Out of Times Abyss | Page 8

The following forenoon the party reached the base of the barrier cliffs
and for two days marched northward in an effort to discover a break in
the frowning abutment that raised its rocky face almost perpendicularly
above them, yet nowhere was there the slightest indication that the
cliffs were scalable.
Disheartened, Bradley determined to turn back toward the fort, as he
already had exceeded the time decided upon by Bowen Tyler and
himself for the expedition. The cliffs for many miles had been trending
in a northeasterly direction, indicating to Bradley that they were
approaching the northern extremity of the island. According to the best
of his calculations they had made sufficient easting during the past two
days to have brought them to a point almost directly north of Fort
Dinosaur and as nothing could be gained by retracing their steps along
the base of the cliffs he decided to strike due south through the
unexplored country between them and the fort.
That night (September 9, 1916), they made camp a short distance from
the cliffs beside one of the numerous cool springs that are to be found
within Caspak, oftentimes close beside the still more numerous warm
and hot springs which feed the many pools. After supper the men lay
smoking and chatting among themselves. Tippet was on guard. Fewer

night prowlers threatened them, and the men were commenting upon
the fact that the farther north they had traveled the smaller the number
of all species of animals became, though it was still present in what
would have seemed appalling plenitude in any other part of the world.
The diminution in reptilian life was the most noticeable change in the
fauna of northern Caspak. Here, however, were forms they had not met
elsewhere, several of which were of gigantic proportions.
According to their custom all, with the exception of the man on guard,
sought sleep early, nor, once disposed upon the ground for slumber,
were they long in finding it. It seemed to Bradley that he had scarcely
closed his eyes when he was brought to his feet, wide awake, by a
piercing scream which was punctuated by the sharp report of a rifle
from the direction of the fire where Tippet stood guard. As he ran
toward the man, Bradley heard above him the same uncanny wail that
had set every nerve on edge several nights before, and the dismal
flapping of huge wings. He did not need to look up at the
white-shrouded figure winging slowly away into the night to know that
their grim visitor had returned.
The muscles of his arm, reacting to the sight and sound of the menacing
form, carried his hand to the butt of his pistol; but after he had drawn
the weapon, he immediately returned it to its holster with a shrug.
"What for?" he muttered. "Can't waste ammunition." Then he walked
quickly to where Tippet lay sprawled upon his face. By this time James,
Brady and Sinclair were at his heels, each with his rifle in readiness.
"Is he dead, sir?" whispered James as Bradley kneeled beside the
prostrate form.
Bradley turned Tippet over on his back and pressed an ear close to the
other's heart. In a moment he raised his head. "Fainted," he announced.
"Get water. Hurry!" Then he loosened Tippet's shirt at the throat and
when the water was brought, threw a cupful in the man's face. Slowly
Tippet regained consciousness and sat up. At first he looked curiously
into the faces of the men about him; then an expression of terror
overspread his features. He shot a startled glance up into the black void

above and then burying his face in his arms began to sob like a child.
"What's wrong, man?" demanded Bradley. "Buck up! Can't play
cry-baby. Waste of energy. What happened?"
"Wot 'appened, sir!" wailed Tippet. "Oh, Gord, sir! Hit came back. Hit
came for me, sir. Right hit did, sir; strite hat me, sir; hand with long
w'ite 'ands it clawed for me. Oh, Gord! Hit almost caught me, sir. Hi'm
has good as dead; Hi'm a marked man; that's wot Hi ham. Hit was
a-goin' for to carry me horf, sir."
"Stuff and nonsense," snapped Bradley. "Did you get a good look at
it?"
Tippet said that he did--a much better look than he wanted. The thing
had almost clutched him, and he had looked straight into its
eyes--"dead heyes in a dead face," he had described them.
"Wot was it after bein', do you think?" inquired Brady.
"Hit was Death," moaned Tippet, shuddering, and again a pall of gloom
fell upon the little party.
The following day Tippet walked as one in a trance. He never spoke
except in reply to a direct question, which more often than not had to