CHAPTER 2.

Rash Advances

Not more than ten or fifteen miles we judged it from our landing rock to

that last village. For all our eagerness we thought it wise to keep to

the woods and go carefully.

Even Terry’s ardor was held in check by his firm conviction that there

were men to be met, and we saw to it that each of us had a good stock of

cartridges.

“They may be scarce, and they may be hidden away somewhere--some kind of

a matriarchate, as Jeff tells us; for that matter, they may live up

in the mountains yonder and keep the women in this part of the

country--sort of a national harem! But there are men somewhere--didn’t

you see the babies?”

We had all seen babies, children big and little, everywhere that we had

come near enough to distinguish the people. And though by dress we could

not be sure of all the grown persons, still there had not been one man

that we were certain of.

“I always liked that Arab saying, ‘First tie your camel and then trust

in the Lord,’” Jeff murmured; so we all had our weapons in hand, and

stole cautiously through the forest. Terry studied it as we progressed.

“Talk of civilization,” he cried softly in restrained enthusiasm. “I

never saw a forest so petted, even in Germany. Look, there’s not a dead

bough--the vines are trained--actually! And see here”--he stopped and

looked about him, calling Jeff’s attention to the kinds of trees.

They left me for a landmark and made a limited excursion on either side.

“Food-bearing, practically all of them,” they announced returning. “The

rest, splendid hardwood. Call this a forest? It’s a truck farm!”

“Good thing to have a botanist on hand,” I agreed. “Sure there are no

medicinal ones? Or any for pure ornament?”

As a matter of fact they were quite right. These towering trees were

under as careful cultivation as so many cabbages. In other conditions

we should have found those woods full of fair foresters and fruit

gatherers; but an airship is a conspicuous object, and by no means

quiet--and women are cautious.

All we found moving in those woods, as we started through them, were

birds, some gorgeous, some musical, all so tame that it seemed almost

to contradict our theory of cultivation--at least until we came upon

occasional little glades, where carved stone seats and tables stood in

the shade beside clear fountains, with shallow bird baths always added.

“They don’t kill birds, and apparently they do kill cats,” Terry

declared. “_Must_ be men here. Hark!”

We had heard something: something not in the least like a birdsong, and

very much like a suppressed whisper of laughter--a little happy sound,

instantly smothered. We stood like so many pointers, and then used our

glasses, swiftly, carefully.

“It couldn’t have been far off,” said Terry excitedly. “How about this

big tree?”

There was a very large and beautiful tree in the glade we had just

entered, with thick wide-spreading branches that sloped out in lapping

fans like a beech or pine. It was trimmed underneath some twenty feet

up, and stood there like a huge umbrella, with circling seats beneath.

“Look,” he pursued. “There are short stumps of branches left to climb

on. There’s someone up that tree, I believe.”

We stole near, cautiously.

“Look out for a poisoned arrow in your eye,” I suggested, but Terry

pressed forward, sprang up on the seat-back, and grasped the trunk. “In

my heart, more likely,” he answered. “Gee! Look, boys!”

We rushed close in and looked up. There among the boughs overhead was

something--more than one something--that clung motionless, close to the

great trunk at first, and then, as one and all we started up the tree,

separated into three swift-moving figures and fled upward. As we climbed

we could catch glimpses of them scattering above us. By the time we had

reached about as far as three men together dared push, they had left the

main trunk and moved outward, each one balanced on a long branch that

dipped and swayed beneath the weight.

We paused uncertain. If we pursued further, the boughs would break under

the double burden. We might shake them off, perhaps, but none of us was

so inclined. In the soft dappled light of these high regions, breathless

with our rapid climb, we rested awhile, eagerly studying our objects

of pursuit; while they in turn, with no more terror than a set of

frolicsome children in a game of tag, sat as lightly as so many big

bright birds on their precarious perches and frankly, curiously, stared

at us.

“Girls!” whispered Jeff, under his breath, as if they might fly if he

spoke aloud.

“Peaches!” added Terry, scarcely louder.

“Peacherinos--apricot-nectarines! Whew!”

They were girls, of course, no boys could ever have shown that sparkling

beauty, and yet none of us was certain at first.

We saw short hair, hatless, loose, and shining; a suit of some light

firm stuff, the closest of tunics and kneebreeches, met by trim gaiters.

As bright and smooth as parrots and as unaware of danger, they swung

there before us, wholly at ease, staring as we stared, till first one,

and then all of them burst into peals of delighted laughter.

Then there was a torrent of soft talk tossed back and forth; no savage

sing-song, but clear musical fluent speech.

We met their laughter cordially, and doffed our hats to them, at which

they laughed again, delightedly.

Then Terry, wholly in his element, made a polite speech, with

explanatory gestures, and proceeded to introduce us, with pointing

finger. “Mr. Jeff Margrave,” he said clearly; Jeff bowed as gracefully

as a man could in the fork of a great limb. “Mr. Vandyck Jennings”--I

also tried to make an effective salute and nearly lost my balance.

Then Terry laid his hand upon his chest--a fine chest he had, too,

and introduced himself; he was braced carefully for the occasion and

achieved an excellent obeisance.

Again they laughed delightedly, and the one nearest me followed his

tactics.

“Celis,” she said distinctly, pointing to the one in blue; “Alima”--the

one in rose; then, with a vivid imitation of Terry’s impressive manner,

she laid a firm delicate hand on her gold-green jerkin--“Ellador.” This

was pleasant, but we got no nearer.

“We can’t sit here and learn the language,” Terry protested. He beckoned

to them to come nearer, most winningly--but they gaily shook their

heads. He suggested, by signs, that we all go down together; but again

they shook their heads, still merrily. Then Ellador clearly indicated

that we should go down, pointing to each and all of us, with

unmistakable firmness; and further seeming to imply by the sweep of a

lithe arm that we not only go downward, but go away altogether--at which

we shook our heads in turn.

“Have to use bait,” grinned Terry. “I don’t know about you fellows,

but I came prepared.” He produced from an inner pocket a little box of

purple velvet, that opened with a snap--and out of it he drew a long

sparkling thing, a necklace of big varicolored stones that would have

been worth a million if real ones. He held it up, swung it, glittering

in the sun, offered it first to one, then to another, holding it out as

far as he could reach toward the girl nearest him. He stood braced

in the fork, held firmly by one hand--the other, swinging his bright

temptation, reached far out along the bough, but not quite to his full

stretch.

She was visibly moved, I noted, hesitated, spoke to her companions.

They chattered softly together, one evidently warning her, the other

encouraging. Then, softly and slowly, she drew nearer. This was Alima,

a tall long-limbed lass, well-knit and evidently both strong and agile.

Her eyes were splendid, wide, fearless, as free from suspicion as a

child’s who has never been rebuked. Her interest was more that of

an intent boy playing a fascinating game than of a girl lured by an

ornament.

The others moved a bit farther out, holding firmly, watching. Terry’s

smile was irreproachable, but I did not like the look in his eyes--it

was like a creature about to spring. I could already see it happen--the

dropped necklace, the sudden clutching hand, the girl’s sharp cry as he

seized her and drew her in. But it didn’t happen. She made a timid reach

with her right hand for the gay swinging thing--he held it a little

nearer--then, swift as light, she seized it from him with her left, and

dropped on the instant to the bough below.

He made his snatch, quite vainly, almost losing his position as his

hand clutched only air; and then, with inconceivable rapidity, the three

bright creatures were gone. They dropped from the ends of the big boughs

to those below, fairly pouring themselves off the tree, while we climbed

downward as swiftly as we could. We heard their vanishing gay laughter,

we saw them fleeting away in the wide open reaches of the forest, and

gave chase, but we might as well have chased wild antelopes; so we

stopped at length somewhat breathless.

“No use,” gasped Terry. “They got away with it. My word! The men of this

country must be good sprinters!”

“Inhabitants evidently arboreal,” I grimly suggested. “Civilized and

still arboreal--peculiar people.”

“You shouldn’t have tried that way,” Jeff protested. “They were

perfectly friendly; now we’ve scared them.”

But it was no use grumbling, and Terry refused to admit any mistake.

“Nonsense,” he said. “They expected it. Women like to be run after. Come

on, let’s get to that town; maybe we’ll find them there. Let’s see, it

was in this direction and not far from the woods, as I remember.”

When we reached the edge of the open country we reconnoitered with our

field glasses. There it was, about four miles off, the same town, we

concluded, unless, as Jeff ventured, they all had pink houses. The broad

green fields and closely cultivated gardens sloped away at our feet, a

long easy slant, with good roads winding pleasantly here and there, and

narrower paths besides.

“Look at that!” cried Jeff suddenly. “There they go!”

Sure enough, close to the town, across a wide meadow, three bright-hued

figures were running swiftly.

“How could they have got that far in this time? It can’t be the same

ones,” I urged. But through the glasses we could identify our pretty

tree-climbers quite plainly, at least by costume.

Terry watched them, we all did for that matter, till they disappeared

among the houses. Then he put down his glass and turned to us, drawing

a long breath. “Mother of Mike, boys--what Gorgeous Girls! To climb like

that! to run like that! and afraid of nothing. This country suits me all

right. Let’s get ahead.”

“Nothing venture, nothing have,” I suggested, but Terry preferred “Faint

heart ne’er won fair lady.”

We set forth in the open, walking briskly. “If there are any men, we’d

better keep an eye out,” I suggested, but Jeff seemed lost in heavenly

dreams, and Terry in highly practical plans.

“What a perfect road! What a heavenly country! See the flowers, will

you?”

This was Jeff, always an enthusiast; but we could agree with him fully.

The road was some sort of hard manufactured stuff, sloped slightly to

shed rain, with every curve and grade and gutter as perfect as if it

were Europe’s best. “No men, eh?” sneered Terry. On either side a double

row of trees shaded the footpaths; between the trees bushes or vines,

all fruit-bearing, now and then seats and little wayside fountains;

everywhere flowers.

“We’d better import some of these ladies and set ’em to parking the

United States,” I suggested. “Mighty nice place they’ve got here.” We

rested a few moments by one of the fountains, tested the fruit that

looked ripe, and went on, impressed, for all our gay bravado by the

sense of quiet potency which lay about us.

Here was evidently a people highly skilled, efficient, caring for their

country as a florist cares for his costliest orchids. Under the soft

brilliant blue of that clear sky, in the pleasant shade of those endless

rows of trees, we walked unharmed, the placid silence broken only by the

birds.

Presently there lay before us at the foot of a long hill the town or

village we were aiming for. We stopped and studied it.

Jeff drew a long breath. “I wouldn’t have believed a collection of

houses could look so lovely,” he said.

“They’ve got architects and landscape gardeners in plenty, that’s sure,”

agreed Terry.

I was astonished myself. You see, I come from California, and there’s no

country lovelier, but when it comes to towns--! I have often groaned

at home to see the offensive mess man made in the face of nature, even

though I’m no art sharp, like Jeff. But this place! It was built mostly

of a sort of dull rose-colored stone, with here and there some clear

white houses; and it lay abroad among the green groves and gardens like

a broken rosary of pink coral.

“Those big white ones are public buildings evidently,” Terry declared.

“This is no savage country, my friend. But no men? Boys, it behooves us

to go forward most politely.”

The place had an odd look, more impressive as we approached. “It’s like

an exposition.” “It’s too pretty to be true.” “Plenty of palaces, but

where are the homes?” “Oh there are little ones enough--but--.” It

certainly was different from any towns we had ever seen.

“There’s no dirt,” said Jeff suddenly. “There’s no smoke,” he added

after a little.

“There’s no noise,” I offered; but Terry snubbed me--“That’s because

they are laying low for us; we’d better be careful how we go in there.”

Nothing could induce him to stay out, however, so we walked on.

Everything was beauty, order, perfect cleanness, and the pleasantest

sense of home over it all. As we neared the center of the town the

houses stood thicker, ran together as it were, grew into rambling

palaces grouped among parks and open squares, something as college

buildings stand in their quiet greens.

And then, turning a corner, we came into a broad paved space and

saw before us a band of women standing close together in even order,

evidently waiting for us.

We stopped a moment and looked back. The street behind was closed by

another band, marching steadily, shoulder to shoulder. We went

on--there seemed no other way to go--and presently found ourselves quite

surrounded by this close-massed multitude, women, all of them, but--

They were not young. They were not old. They were not, in the girl

sense, beautiful. They were not in the least ferocious. And yet, as I

looked from face to face, calm, grave, wise, wholly unafraid, evidently

assured and determined, I had the funniest feeling--a very early

feeling--a feeling that I traced back and back in memory until I caught

up with it at last. It was that sense of being hopelessly in the wrong

that I had so often felt in early youth when my short legs’ utmost

effort failed to overcome the fact that I was late to school.

Jeff felt it too; I could see he did. We felt like small boys, very

small boys, caught doing mischief in some gracious lady’s house. But

Terry showed no such consciousness. I saw his quick eyes darting here

and there, estimating numbers, measuring distances, judging chances of

escape. He examined the close ranks about us, reaching back far on every

side, and murmured softly to me, “Every one of ’em over forty as I’m a

sinner.”

Yet they were not old women. Each was in the full bloom of rosy health,

erect, serene, standing sure-footed and light as any pugilist. They had

no weapons, and we had, but we had no wish to shoot.

“I’d as soon shoot my aunts,” muttered Terry again. “What do they

want with us anyhow? They seem to mean business.” But in spite of that

businesslike aspect, he determined to try his favorite tactics. Terry

had come armed with a theory.

He stepped forward, with his brilliant ingratiating smile, and made low

obeisance to the women before him. Then he produced another tribute, a

broad soft scarf of filmy texture, rich in color and pattern, a lovely

thing, even to my eye, and offered it with a deep bow to the tall

unsmiling woman who seemed to head the ranks before him. She took it

with a gracious nod of acknowledgment, and passed it on to those behind

her.

He tried again, this time bringing out a circlet of rhinestones, a

glittering crown that should have pleased any woman on earth. He made a

brief address, including Jeff and me as partners in his enterprise, and

with another bow presented this. Again his gift was accepted and, as

before, passed out of sight.

“If they were only younger,” he muttered between his teeth. “What on

earth is a fellow to say to a regiment of old Colonels like this?”

In all our discussions and speculations we had always unconsciously

assumed that the women, whatever else they might be, would be young.

Most men do think that way, I fancy.

“Woman” in the abstract is young, and, we assume, charming. As they get

older they pass off the stage, somehow, into private ownership mostly,

or out of it altogether. But these good ladies were very much on the

stage, and yet any one of them might have been a grandmother.

We looked for nervousness--there was none.

For terror, perhaps--there was none.

For uneasiness, for curiosity, for excitement--and all we saw was what

might have been a vigilance committee of women doctors, as cool as

cucumbers, and evidently meaning to take us to task for being there.

Six of them stepped forward now, one on either side of each of us, and

indicated that we were to go with them. We thought it best to accede, at

first anyway, and marched along, one of these close at each elbow, and

the others in close masses before, behind, on both sides.

A large building opened before us, a very heavy thick-walled impressive

place, big, and old-looking; of gray stone, not like the rest of the

town.

“This won’t do!” said Terry to us, quickly. “We mustn’t let them get us

in this, boys. All together, now--”

We stopped in our tracks. We began to explain, to make signs pointing

away toward the big forest--indicating that we would go back to it--at

once.

It makes me laugh, knowing all I do now, to think of us three

boys--nothing else; three audacious impertinent boys--butting into an

unknown country without any sort of a guard or defense. We seemed to

think that if there were men we could fight them, and if there were only

women--why, they would be no obstacles at all.

Jeff, with his gentle romantic old-fashioned notions of women as

clinging vines. Terry, with his clear decided practical theories that

there were two kinds of women--those he wanted and those he didn’t;

Desirable and Undesirable was his demarcation. The latter as a large

class, but negligible--he had never thought about them at all.

And now here they were, in great numbers, evidently indifferent to

what he might think, evidently determined on some purpose of their own

regarding him, and apparently well able to enforce their purpose.

We all thought hard just then. It had not seemed wise to object to going

with them, even if we could have; our one chance was friendliness--a

civilized attitude on both sides.

But once inside that building, there was no knowing what these

determined ladies might do to us. Even a peaceful detention was not to

our minds, and when we named it imprisonment it looked even worse.

So we made a stand, trying to make clear that we preferred the open

country. One of them came forward with a sketch of our flier, asking by

signs if we were the aerial visitors they had seen.

This we admitted.

They pointed to it again, and to the outlying country, in different

directions--but we pretended we did not know where it was, and in

truth we were not quite sure and gave a rather wild indication of its

whereabouts.

Again they motioned us to advance, standing so packed about the door

that there remained but the one straight path open. All around us and

behind they were massed solidly--there was simply nothing to do but go

forward--or fight.

We held a consultation.

“I never fought with women in my life,” said Terry, greatly perturbed,

“but I’m not going in there. I’m not going to be--herded in--as if we

were in a cattle chute.”

“We can’t fight them, of course,” Jeff urged. “They’re all women,

in spite of their nondescript clothes; nice women, too; good strong

sensible faces. I guess we’ll have to go in.”

“We may never get out, if we do,” I told them. “Strong and sensible,

yes; but I’m not so sure about the good. Look at those faces!”

They had stood at ease, waiting while we conferred together, but never

relaxing their close attention.

Their attitude was not the rigid discipline of soldiers; there was no

sense of compulsion about them. Terry’s term of a “vigilance committee”

was highly descriptive. They had just the aspect of sturdy burghers,

gathered hastily to meet some common need or peril, all moved by

precisely the same feelings, to the same end.

Never, anywhere before, had I seen women of precisely this quality.

Fishwives and market women might show similar strength, but it was

coarse and heavy. These were merely athletic--light and powerful.

College professors, teachers, writers--many women showed similar

intelligence but often wore a strained nervous look, while these were as

calm as cows, for all their evident intellect.

We observed pretty closely just then, for all of us felt that it was a

crucial moment.

The leader gave some word of command and beckoned us on, and the

surrounding mass moved a step nearer.

“We’ve got to decide quick,” said Terry.

“I vote to go in,” Jeff urged. But we were two to one against him and he

loyally stood by us. We made one more effort to be let go, urgent, but

not imploring. In vain.

“Now for a rush, boys!” Terry said. “And if we can’t break ’em, I’ll

shoot in the air.”

Then we found ourselves much in the position of the suffragette trying

to get to the Parliament buildings through a triple cordon of London

police.

The solidity of those women was something amazing. Terry soon found that

it was useless, tore himself loose for a moment, pulled his revolver,

and fired upward. As they caught at it, he fired again--we heard a

cry--.

Instantly each of us was seized by five women, each holding arm or leg

or head; we were lifted like children, straddling helpless children, and

borne onward, wriggling indeed, but most ineffectually.

We were borne inside, struggling manfully, but held secure most

womanfully, in spite of our best endeavors.

So carried and so held, we came into a high inner hall, gray and bare,

and were brought before a majestic gray-haired woman who seemed to hold

a judicial position.

There was some talk, not much, among them, and then suddenly there fell

upon each of us at once a firm hand holding a wetted cloth before mouth

and nose--an order of swimming sweetness--anesthesia.