats beneath.
"Look," he pursued. "There are short stumps of branches left
to climb on. There's someone up that tree, I believe."
We stole near, cautiously.
"Look out for a poisoned arrow in your eye," I suggested, but
Terry pressed forward, sprang up on the seat-back, and grasped the trunk. "In my heart, more likely," he answered. "Gee! Look, boys!"
We rushed close in and looked up. There among the boughs
overhead was something--more than one something--that clung
motionless, close to the great trunk at first, and then, as one and
all we started up the tree, separated into three swift-moving
figures and fled upward. As we climbed we could catch glimpses
of them scattering above us. By the time we had reached about
as far as three men together dared push, they had left the main
trunk and moved outward, each one balanced on a long branch
that dipped and swayed beneath the weight.