"They are all about us outside—dozens of them! They are examining the projectile and trying to break it open. If they strike the windows, it will be too easy."
The projectile tottered a little again. There was a heaving noise, and one end rose a little from the ground.
"They are trying to carry us off, Doctor," I cried. "You must turn in the currents and fly away from them."
The projectile was just then lifted awkwardly, and wavered a little and pitched, as if it were being carried by a throng struggling clumsily all about it. The doctor sprang to his apparatus and turned in four batteries at once. We shot up swiftly in a long curve, and from my window I could see the circle of amazed Martians, standing dumbly with their hands still held up in front of them, as they had been when the projectile left them, while they gazed open-mouthed into the sky at us.
CHAPTER II
The Terror Birds
"They must have thought the projectile was another chunk fallen from Phobos!" I exclaimed; "and now they can't make out why it should fly back to the satellite again."
"The more we mystify them, the more they will fear us," said the doctor. "I am going to make a swift downward swoop now, as if we would crash through the midst of them. Then perhaps they will let us alone till we are ready for them."