"A little closer and I'll get him!" whispered Larry viciously. He raised his pistol.
His hand was caught in a mighty grip; Rador, eyes blazing, stood beside him.
"No!" rasped the green dwarf. He heaved a shoulder against one of the boulders that formed the pocket. It rocked aside, revealing a slit.
"In!" ordered he, straining against the weight of the stone. O'Keefe slipped through. Olaf at his back, I following. With a lightning leap the dwarf was beside me, the huge rock missing him by a hair breadth as it swung into place!
We were in Cimmerian darkness. I felt for my pocket-flash and recalled with distress that I had left it behind with my medicine kit when we fled from the gardens. But Rador seemed to need no light.
"Grip hands!" he ordered. We crept, single file, holding to each other like children, through the black. At last the green dwarf paused.
"Await me here," he whispered. "Do not move. And for your lives—be silent!"
And he was gone.