But Hank had already started so I followed. The crystals seemed to keep to what would have been the water bed of the canyon, had it been spring. They seemed to need water. We came to a place where there was a drift of ice across the floor of the corridor —ancient ice, with a thin layer of last winter’s snow on top of it. The crystals had carved a passage right through it, a natural bridge of ice, and had cleared a space of several feet on each side of where they were growing, as well.
Hank lost his footing as we scrambled through and snatched at one of the crystals. It broke off with a sharp, clear note, like a silver bell.
Hank straightened up and stood looking at his hand. There were parallel cuts across his palm and fingers. He stared at them stupidly.
“That’ll teach you,” I said, and then got out a first-lid kit and bandaged it for him. When I had finished I said, “Now let’s go back.”
“Shucks,” he said. “What’s a few little cuts? Come
I said, “Look, Hank, I want to go back. I don’t feel good.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Stomach ache.”
“You eat too much; that’s your trouble. The exercise will do you good.”
“No, Hank. I’ve got to go back.”
He stared up the ravine and looked fretful. Finally he said, “Bill, I think I see where the crystals come from, not very far up. You wait here and let me take a look. Then I’ll come back and well head for camp. I won’t be gone long; honest I won’t.”
“Okay,” I agreed. He started up; shortly I followed him. I had had it pounded into my head as a Cub not to get separated in a strange country.
After a bit I heard him shout. I looked up and saw him standing, facing a great dark hole in the cliff. I called out, “What’s the matter?”
He answered:
“GREAT JUMPING HOLY SMOKE!!!”–like that.
“What’s the matter?” I repeated irritably and hurried along until I was standing beside him.
The crystals continued up the place where we were. They came right to the cave mouth, but did not go in; they formed a solid dense thicket across the threshold. Lying across the floor of the ravine, as if it had been tumbled there by an upheaval like the big quake, was a flat rock, a monolith, Stonehenge size. You could see where it had broken off the cliff, uncovering the hole. The plane of cleavage was as sharp and smooth as anything done by the ancient Egyptians.
But that wasn’t what we were looking at; we were looking into the hole.
It was dark inside, but diffused light, reflected off the canyon floor and the far wall, filtered inside. My eyes began to adjust and I could see what Hank was staring at, what he had exploded about.
There were things in there and they weren’t natural
I couldn’t have told you what sort of things because they were like nothing I had ever seen before in my life, or seen pictures of—or heard of. How can you describe what you’ve never seen before and have no words for? Shucks, you can’t even see a thing properly the first time you see it; your eye doesn’t take in the pattern.
But I could see this: they weren’t rocks, they weren’t plants, they weren’t animals. They were made things, man made—well, maybe not “man” made, but not things that just happen, either.
I wanted very badly to get up close to them and see what they were. For the moment, I forgot I was sick.
So did Hank. As usual he said, “Come onl Let’s go!”
But I said, “How?”
“Why, we just—” He stopped and took another look. “Well, let’s see, we go around— No. Hmm . . . Bill, we will have to bust up some of those crystals and go right through the middle. There’s no other way to get in.”
I said, “Isn’t one chopped up hand enough for you?”
“I’ll bust ’em with a rock. It seems a shame; they are so pretty, but that’s what I’ll have to do.”