by D. L. JAMES
The ice stone was a time warp, a
pathway through 500,000 years!
[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.]
It all started at Bandar Shahpur. You see, I'm a railroad constructionman. Our job was finished, and the whole outfit was waiting at BandarShahpur, which is on the inlet Khor Musa of the Persian Gulf, for aboat to take us back to America.
And there, out of nowhere, this Dr. Champ Chadwick showed up. He seemedto be starving for a little good old U.S.A. palaver, and I guess that'swhy we struck up an acquaintance.
"I've been doing a little digging over in Iraq," he said offhand."But things quieted down there. So now I'm bound for the desertand mountains to the north of here. This railroad has opened thingsup. It's difficult to get an expedition financed, you know, andtransportation is sometimes the chief item."
I began to catch on that he was one of those guys who dig up ruinsand things, and read a country's whole past from what they find.Then he went on to tell that he'd been sent out by a university inPennsylvania, but that this present trip was just a sudden idea of hisown.
And as he talked I began to like Dr. Chadwick. He was a serious-faced,rawboned little guy—not half my size—with steady eyes, a firm chin,and black hair plastered down slick on his head. By and by he gotaround to mention that he was looking for a strong-backed man to takealong with him.
"I intend to strike out from Qum, the holy city," he said. "I'll try toget hold of a motor-truck there—and one of these desert men to driveit. They're rotten drivers though," he added, "and next to a dead losson a trip like this." Then he sighed. "But I'm getting used to 'em."
"What do you expect to find up there?" I asked.
"The usual thing," he answered, as if that ought to explain everything."This country is full of ruins. It's so old, in fact, that sometimes Ithink that everything that can happen has already happened here, at onetime or another. Take Qum, for instance. A few years back there weretwenty thousand ruined and deserted buildings still standing. Thesewalled towns are like coral islands, surrounded and upheld by the dustand decay of their own past. But I'm looking for something fartherback—much farther back."
He paused, then suddenly his eyes brightened. "There's one thing,though. I may have a try at finding the Ice Stone."
"The Ice Stone?" I echoed. "And what's that?"
"Perhaps just a legend. It isn't likely you would ever have heard ofit. It's supposed to be a black stone, a huge, square block, set inthe side of a mountain. If a man touches it, his hand sinks in, and hecan get loose only by amputating. The queer part is, there seems to besome basis for the legend. All down through Iran's history there aredisconnected references. The thing keeps cropping up. Vague reportsfrom wandering tribes, with one or more cripples, minus an arm or leg,to verify the yarn. So, I may take a shot at locating the Ice Stone."
Queer stories like that are quite common in Iran. Ordinarily I'd havelaughed and forgotten it. But as I say, I'd taken a sort of liking tothis serious-faced little Dr. Champ Chadwick. And when you like a manyou're bound to think twice before discrediting what he believes in.
"So you'll be taking a ride over this crazy railroad," I remarkedthoughtfully, somewhat later.
He nodded. "What makes you call it crazy?"
Well, I told him. Of course he already knew quite a lot about Iran'snew railroad—the many-million dollar toy of the "Brother o