Monsters of the Ray Read online

  "Do you know what I plan to do?" he asked.

  I shook my head, "Give it up," I said. "Cut a tunnel through the mountain so you don't have to come at breakneck speed down that grade? That would be to some purpose."

  He grinned. "Not quite as big a thing as that," he assured me. "No, I'm going to duplicate that arch— the Huaro-Yana. Not on quite such a big scale, however. You see that basalt dyke to the west? Well, I'm going to cut—or at least try to cut— an arch through that!"

  "But," I asked him, "why waste so much time and material on doing that? Isn't there anything of real use that you can accomplish with your apparatus? Why throw away all that material just for the sake of showing what you can do?"

  "It won't be altogether a waste," he declared. "It will let the afternoon sun shine through-think how glorious it will be to see the sunset through the arch?—and besides, there's a second lovely plateau beyond that dyke. I can increase my property here. And somehow it appeals to my imagination—the idea of hewing a way through a vast mass of solid rock to reach a spot no man has ever trod before."

  That was Harris all over—a queer combination of the romantic adventurer, the dreamer, poet and artist with the practical scientist and with his love of the spectacular fighting his detestation of notoriety,

  But the strange kink in Harris' character or mentality was that it made no difference to him if nobody was aware of what he had done. His pleasure, his entire satisfaction lay in the doing—in the accomplishment. It was in the empresa as the Spaniards say—in the enterprise— that he gloried, and the more difficult a thing was the more he liked it. To solve the insoluble, to explain the inexplicable was as the wine of life to him.

  Whether the world—or even fellow scientists—ever heard of his triumphs didn't interest him. Having solved the mystery of the pre-Incan stone work he merely wanted to do as much as the pre-Incans, and he frankly told me he had no intention of publishing an account of his discovery, although I was welcome to do so, provided I didn't give him all the credit,

  The idea of bursting through a seemingly impassable barrier to reach a hitherto unknown spot was to him an even greater achievement than the amazing discovery he had made. In some ways he was still a boy, and just as a boy takes immeasurable delight in navigating a mill-pond on a home-made raft and landing on the opposite shore, so Harris would find inexpressible satisfaction in cutting through that forbidding dyke of basalt to reach the little plateau that lay beyond. There was nothing marvelous, strange nor particularly desirable there. From the cliff tops one could gaze down and see every detail of the place. But neither is there anything new, strange nor unknown about the opposite side of the mill-pond. And—well, I might as well admit it—I was a little that way myself and was just about as enthusiastic at heart as was Harris. Besides I was rather curious to learn if Harris' apparatus could accomplish the feat.

  But to my surprise he took no steps to carry out his plan. For several days he devoted all his time to painting, and apparently completely forgot the rock-cutting ray, the experiments and the basalt dyke. To my surprise the picture turned out to be a very striking view of the Huaro-Yana mesa as it must have appeared in the days of the pre-Incans.

  With consummate skill and fidelity and accuracy that showed what a really deep knowledge of the subject he possessed, he had restored the ancient buildings and had peopled the scene with men and women dressed as the mummies I had found, taught us that the inhabitants of Huaro-Yana had dressed. There towered the great black arch with its garrison of warriors upon its summit. There rose the vast temple with its magnificent sculptures and bright-colored frescoes. There were the palaces, the houses, the Inti-Huatana, the priests winding in a procession up the temple stairs. But most prominent of all, most vividly portrayed, was the group in the foreground of the painting. There, before a mass of the living granite stood a number of men armed with bars, wedges and rollers, while in their midst a superior-looking fellow held a vessel of gleaming polished metal and was cutting the rock—as I had seen Harris do—by means of the invisible Inti-ray. This picture was, in fact, a marvelous re-visualization of Huraro-Yana to illustrate—far more clearly than was possible by words—the manner in which the pre-Incan inhabitants performed their seemingly miraculous feats.

  It was by far the finest thing Harris had done, his masterpiece, and complimented him unsparingly upon it.

  "I don't know why I did it,” he said with a sheepish grin. "It just came into my head and had to be finished before I could do anything else. You're welcome to it, old man. I don't believe it would interest anyone else. But it may serve as a sort of record some day."

  Then, with the inspiration off his mind, Harris again vanished in the seclusion of his laboratory and work shops. From time to time, as we met at meal times or in the evenings, he dropped a hint or a few words in regard to his investigations and work. Once he announced that he was busy studying the new ray. “It's an amazing thing," he told me. "As nearly as I can work it out, it's related to the gravitational ray. I--"

  "Hold on!" I broke in. "What do you mean by 'gravitational ray'? I've ways understood gravitation was like a magnetic phenomenon."

  Harris uttered an impatient ejaculation. "You're out of date," he informed me, "Macdonald proved existence of the gravitational ray years ago. And what’s magnetism but the effect of certain rays? However, as I was about to explain, this Inti-ray is the most remarkable ray I've ever studied. It has a speed of almost three times that of light rays and it's as rectilinear as the X-ray. It penetrates practically all metals— Even lead —as well as all organic substances on which I've tested it, without injuring them, but minerals are resistant's and the alloy of gold and lead is impenetrable. It lies somewhere between my Z-ray and the infra-red, and it produces a cold, pale greenish fluorescence in combination with certain substances. Do you know I have great hopes of being able to accomplish some astonishing results when I know more about its peculiarities and the laws that govern it?"

  "Sounds interesting," I commented, "but as I don't know anything whatever about rays—except light and heat and sound rays, and mighty little about them-—I'll have to take your word for the details. But there's one thing I'd like to ask: How can it penetrate certain substances without injuring or affecting them and yet cut that rock?"

  "Simple enough," he declared. "Heat rays penetrate certain things— metals, cloth, etc—even glass, but not asbestos. Light rays penetrate glass, paper, water, various materials, but not metals. It's the same with electro-magnetic, sound and all other rays—even X-rays that are held back by lead. And as far as cutting the stone is concerned, that, as I have told you, is a chemical or electronic decomposition."

  "Well, if you accomplish anything more astonishing than that, you're a magician and not a scientist." I told him.

  A few days after this conversation, Harris announced that he was leaving Huaro-Yana for a few days—going after some of the minerals he needed—and told me to make myself at home during his absence.

  "As soon as I return we'll be ready for the big test," he declared. "I have everything else prepared—the tanks and all the rest of the apparatus."

  Instead of going by his car as I had expected, he set out afoot with a string of llamas and several of his Indians, and took a route to the south, in the opposite direction from Tucin. I was surprised to find how much I missed Harris' company. Although of late we had seen but little of each other, we did meet at meal times and in the evenings. Now, with no one to talk with and alone in the house, I had hard work to shake off the inexplicable and ridiculous sensations I have already mentioned.

  At any rate I was heartily thankful when Harris returned with his llamas laden with sacks of the ores he required. He was worn, haggard, brown and weary, for he had had a long, hard journey over the highest ridges of the Andes, but he was in high spirits and announced that he had located a large deposit of the minerals—enough, he declared, to "cut fifty arches like the Huaro-Yana."

  Evidently, too, hi
s brain had been working overtime on theories and problems connected with the newly discovered ray and its properties and possibilities, for he hinted— mysteriously—at a new scheme he had evolved by which, if successful, he would astound the entire world. "But first the stone-cutting," he declared. "I don't know why it is so but the thing has got me going, as the saying is. Anyhow I can't settle myself down to work out the other-— and the bigger thing—until I've cut a hole through that dyke. And"— with a sigh—"Well get at that in a couple of days more."

  Chapter VI

  A Pre-Incan Scene Materializes

  Harris kept his promise. Two days after his return he announced that all was in readiness for his great feat. Indians, llamas, even the car, were busily employed in transporting his apparatus from the workshops to the vicinity of the massive basaltic dyke that rose like a great black wall for fully two hundred feet above the eroded rock at its base.

  At a distance of perhaps one hundred yards from the face of the dyke a staging platform was erected, and on this the apparatus was installed. Harris was in his element. He busied about, directing, giving orders to the Indians, who appeared to regard the whole matter as uncanny and savoring of some impressive magical ceremony about to take place. He worked as hard himself as anybody, yet he took the time to explain this, that or the other to me.

  "Have to begin cutting at the top, of course," he replied to one of my questions as to why the tall staging. "If we cut the bottom first, we'd be in a mess. And I've put the platform well back in order to get an almost direct incidence of the rays—don't want them to hit the rock at too great an angle, you see. Besides, there'll be the deuce of a lot of fumes; generated, and they may be poisonous or injurious."

  "But how are you going to get the pieces of rock out after you cut them?" I asked him.

  "I've planned for that," he assured me. "I'm going to cut wide horizontal grooves and run them in at an angle. Then the weight of the sections as they are cut will break the masses free and they'll slide out of their own accord."

  "Maybe," I replied, "but if one or more happen to jam you’ll have some job on your hands."

  "If necessary, I'll cut the darned thing into pieces so small we can pull 'em out with our fingers," he cried impatiently. "Anyhow, tomorrow well know whether it’ll work of not."

  Naturally we were keyed up and filled with suppressed excitement when, on the following day, we set out to make the assault upon the dyke. Even the Indians, usually so repressed in their emotions, were excited, and I noticed that they had donned their best dance or ceremonial garments, as if about to take part in some great religious celebration!

  As we reached the vicinity of the platform, Harris warned the Indians not to stand near the dyke, but to keep to the rear of the staging. Then, noticing that a number of llamas were grazing on the scanty herbage about the base of the dyke, he called to some of the men to remove them. As they were doing so he abruptly changed his mind, and shouted to the herders to tether two of the beasts midway between the dyke and the staging.

  "What's the idea?" I asked him.

  “Test of the fumes," he replied curtly. "I want to be sure whether they are injurious or not."

  "Rather hard on the llamas," I observed. "Haven't you tested the stuff in your laboratory?"

  He appeared to hesitate and seemed a bit put out. "To tell the truth, I have not," he admitted. "I've meant to, but there have been so many other things of more importance that I didn't get around to it. But I haven't felt any ill effects; in such small quantities as were in the laboratory I wouldn't expect to. But the fumes are heavier than air, so we're safe up here, and the llamas down below will be a certain test. Now for the great work!"

  As Harris spoke he stepped forward, adjusted the valves just as I had seen him do in his laboratory, grasped the huge nozzle that was fitted with handles like the nozzle of a high-pressure fire-hose, and aimed it at the dyke. Never will I forget the scene: The great black rock wall before us, the two shaggy-coated llamas grazing unconcernedly in its shadow, the crowd of Indians, ablaze with color and silver ornaments, standing and squatting, motionless as bronze statues, in a semicircle behind us, gazing with fixed, wondering, expectant faces at the two white men beside the gleaming metal machines, tensely expectant of something, they knew not what; and finally, Harris, standing like a gunner behind the shining golden nozzle and squinting along its barrel, as if about to launch a projectile at the massive dyke. Absolute silence reigned. Not a sound came from the throng of Indians; even the birds and insects seemed to have ceased their chirpings in awe and wonder. Overhead stretched a cloudless sky against which the snow-clad peaks stood out clear as cameos, and far up in the blue vault a condor soared in endless circles.

  Suddenly from the scores of Indians a deep, half-terrified sigh arose. Every eye was fixed, wide open, staring, at the face of the dyke. From the black rock a thin greenish vapor curled and drifted, and across the surface a broad, deep groove was slowly forming.

  No wonder the Indians were frightened, filled with superstitious dread. It was uncanny, terrifying in its wonder. Even I who had seen the amazing demonstration in the laboratory, who had known what to expect, found myself gazing with bated breath and wide eyes at the ever-opening, ever-widening cut in the solid rock, that was now partly veiled in the wavering, drifting, tenuous fumes. Only Harris remained unmoved, unaffected. Steadily, calmly, he moved the great nozzle from left to right, up and down, until several hundred square feet of the dyke's surface was checkered with the deep, straight cuts his invisible, mysterious ray had gouged into the basalt. By this time the vapor had spread until it formed a fog-like screen over the lower portion of the dyke, and lay in wisps like mist above the nearby ground. One wisp half concealed the llama nearest to the dyke, but the creature appeared to give no heed to it, and continued to graze as unconcernedly as though the fumes were ordinary fog. Harris straightened up, turned off the valves and stretched himself.

  "Gosh, I've got a crick in my back," they felt he was. I touched his arm, "Look at the Indians," I said.

  He turned, and instantly every Indian bobbed his head until his forehead touched the ground. "Darned idiots!" ejaculated Harris. "Anyone would think I was their high-priest."

  "No, their king—and God," I corrected him. "They remember their old legend and in you they see their mythical ruler summoning the Sun-God to aid you with his 'fire' to cut the rocks. I haven't any doubt they expect to see the 'sky-giants' materialize at any moment and pull the cut rocks out of the dyke. You see, they still believe in the old fable."

  "So do I," was Harris' astounding declaration. "Well, here goes again!"

  As he spoke he once more opened the valves, seized the nozzle and once more proceeded to cut deep scarfs across the basalt wall. I could not take my eyes from the rock. It seemed too marvelous, too impossible, too incredible to be real, and the effect of unreality in the feat was increased by the ever-spreading, greenish vapor that gave one the impression that the rock wall was visionary, the sort of thing one sees in that brief interval, twixt sleeping and waking, a hazy, intangible dream—creation that might vanish utterly at any instant.

  But the Indians were real enough, the llamas were real, Harris and his shining metal apparatus were real, and as from time to time the fumes parted with some breath of wind, the black wall loomed as solid and as real as ever,

  Then, as I gazed, unable to withdraw my eyes from the dyke and the ever-increasing grooves being cut across its face, I started, stared transfixed. In the centre of the drifting vapor a pale, luminous spot had appeared, a diffused circular patch of light like the sun shining through dense fog. What did it mean? What new phenomenon was this?

  Tense, with throbbing pulses, I focused my wondering eyes upon the spot. The light was spreading, it seemed to emanate from the rock hidden behind the misty veil. In itself it was nothing startling, nothing uncanny, yet I felt an involuntary shudder and a haunting unreasonable impression that some extraordinary event was about to take
place.

  At the same instant the thing happened. It was sudden, instantaneous. It seemed to spring in a blaze from the depths of the vapor or from the rock wall behind it. A blaze of light, of a multitude of colors, of vivid hues swirling, gyrating in an ever-widening circle. I can think of nothing with which to compare it save a kaleidoscope. One instant there was a multi-pointed star, the next a rosette, the next it had been transformed into an octagon, a pentagon, a series of concentric rings.

  I grasped Harris' arm spasmodically, pointing, speechless. But he, too, had seen the thing. He was gazing at it as wide-eyed, as unnerved, as shaking as myself. The Indians, too, had seen it. Half-consciously I heard their deep sigh of terror, of awe, and I knew; though I could not turn my head, could not tear my eyes from the amazing phenomenon before me, that they were gazing at it, fairly chattering with deadly fear. A great relief swept over me, for if Harris saw it, if the Indians saw it, then it was no illusion, no hallucination of my overstrained senses.

  Now the thing had changed. The radiant colors, whirling around a fixed point, seemed to slow down. Luminous spirals, points of color, darker spots moved, gyrated, vanished. Then, like one of those trick moving pictures in which various dismembered portions of a thing rush into place upon a screen, the detached bits of color, of light and shade, appeared to join, to blend, until a vague, floating picture seemed to form behind the hazy veil of vapor. Indistinct, indistinguishable it hung there, blurred like a poorly focused semi-opticon view. Then, gradually, as we stared silent, bereft of speech and motion, certain features became clearer, more pronounced. Outlines took form, colors became intensified, and with a sudden burst of light, a dazzling picture was revealed, a picture as clear and sharp as if painted upon the surface of the rock.