Prev | Current Page 96 | Next

Serviss, Garrett P. (Garrett Putman), 1851-1929

"A Columbus of Space"

I was startled by the energy of
his words:
"Edmund Stonewall," he cried, agitating his arms, "you have brought me to
my death with your infernal invention! May you be--"
But he never finished the sentence. His face turned as white as a sheet,
and he sank in a heap upon the floor.
"Poor fellow," said Edmund, pityingly. "Would to God that he instead of
Church had remained at home. But I'll get him and all of us out of this
trouble; only give me a little time."
In a few minutes Jack and I had restored Henry to his senses, but he was
as weak as a child, and remained lying on one of the cushioned benches.
In the meantime the car descended until at last it rested upon the snow
in a deep valley, where we were protected from the wind. In this profound
depression a kind of twilight prevailed, for the sun, which we had
glimpsed when we were on the level of the peaks, was at least thirty
degrees below our present horizon. Henry having recovered his nerve, we
all got out of the car, unloosed the natives, and began to look about us.
The scene was more disheartening than ever. All about towered the crystal
mountains, their bases leaden-hued and formless in the ghostly gloom,
while their middle parts showed deep gleams of ultramarine, brightening
to purple higher up, and a few aspiring peaks behind us sparkled
brilliantly where the sunlight touched them.


Pages:
84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108