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Updated: May 25, 2025
"There's a bit of good going hereabouts." He flung a careless knee over the low raking tiller that the ordinary expert puts under his armpit, and down four miles of yellow road, cut through barren waste, the Octopod sang like a six-inch shell. "Whew! But you know your job," said Hinchcliffe. "You're wasted here. I'd give something to have you in my engine-room."
He explained the system under which the material was kept moving forward to the ever-advancing front; let her watch the rhythmic swing and slide of the rails from the car to the benches; took her up into the cab of the big "octopod" locomotive; gave her a chance to peep into the camp kitchen car; and concluded by handing her up the steps of the "dinkey."
Winton had raced back with his news of the catastrophe, and the camp was alive with men clustering like bees and swarming upon the flat-cars of the material-train to be taken to the front. While she looked, studiously ignoring the man behind her, Virginia saw the big octopod engine clamoring up the grade. In a twinkling the men were off and at work.
Pyecroft clung to our guest, who stared with affrighted eyes at the palpitating Octopod; and the free wind of high Sussex whimpered across the ling. "I am quite agreeable to walkin' 'ome all the way on my feet," said our guest. "I wouldn't go to any railway station. It 'ud be just the proper finish to our little joke." He laughed nervously. "What's the evolution?" said Pyecroft.
It was a big, black, black-dashed, tonneaued twenty-four horse Octopod; and it bore not only Kysh my friend, and Salmon his engineer, but my own man, who for the first time in our acquaintance smiled. "Did they get you? What did you get? I was coming into Linghurst as witness to character your man told me what happened but I was stopped near Instead Wick myself," cried Kysh. "What for?"
He wanted to make the memory permanent and to extend it If it had not been for his vacuum suit and the cannister he carried, Pop would have rubbed his hands. Tall, jagged crater-walls rose from the lunar plain. Monstrous, extended inky shadows stretched enormous distances, utterly black. The sun, like a glowing octopod, floated low at the edge of things and seemed to hate all creation.
Down in the Utah construction camp lights were darting to and fro; and before long she heard the hoarse puffs of the big octopod, betokening activities. She was shivering a little in the chill wind sliding down from the snow-peaks, yet she would not go in until she had made sure. In a little time her patience was rewarded.
Winton pointed to the waiting octopod. "I'm going to order the Two-fifteen down out of the way: you may go with her if you like." "I guess not!" quoth the assistant, calmly lighting a fresh cigarette. And then to the water-boy, who was acting quartermaster: "Give me a rifle and a cartridge-belt, Chunky, and I'll stay here with the boss."
"Jig's up pretty definitely, don't you think?" said Adams, with a glance around at the idle track force huddling for shelter under the lee of the flats and the octopod. Winton shook his head and groaned. "I'm a ruined man, Morty." Adams found his cigarette case. "I guess that's so," he said quite heartlessly. Then: "Hello! what is our friend the enemy up to now?"
Beyond the litter of activities the octopod was standing, empty of its crew. Bounding up into the cab, he released the brake and sent the great engine flying down the track of the new line. In the measuring of the first mile the despair-born thought took shape and form.
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