South to Propontis
By HENRY ANDREW ACKERMANN
To the South lay Propontis, capital of
Mars. But between it and the homesick
Earth-youth stretched a burning desert—lair
of the deadly Avis Gladiator!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It wasn't the grim thought that he would be dead in a few moments thatfilled the mind of Don Moffat so much as the bitter realization that asixteen-year-old suspicion had been confirmed too late.
Across the small room a mad light burned in the blood-shot eyes of hisuncle. In spite of the raw liquor he had drunk, the grimy paw that heldthe old electronic gun was steady.
Beyond the battered hut's open door heat-blasted desert pulsated asa tiny sun beat savagely down on the arid, sterile wastes from theinferno's distant rim.
It was that southern rim, a mere uneven thread of rust, to which Donhad raised his eyes so many times that day, his heart light with thethought that he was going to Propontis. And from Propontis to a greenerworld beyond—a world he had dreamed of one day seeing; a world wherewater wasn't priceless. Earth!
Just entering his twenties, he had spent his life on the Martianwastelands, a motherless kid who had trailed a diamond-mad father overthe wilderness of sand and rock.
Don had been seven when they struck the Suzie lode. There were plentyof the rough stones, and his father sent for the boy's uncle and hisown brother. Together they were to mine and share alike.
Shortly after his uncle had arrived Don found his father with a charredhole in his heart, bleaching on the sand. Uncle Fred had cursed at himwhen he wept. Later, though, the man explained that it must have beenone of the native Martians. Don believed him then, but as he grew andcame to know his uncle, he began to doubt.
That morning Uncle Fred had abruptly announced that they were through,that the last gem had been mined from the Suzie lode. But there weremany diamonds in the plastic boxes, enough to satisfy any man. Theywould pack their Iguana, Gecko, and make ready for the long trek.
So Don had stowed the saddle-bags and water-tanks. Gecko was readyand waiting outside. Don's last act was to gather his own scantybelongings. He was in the hut alone when Uncle Fred came in. Donraised his eyes to find himself staring into the belled muzzle of theelectronic gun.
"Desert brat," said Uncle Fred thickly. "I'll blow you so wide openthat there won't be a square meal left for a Wirler!"
And now Don knew that he was to die by the same hand that had killedhis father. And Fred was through with him. The boy had helped to minethe gems, but his uncle had never intended that he should live to sharethem. That was why Uncle Fred had been drinking all day—to bolster uphis courage to do deliberate murder. He raised the gun an inch. Don sawhis finger tighten on the trigger. He closed his eyes, knowing that itwould be all over in a moment.
The paper-thin walls of the hut vibrated with the thunderous crash ofan electronic pistol. Donald's jaw went slack. For a paralyzing secondhe could only gape at his uncle. The man had uttered a choking cry, hisfingers loosening the gun. Then he pitched to the floor in a limp heap.
In the open doorway stood a bullet-headed, brown-eyed man, holding astill-glowing electronic pistol. Over his shoulder peered a bearded,thick-lipped companion.