Time Accomplishes Progress On Earth.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Comet December 40.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
John C. Hastings, senior medical student in the Nebraska StateUniversity Medical School at Omaha, looked out of the window of thePackard sedan he was driving down the road along the top of the bluff,and out in the middle of the Missouri River he saw a Roman galley,sweeping down midstream with three tiers of huge oars.
A pang of alarm shot through him. The study of medicine is a terriblegrind; he had been working hard. In a recent psychiatry class theyhad touched upon hysterical delusions and illusions. Was his mindslipping? Or was this some sort of optical delusion? He had stolen awayfrom Omaha with Celestine Newbury to enjoy the green and open freshnessof the country like a couple of stifled city folks. Perhaps the nearesthe had come to foolishness had been when the stars had looked like hereyes and he had pointed out Mars and talked of flying with her to visitthat mysterious red planet.
"Do you see it too?" he gasped at Celestine.
She saw it, too, and heard the creak of oars and the thumping ofa drum; there floated up to them a hoarse chant, rhythmic but notmusical, broken into by rough voices that might have been cursing.
It was a clumsy vessel, built of heavy timbers, with a high-beakedprow. There was a short mast and a red-and-yellow sail that bulged inthe breeze. The long oars looked tremendously heavy and unwieldy, andswung in long, slow strokes, swirling up the muddy water and throwingup a yellow bow-wave. The decks were crowded with men, from whom camethe gleam of metal shields, swords, and helmets.
"Some advertising scheme I suppose," muttered John cynically.
"Or some traveling show, trying to be original," Celestine suggested.
But the thing looked too grim and clumsy for either of these things.There was a total lack of modern touch about it. Nor was there aword or sign of advertising anywhere on it. They stopped the car andwatched. As it slowly drew nearer they could see that the men werecoarse, rowdy, specimens; and that the straining of human muscles atthe oars was too real to be any kind of play.
Then there were shots below them. Someone at the foot of the bluff wasblazing away steadily at the galley. On board the latter, a commotionarose. Men fell. Then voices out on the road in front of them becamemore pressing than either of these things.
"A young fellow and a girl," someone said; "big, fast car. Omahalicense number. They'll do."
"Hey!" a voice hailed them.
In front, on the road, were a dozen men. Some were farmers, some wereIndians. One or two might have been bank clerks or insurance salesmen.All were heavily armed, with shotguns, rifles, and pistols. They lookedhaggard and sullen.
"Take us to Rosalie, and then beat it for Omaha and tell them what yousaw," one of the men ordered gruffly. "The newspapers and the commanderat Fort Crook."
This was strange on a peaceful country road, but John could see noother course than to comply with their request. He turned the car backto Rosalie, the Indian Reservation town, and the men were crowdedwithin it and hung all over the outside. Even the powerful Packardfound it a heavy burden. In the direction of Rosalie, the strangestsight of all awaited them.
Before they saw the town, they found a huge wall stretching across theroad. Beyond it rose blunt shapes, the tops of vast low buildings. Whata tremendous amount of building! the thought struck John at once. For,they had driven t