When The Earth
Stood Still
By ARLYN H. VANCE
This is an impressive story based on the cosmic ray. It illustrates the danger of man's interference with nature. Perhaps this interference has already begun in a small way.
A SCANT four hundred miles north of Chicago, near the center of that wild, densely wooded section of Wisconsin sometimes called the "last frontier," lies the blue-green waters of Turtle Lake. Viewed on a map, or better, from the air, it resembles a giant turtle with head and legs extended—hence the name. More than five miles long, and proportionately wide, its vast expanse is a paradise for visiting fishermen, while many miles of tree lined shores provide a cool summer haven for the harassed city dwellers who annually seek the pleasant vistas of the northern forests.
Perhaps half a mile off-shore, east from the center of the western edge of the lake lies the little island of Crawling Stone, a mere dot in this large body of water. It was the pleasant summer home of Dr. Frank Howell, B. Sc., M.I.E.E., and one time Professor of Science at a leading University. The house could be dimly seen standing on the peak of a low hill in the center of the island, half hidden by the fringe of evergreen trees which lined the rocky shore. High above the tree tops a single aerial mast, glistening with newness and supporting a type of vertical aerial utterly strange to the modern conception of radio, added an aspect of wizardry to this seemingly enchanted island.
Indeed, the dim mysteries of a past which had long since faded into eternity did seem to cast a queer spell over the place, for an ancient Indian legend told a weird tale of Pagan priests, human sacrifices, and a curse put upon the spot countless centuries before the white men came. Because it had been the scene of these unspeakable barbaric rites, the ground and rocks now forming the island had been torn loose from the mainland and sent to wander around the lake until the day of doom. Then cleansed of sin, it would return again to its former place as a part of the eastern shore of the lake.
Occasionally, on summer nights in the dark of the moon, the waters of the lake seemed to moan dismally as they washed the foot of the rocky promontory forming the east side of the island. And in winter, when heavy ice quieted the crying lake, and deep snows spread a mantle of silence over the landscape, still stranger things were reported to happen in this land
