In the treetops—strange trees, fruit laden—parrakeets and flashing green and crimson birds of paradise disturbed the little monkey-folk that chattered at the intruders. Once a coral-red snake whipped away, hissing, but not quick enough to dodge a ball from Stern’s revolver.
Stern viewed the ugly, triangular head with apprehension. Well he knew that venom dwelt there, but he said nothing. The one and only chance of successfully transplanting the Folk must be to regions warm as these. All dangers must be braved a time till they could grow acclimated to the upper air. After that—but the vastness of the future deterred even speculation. Perils were inevitable. The more there were to overcome the greater the victory.
“On to the cliffs!” said he, clasping the girl’s hand in his own and making a path for her.
Thus presently they reached the edge of the canon.
“Magnificent!” cried Beatrice as they came out on the overhang of the rock wall. “With these fruitful woods behind, that river in front, and these natural fortifications for our home, what more could we want?”
“Nothing except caves,” Stern answered. “Let’s call this New Hope River, eh? And the cliffs?”
“Settlement Cliffs!” she exclaimed.
“Done! Well, now let’s see.”
For the better part of the morning they explored the face of the palisade. Its height, they estimated, ranged from two to three hundred feet, shelving down in rough terraces to the rocky debris through and beyond which foamed the strong current of New Hope River, a stream averaging about two hundred yards in width.
Up-current a broader pool gave promise of excellent fishing. It overflowed into violent rapids, with swift, white waters noisily cascading.
“There, incidentally,” Stern remarked, with the practical perception of the engineer, “there’s power enough, when properly harnessed, to light a city and to turn machinery ad libitum. I don’t see how we could better this site, do you?”
“Not if you think there are good chances for cave-dwellings,” she made answer.
“From what we’ve seen already, it looks promising. Of course, there’ll be a deal of work to do; but there are excellent possibilities here. First rate.”
Fortune seemed bent on favoring them. The limestone cliff, fantastically eroded, offered a score of shelters, some shallow and needing to be walled up in front, others deep and tortuous. All was in utter confusion.
Stern saw that the terraces would have to be blasted and leveled, roads and stairs built along the face of the rock and down to the river, stalactites and stalagmites cut away, chambers fashioned, and a vast deal of labor done; but the rough framework of a cliff colony undeniably existed here. He doubted whether it would be possible to find a more favorable site without long and tedious travels.
“I guess we’ll take the apartments and sign the lease,” he decided toward noon, after they had clambered, pried, explored with improvised torches, and penetrated far into some of the grottoes. “The main thing to consider is that we can find darkness and humidity for the Folk by day. They mustn’t be let out at first except in the night. It may be weeks or months before they can stand the direct sunlight. But that, too, will come. Patience, girl— patience and time—and all will yet be done.”
Yet, even as he spoke, a strange anxiety, a prescience of tremendous difficulties, brooded in his soul. These were not cattle that he had to deal with, but men.
Could he and Beatrice, rulers of the Folk though they now were, could they—with their paltry knowledge of the people’s language, superstitions, prejudices and inner life—really bring about this great migration?
Could they ravish a nation from its accustomed home, transplant it bodily, force new conditions on it, train, teach, civilize it? All this without rebellion, anarchy and failure?
“God!” thought the engineer. “The labors of Hercules were child’s play beside this problem!”
His heart quaked at the thought of all that lay ahead; yet through everything, deep in the basic strata of his being, he knew that all should be and must be as he planned.
Barring death only, the seemingly impossible should come to pass.
“I swear it!” he murmured to himself. “For her sake, for theirs, and for the world’s, I swear it shall be!”
At high noon they emerged once more from the caverns, climbed the steep cliff face, and again stood on the heights.
Facing northward, their gaze swept the lower river-bank opposite, and reached away, away, over the rolling hills and plains that lay, a virgin forest, to the dim horizon, brooding, mysterious, quivering with fertility and wild, strange life.
“Some time,” he prophesied, sweeping his arm out toward the wilderness—” some time all that—and far beyond—shall be dotted with clearings and rich farms, with cottages, schools, towns, cities. Broad highways shall traverse it. The hum of motors, of machinery, of industry—of life itself—shall one day displace the cry of beast and bird.
“Some time the English tongue shall reign here again—here and beyond. Here strong men shall toil and build and reap and rest. Here love shall reign and women be called ‘mother.’ Here children shall play and learn and grow to manhood and to womanhood, secure and free.
“Some time all good things shall here come to realization. Oppression and slavery, alone, shall be undreamed of. These, and poverty and pain, shall never enter into the new world that is to be.
“Some time, here, ‘all shall be better than well.’ Some time!”
He circled her with his arm, and for a while they stood surveying this cradle of the new race. Much moved, Beatrice drew very close to him. They made no speech.
For the dreams they two were dreaming, as the golden sun irradiated all that vast, magnificent wilderness, passed any power of words.
Only she whispered “Some time!” too, and Allan knew she shared with him the glory of his vast, tremendous vision!
CHAPTER X. SEPARATION
THEY spent the remainder of that day and all the next in hard work, making practical preparations for the arrival of the first settlers. Allan assured himself the waters of New Hope River were soft and pure and that an ample supply of fish dwelt in the pool as well as in the rapids—trout, salmon and pike of new varieties and great size, as well as other species.
Beatrice and he, working together, put the largest and darkest of the caves into habitable order. They also prepared, for their own use, a sunny grotto, which they thought could with reasonable labor be made into a comfortable temporary home.
“Though it isn’t our own cozy bungalow, and never can be,” she remarked rather mournfully, surveying the fireplace of roughly piled stones Allan had built. “Oh, dear, if we only could have had that to live in while—”
He stopped her yearning with a kiss.
“There, there, little girl,” he cheered her, “don’t be impatient. All in good time we’ll have another, garden and sun-dial and everything. All in good time. The more we have to overcome, the more we’ll appreciate results, eh? The only really serious matter to consider now is you!”
“Me, Allan? Why, what do you mean? What about me?”
He sat down on the rough-hewn bench of logs that he had fashioned and drew her to him.
“Listen, Beta. This is very serious.”
“What, Allan? Has anything happened?”
“No, and nothing must, either. That’s what’s troubling me now. Our separation, I mean.”
“Our—why, what—”
“Don’t you see? Can’t you understand? We’ve got to be apart a while. I must go alone—”
“Oh, no, no, Allan! You mustn’t; I can’t let you!”
“You’ve got to let me, darling! The machine will only carry, at most, three persons and a little freight. Now if you take the trip back into the Abyss I can only bring one, just one of the Folk back with me. And at that rate you
