But as Simms strode forward, a footstep sounded behind him. He stiffened and turned. An Earth man stood there on the little beach, hands resting triumphantly on hips, watching him.
"Halleck!"
In the swamp back of the space-rat lay a long akimla canoe, filled with Kamali tribesmen, drawn by three waterskippers, their ugly beetle-like bodies lashed with an intricate network of harness.
There was a mold gun in Halleck's hands, and he had it leveled before him.
Out of the corner of his eye the lieutenant was searching desperately for a way of escape. Above him his upraised hands touched the spreading branch of a priest tree, and he saw that its farther extremity hung within a foot of Halleck's gun hand.
Simms seized the branch and gave it a powerful downward jerk. And in the instant that the space-rat's weapon was pushed out of aim, he threw himself forward in a flying tackle.
He fought desperately, aware that he had seconds in which to act and no more. A heavy kick in the groin sent a wave of nausea surging through him. Then his hands closed about the mold gun. He tore it free and pounded a hard blow into the space-rat's jaw. Twice he stuck. Then as Halleck slumped backward, he stumbled erect and trained the weapon on the advancing Kamalis, finger tight on trigger.
"Back!" he snapped. "One move, and I fire. Get into that jitterbug chariot of yours and get going!"
Two days later a mud-stained, mold-encrusted hydrocar swung up to the jetty at BeTaba, Venusian Colonial Headquarters on the outer edge of Blue Swamp. Two haggard Earthmen climbed out, one still gripping a Kamali mold gun, the other, his hands bound behind him.