“Well, my friends, well! What have you to say? Here you have the god Cay—the great Beast of the document, the great absurdity that could not possibly exist. Do we see him? Is he here, or is it possibly a dream, and we shall all awake together?” and the little wretch laughed, actually laughed exultingly, as he grinned round upon us.
As for me, when I heard his words my heart gave a great leap. I had utterly forgotten the horrible old story of the document. Looking on this atrocity, I could but wonder if there was any truth in it, and in the fearful tale of the devouring of Alfa, the sacrificial virgin. And as I speculated on Hardal’s wild frenzy if he saw her set in the path of this filthy monstrosity, I did not marvel that he had been hot to avenge his love or to die with her, even if unavailingly.
And then, as you may imagine, my thoughts wandered off swiftly to Gwen, and my gorge rose and my pulses leaped outrageously at the bare idea of seeing her or any other human being in the bestial Thing’s maw. The remembrance that she and twoscore other souls were swinging on that open pool, the easiest possible prey to this crawling Horror, made me curse deeply below my breath, while behind the imprecation followed earnestly a prayer.
Parsons still babbled and chattered in the background with his face to earth. Denvarre and Gerry stood silent, their faces as white as the ice-splits beside them, but Lessaution’s color was returning, and his show of bravado increased. He strode a pace or two nearer the swinging head, and began to look up at it inquisitively, waving his hand and strutting as if he stood before a class.
“You see, my friends, you see,” he expatiated with a platform manner, “this is of the supposedly extinct race of the Dinosauria. Of this animal and others like him we have examples in the Secondary period and the Jurassic formation. Of this class, but not of this order, is the great Sea Serpent, at which imbeciles pretend to laugh, but it has been seen—ah, yes, even as we see this monster before us. Since the days before history he has been here—this great and wonderful beast, and to us—to us who have toiled, comes the honor—the supreme honor to discover him. He was old when the race of Maya came; he is older now. And yet we stand familiarly before him. We look up at him, and there you see he wags his head. So we say belle chance de faire votre connaissance, monsieur, and we bow to introduce ourselves,” and the little man smirked and bobbed to the hideous head as, shuttle-like, it weaved restlessly from side to side of the cavern before his eyes.
It was the most absurdly ghastly combination of the horrible and the ridiculous that ever presented itself to a sane brain, to see that self-important little ass parade himself and point before that loathsome presence. His round little stomach was silhouetted black against the glistening ice, his arms were spread abroad, his toes out-turned, and swagger perspired from his every pore; while above him swung that living climax of horror, arrant in its filthy gruesomeness, indecently manifest in the face of nature. One might well be forgiven if one barely gave credence to one’s own eyesight.
As the Frenchman made obeisance forward, spreading his palms outward, and shrugging his shoulders with this outrageous buffoonery and travesty of courage, like a flash the gaping mouth dropped down upon him, and the red, sinuous tongue lapped out at him.
Uttering a shrill cry he stepped backward. His footsteps were hasty and uncertain, and his feet slipped upon the smoothness of the roof drip that swamped the rocky floor. His feet fled from under him, and he rolled over, falling within reach of the eager, straining lips.
The tip of the curling tongue fell upon his shoulder. The roughnesses of it clung to his jacket, fastening themselves to the coarse texture. He struck out at it wildly, and his palm brushed the red, rasping surface. His hand fell back bleeding and flayed, torn by the ragged point as it scored across it. He shrieked aloud, squirming and dragging desperately at the hold upon his arm, wriggling frantically. Above him the green eyes flamed scornfully, gloating upon him as a stoat might on a struggling rabbit. Out of the open jaws the saliva poured upon him, drenching him with noisomeness.
For one stupefying second we were paralyzed, fascinated by abounding horror. Then Denvarre’s rifle sprang to his shoulder, and as we leaped forward a shot re-echoed clatteringly down the dark aisles of the icy passages. A deep, livid gap showed angrily and red in the lapping, sinuous tongue. With the swiftness of light it swept from its hold upon the jacket, rending the stout cloth in the suddenness of the release. Before the crack of the rifle had died into the silences we seized the little man’s outstretched arms, and shot him back into safety. We heaved him to his feet, gasping, panting, his teeth chattering with the black terror of his escape.