wt.theyearofthequietsun-第36节

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d　the　four　sides　together　where　nails　failed　to　do　an　adequate　job；　and　to　fasten　the　bed　to　the　axle；　the　tires　were　long　rotted　away　and　the　cart　rode　on　metal　rims。　No　skilled　carpenter　had　fitted　it　together。
　　The　second　object　to　catch　his　eye　was　a　heaped　mound　of　clay　in　the　adjoining　area　that　had　once　been　a　flower　garden。　Unusually　tall　grass　and　weeds　grew　everywhere；　partially　obscuring　a　view　of　the　station　and　almost　blocking　sight　of　the　yellow　mound；　the　grass　grew　high　around　the　parking　lot；　and　beyond　it；　and　in　the　open　'spaces　surrounding　the　buildings　across　the　street。　Weeds　and　grass　filled　the　near　distance　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see；　and　he　was　reminded　of　the　buffalo　grass　said　to　have　grown　here　when　Illinois　was　an　Indian　prairie。　Time　had　done　that…time　and　neglect。　The　station　lawns　had　long　gone　unattended。
　　Moving　warily；　stopping　often　to　scan　the　area　around　him；　Chaney　approached　the　mound。
　　When　he　was　yet　a　distance　away　he　discovered　a　faint　trail　running　from　the　edge　of　the　lot；　through　the　garden　and　toward　the　mound　itself。　The　next　discovery　was　equally　blunt。　Alongside　the　path…almost　invisible　in　the　high　grass…was　a　water　channel；　a　crude　aqueduct　made　from　guttering　ripped　from　some　building　and　twisted　into　shape　to　serve　this　purpose。　Chaney　stopped　short　in　surprise　and　stared　at　the　guttering　and　the　nearby　mound；　already　guessing　at　what　he　would　find。　He　continued　the　stealthy　approach。
　　He　came　suddenly　into　a　clearing　in　the　rampant　grass　and　found　the　artifact：　a　cistern　with　a　crude　wooden　lid。　A　bucket　and　a　length　of　rope　rested　beside　it。
　　Chaney　slowly　circled　the　cistern　and　the　clay　that　had　e　from　the　excavation；　to　stumble　over　yet　another　channel　made　of　the　same　guttering；　the　second　aqueduct　ran　through　the　weeds　and　grass　toward　the　lab　building…probably　to　catch　the　run…off　from　the　roof。　The　clay　mound　was　not　fresh。　Struck　with　an　overwhelming　curiosity；　he　knelt　down　and　pried　away　the　lid　to　find　a　cistern　half　filled　with　water。　The　walls　of　the　pit　were　lined　with　old　brick　and　rough　stone　slabs　but　the　water　was　remarkably　clean；　and　he　looked　to　see　why。　Filters　made　of　screenwire　torn　from　a　window　were　fitted　over　the　ends　of　each　gutter　to　protect　the　cistern　from　ining　debris　and　small　animals。　The　gutters　themselves　were　free　of　leaves　and　trash；　and　an　effort　had　been　made　to　seal　the　joints　with　a　tarry　substance。
　　Chaney　put　down　the　rifle　and　bent　to　study　the　cistern　in　wonder。　It　was　already　recognizable。
　　Like　the　cart；　it　had　not　been　fashioned　by　skilled　hands。　The　shape　of　the　thing…the　lines　of　it…were　easily　familiar：　the　sides　not　quite　perpendicular；　the　mouth　not　evenly　rounded；　and　the　shaft　appearing　to　be　larger　near　the　bottom　than　at　the　top。　It　was　odd；　amateurish；　and　sunk　without　a　plumb　line…but　it　was　a　reasonably　faithful　copy　of　a　Nabataean　cistern　and　it　might　be　expected　to　hold　water　for　a　century　or　more。　In　this　place　it　was　startling。　Chaney　replaced　the　lid　and　climbed　to　his　feet。
　　When　he　turned　around　he　saw　the　grave。
　　It　shocked　him。　The　site　had　been　concealed　from　him　until　now　by　the　high　growth　of　the　garden；　but　again　a　faint　path　led　to　it　from　the　clearing　at　the　cistern。　The　mound　above　the　grave　was　low；　aged；　and　covered　by　a　short　weedy　grass；　the　cross　above　it　was　nailed　together　and　coated　with　fading　white　paint。　Dim　lettering　was　visible　on　the　crossarm。
　　Chaney　moved　in　and　knelt　again　to　read　it。
　　
　　　A　ditat　Deus　K
　　
　　The　gatehouse　door　had　been　loosed　from　its　hinges　and　taken　away…perhaps　to　build　the　cart。
　　Chaney　peered　warily　through　the　opening；　alert　for　danger　but　dreading　the　possibility　of　it；　then　stepped　inside　for　a　closer　examination。　The　room　was　bare。　No　trace　remained　of　the　men　who　had　died　there：　bone；　weapon；　scrap　of　cloth；　nothing。　Some　of　the　window　glass　had　been　knocked　out　but　other　panes　were　intact；　the　screenwire　had　been　taken　from　two　of　the　windows。　An　empty　place。
　　He　backed　out　and　turned　to　stare　at　the　gate。
　　It　was　shut　and　padlocked；　effectively　blocking　admittance　to　all　but　a　determined　climber；　and　an　effort　had　been　made　to　repair　the　damage　done　to　it。　Chaney　noted　all　that　in　a　single　glance　and　went　forward　to　study　the　additional　stoppers…the　added　warnings。　Three　grisly　talismans　hung　on　the　outside　of　the　gate　facing　the　road：　three　skulls；　taken　from　the　bodies　of　the　men　who'd　died　in　the　gatehouse　so　long　ago。　The　warning　to　would…be　trespassers　was　strikingly　clear。
　　Chaney　stared　at　the　skulls；　knowing　the　warnings　to　be　as　old　as　time；　he　knew　of　similar　monitions　which　had　guarded　towns　in　Palestine　before　the　Roman　conquest；　monitions　which　had　been　used　as　late　as　the　eighteenth　century　in　some　of　the　more　remote　villages　of　the　Negev。
　　He　saw　no　one　in　the　area：　the　entrance　and　its　approaches　were　deserted；　the　warning　well　taken。　Weeds　and　waist…high　grass　grew　in　the　ditches　and　the　fields　on　either　side　of　the　road　leading　to　the　distant　highway　but　the　grass　had　not　been　disturbed　by　the　passage　of　men。　The　blacktopped　road　was　empty；　the　white　line　down　the　center　long　since　weathered　away　and　the　asphalt　surface　badly　damaged　by　the　years。　An　automobile　using　that　road　now　would　be　forced　to　move　at　a　snail's　pace。
　　Chaney　photographed　the　scene　and　quit　the　area。
　　Walking　north　with　an　easy　stride；　he　followed　the　familiar　route　to　the　barracks　where　he'd　lived　that　short　while　with　Saltus　and　Moresby。　The　site　was　almost　passed　over　because　it　was　covered　by　a　tangle　of　weeds　and　grass；　no　buildings　rose　above　the　jungle。
　　Forcing　his　way　through　the　tangle…and　flushing　from　its　nesting　place　a　quick；　furry　thing　he　tardily　recognized　as　a　rabbit…Chaney　stumbled　upon　the　burnedout　base　of　a　building　nearly　lost　in　the　undergrowth。　He　couldn't　recognize　it　as　his　own　barracks；　nor　point　to　the　location　of　his　small　room　if　it　had　been　the　barracks；　only　the　long　narrow　rectangle　of　the　foundation　suggested　the　kind　of　dwelling　it　was。　Chaney　peered　over　the　wall。　A　narrow　band　of　frost　lined　the　cement　blocks　at　the　groundline　on　the　north　side；　pointing　up　the　chill　in　the　air。　Patches　of　blue　wildflowers　grew　in　the　sunlight　and…much　to　his　surprise…other　patches　of　wild；　red　strawberries　sprouted　everywhere　along　the　sunnier　side　of　the　foundation。　He　thought　to　glance　at　the　sky；　measuring　the　progress　of　the　sun　and　the　season；　then　stared　again　at　the　strawberries。　It　should　be　early　summer。
　　Chaney　photographed　it　and　went　back　to　the　street。　An　abandoned　place。　He　continued　north。
　　E　Street　was　easily　identified　without　the　need　of　the　rusted　sign　standing　on　a　pole　at　a　corner。　He　stayed　alert；　walking　cautiously　and　listening　hard　for　any　sound　around　him。　The　station　was　quiet　under　the　sun。
　　The　recreation　area　was　harshly　changed。
　　Chaney　crept　silently　in　the　entrance　and　across　the　broken　concrete　patio　to　the　rim　of　the　swimming　pool。　He　looked　down。　A　few　inches　of　dirty　water　covered　the　bottom…residue　from　the　rains…together　with　a　poor　collection　of　rusted　and　broken　weapons　and　an　appreciable　amount　of　debris　blown　in　by　the　wind：　the　pool　had　bee　a　dumping　ground　for　trash　and　armament。　The　sodden　corpse　of　some　small　animal　floated　in　a　corner。　A　lonely　place。　Chaney　very　carefully　put　away　the　memory　of　the　pool　as　he'd　known　it　and　backed　away　from　the　edge。　The　area　now　seemed　unkempt；　ugly；　and　not　a　scene　to　be　pared　with　more　pleasant　times。
　　He　left　quickly；　bearing　north　and　west。　The　far　corner　was　a　mile　or　more　away　as　he　remembered　the　map　of　the　station；　but　he　thought　he　could　walk　the　distance　in　a　reasonable　time。
　　Chaney　found　the　motor　pool　before　he'd　progressed　a　half　dozen　long　blocks。　Less　than　twenty　cars　littered　the　great　blacktopped　lot；　but　not　one　was　operable：　they　had　been　wantonly　stripped　of　parts　and　many　of　them　were　no　more　than　burned…out　shells。　The　hood　of　every　vehicle　was　propped　open；　and　the　batteries　taken；　not　one　of　the　small　motors　was　left　intact　to　provide　him　with　an　idea　of　the　plant。　Chaney　poked　about　the　lot　because　he　was　curious；　and　because　Arthur　Saltus　had　told　him　about　the　little　electric　cars。　He　wished　he　could　drive　one。　There　were　no　trucks　on　the　lot　nor　had　he　seen　one　anywhere　on　the　station；　although　a　number　of　them　had　been　working　the　post　during　his　training　period。　He　supposed　they　had　been　transferred　to　Chicago　to　meet　the　emergency…or　had　been　stolen　when　the　ramjets　overran　the　statioii
　　Chaney　emerged　from　the　lot　and　stopped　abruptly　on　the　street。　It　may　have　been　an　illusion　brought　on　by　tension；　but　he　thought　he　glimpsed　movement　in　the　high　grass　across　the　street。　He　slipped　the　safety　on　the　rifle　and　walked　to　the　curb。　Nothing　was　visible　in　the　heavy　undergrowth。
　　
　　
　　There　were　no　holes　in　the　fence　at　the　corner。
　　The　burned　and　rusted　shell　of　a　truck　occupied　a　place　that　had　once　been　a　hole；　but　now　that　truck　was　a　part　of　the　repaired　fence。　Barbed　wire　had　been　strung　back　and　forth　across　the　opening；　pulled　taut　over；　under；　and　through　the　wreck　itself　in　such　fashion　that　the　truck