Danger: Dinosaurs!

Chapter 9 Encounter

He did not for an instant believe that Pete had seen a cave man. Chuck had too much respect for science to believe that its theories could have been so grossly inaccurate. He did not doubt, however, that Pete had seen a man. Pete’s eyes were certainly as good as anyone’s, and he could tell a man from a dinosaur the same way anyone else could in broad daylight. He was not too happy about Pete’s discovery, though.

“He went this way,” Pete said, breathing hard alongside Chuck. “See his tracks?”

Chuck nodded, making his way through the foliage, his palm sweating against the gun butt.

Tempomaniac.

The word popped into Chuck’s mind, and he could not dislodge it. Tempomaniacs were dangerous people. They were the borderline schizophrenics of his own time. Instead of leaping all the way into the nontrespassable reaches of insanity, they chose escape in another form. When the demands of society became too great, they left society, seeking refuge and asylum in the uncluttered past. Tempomania was a serious criminal offense. The offender could not plead complete insanity because there were tests that would immediately establish his normality. And the government had to be strict with offenders. The entire balance of the present could be seriously thrown out of whack by these marauders into the past.

A tempomaniac confronted with capture, therefore, was almost like a cornered wild animal. If this man Pete had seen turned out to be a tempo... Chuck shuddered at the thought.

“There he goes!” Pete shouted.

Chuck looked up instantly, and this time he saw the man, too. He was built heavily, with shaggy brown hair and a flowing brown beard. He turned for a moment, and his eyes glared fiercely in his frightened, pale face.

“Stop!” Chuck shouted.

The man turned and fled, scrambling over the rocks like a frightened creature of the woods. His fingers scrabbled wildly, and he pushed himself upward, almost on all fours. The face of the outcropping was dotted with small, tunnel-like caves. The man climbed the sheer, angled rock with practiced skill, darting into one of the deep holes in its face.

“He went into one of the caves,” Pete said. He was holding the rifle tightly in his hands, and his mouth was drawn across his face in a tight line.

“I think he’s a tempo,” Chuck said tersely.

Pete sounded disappointed. “Not a cave man?”

“No. There’s no such thing in Jurassic times, Pete.”

“A tempo, huh? That’s not so good.”

“No. In fact, it’s bad.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll have to try to take him.”

“Why?”

Chuck turned to Pete in surprise. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why not leave him here? I’m not anxious to meet my Maker, Chuck.”

“He’s a criminal,” Chuck said firmly. “If we left him here, we’d be helping him.”

Pete seemed to consider this for a moment. “I hadn’t looked at it that way,” he said.

“Are you with me then?”

“I’m with you. What’s our next move?”

“Let’s get closer to the cave.”

Together, almost like reptiles themselves, they crawled on their bellies until they were only several feet away from the mouth of the cave. There they lay flat on the angular rock.

“What now?” Pete whispered.

For answer, Chuck lifted his .45 and fired a shot into the air. The echoes of the shot bounded over the steep rock surface, spread over the land and then died away.

“We know you’re in there,” Chuck called.

There was no answer. Without hesitation he fired another shot, waiting for the echoes to die before he spoke again.

“You’d better come out,” he shouted.

There was another long silence, and then a voice called, “Go away. Go away.” The voice sounded tired and desperate.

“Come out, or we’ll come in shooting,” Chuck answered.

“Go away,” the voice said again.

“You heard me,” Chuck called. “We’ll count to three.”

He waited for an answer and when he got none he shouted, “One!” His voice bounced off the rocks, seemed to fill the countless caves that sat like black pockmarks on the face of the outcropping.

“Two!”

Again the echoes and the long silence after the echoes had dissipated themselves over the rocks and the earth.

He was ready to call again when the voice shouted, “Please! Go away. Please!”

“Three!” he shouted.

He waited again and then said, “All right, we’re coming in.”

He and Pete began crawling closer to the cave, their eyes on the black opening.

“Are we going to shoot?” Pete asked.

Chuck bit his lip. “I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d call my bluff. I guess...”

He saw movement at the cave’s entrance and he shut his mouth at once, bringing up the .45. The man they had chased appeared in the opening, his hands over his head, his eyes blinking at the sunlight.

“Don’t shoot,” he said. “Don’t shoot.”

Chuck watched him as he came further from the cave’s mouth, ready to counteract any trick. And then he saw more movement at the entrance.

“Hold it!” he called.

The man stopped in his tracks.

“Who else is in the cave?” Chuck asked.

“My colleague,” the man said.

“Only one other man?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Tell him to come out with his hands up.”

The man turned to the cave. “Come out, Pierre,” he said. “With your hands up. They are armed.”

Pete swung his rifle around to cover the first man while Chuck kept his eyes on the entrance. A small man stepped out into the sunlight, the strong rays glancing off the thick eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose. He was bald, with a broad, flat nose and thin lips. In contrast to his glistening pate, his chin and face were covered with a wiry black beard that lent a ferocious look to his otherwise timid features. He walked forward slowly, blinking his eyes. When he saw Chuck, he said, “Why, you’re just a boy!”

There was a faint accent to his voice, and Chuck couldn’t place it until he recalled that the first man had called him Pierre. French. The first man still stood with his hands over his head, and Chuck had a good opportunity to look him over more carefully.

He was broad across the shoulders and chest, a heavily built, squat man, who somehow resembled a shoe salesman, with a thick furry beard. He had brown hair and brown eyes and a slightly curving nose that looped down to a sensitive mouth with a pouting lower lip.

The second man moved up close to him and said, “He is just a boy, John. A boy with a gun.”

“I ain’t a boy, Mister,” Pete said.

The first man looked at Pete and then squared his shoulders. “Now that you have us, what are you going to do with us?”

His voice was cultured, an educated voice with the ring of authority behind it. Chuck stared at the man, trying to analyze the peculiar quirks of character that made men seek escape into the past.

“I don’t know exactly,” Chuck said. “Take you back, I suppose.”

“Take us back where?” the second man wanted to know.

“Why, to the authorities, of course.”

“The what?”

“The authorities,” Chuck repeated, tightening his grip on the .45.

The bigger man started to laugh. “Please,” he said, “don’t overtax our credulity.”

“I don’t understand you,” Chuck said. He was beginning to feel nervous. Something was all wrong.

“Why would a tempomaniac take us to the authorities?” the man asked, a smile on his face.

“What?”

“We know you’re tempos,” the little man with the glasses said. “There is no need to pretend.”

“How do you like that?” Pete said, incredulity stretching his face. “They’re calling us tempos!”

“We’re on a chartered time slip,” Chuck said, his voice firm. “We’re taking you back to...”

The big man dropped his arms and took a step toward Chuck, his face erupting in a beaming smile.

“Stay where you are!” Pete snapped.

“But this is wonderful,” the spectacled man shouted. “John, do you realize what this is? These people...”

“Hold it, hold it,” Pete said.

“What’s this all about?” Chuck wanted to know.

The spectacled man stepped forward, lowering his hands. “Let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Pierre Dumar, a geologist. This,” and here he indicated the bigger man, “is Dr. John Perry, a paleontologist.”

“What?”

“Exactly,” the big man said. “Why, we thought you were tempos!”

“And we thought you were tempos,” Chuck said, the humor of the situation beginning to dawn on him.

“Be careful,” Pete said warily, “this may be a trick.”

“No, no,” Dr. Dumar assured him. “Here. Here are my papers.” He reached into the back pocket of his tattered trousers and pulled out a leather billfold. While he rummaged in one of the compartments, he said, “John, show the boy your papers.”

Dr. Perry reached into his pocket, and Pete raised his rifle expectantly. Dr. Dumar extended a celluloid case, and Chuck looked at it with scrutiny. He saw the seal of the United States Government and under that the hourglass seal of the Department of Chronology.

“It’s all right, Pete,” he said. “Put up your rifle.”

He holstered the .45 and offered his hand to Dr. Perry. The paleontologist took it and squeezed it firmly. “Are we delighted to see you!” he said. “We’ve been lost for close to six months now.”

Dr. Dumar put his billfold back into his trousers pocket and his pale blue eyes sparkled behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “We’ve been searching for the rendezvous site,” he explained. “You see, we were granted a scientific dispensation to study the period. Our grant expired six months ago, at which time we were to be at the rendezvous site for a slip back to the present.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “We couldn’t find it! We have been over this ground a thousand times, but we cannot find the area.”

“Before you raise your hopes,” Chuck said, “we don’t know where the site is, either.”

“Oh?” Dr. Perry raised his eyebrows.

“We’ve had a series of accidents,” Chuck said. The memory of Owen suddenly focused sharply in his mind. He stopped talking, nursing the ache in his heart.

Pete seemed to warm up suddenly. “We’re looking for the site now,” he said. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Dr. Dumar nodded. “The four of us should be able to...”

“There’s more than four of us,” Pete said. “We’ve got another four people back at our camp.”

“All the better,” Dr. Perry put in. “Our chances should increase with our numbers. This is a vigorous land.”

Dr. Dumar nodded. “We have been living off the countryside for the past four months. Foraging. It has not been pleasant.”

“Let’s get started,” Chuck said. “You’ll want to meet the rest of the party. And Pete will rustle up some grub for you. He’s our cook.”

Dr. Perry smiled, his teeth glistening against the darkness of his beard. “An excellent fellow to know.” he said.

They started toward the camp, and a new worry began to gnaw at Chuck’s mind. They had been forced to take along a meager supply of food as it was — and now there were two extra mouths to feed!

He sighed deeply, convinced that they would never again see their own time, that they would remain among the reptiles forever.