They came upon Farrell eventually. He was 'dug in' behind a huge drift over which the big missiles came looping. Farrell had obviously cut the power of his catapult to take care of the short-range trajectory, but his aim was still excellent. With as many snowballs as they could carry, the attackers stormed the drift, pelting without aim until their supply was gone and then scooping snow up and throwing without much packing.
Behind the rampart was Wes Farrell with a trough-shaped gadget and a pair of heavy coil springs. Above the rear end of the trough was a duplicator. It dropped a snowball on the trough and the springs snapped forward.
The flying ball caught Don Channing in the pit of the stomach just as he attained the top of the rampart.
When he regained the top once more, the festivities were about over. The shooting was stopped, and the others of his side had Farrell held face upward on the trough while the duplicator dropped snowball after snowball on him.
"Wonder how far we could shoot him," suggested Jim Baler.
Farrell did not think that funny. He struggled to his feet and then grinned, "Fine war," he told them. "Anybody ready for a bit of hot toddy?"
Channing grunted. "Yeah, and a hot bath and a hearty dinner and a seven hour sleep. So you've taken over Walt's job of making weapons, huh?"
"Walt will be green with envy," said Arden.
Don sobered. "He's missing plenty. I've got all the word out that if he's seen, get here quick. He must have dropped the Relay Girl in some out of the way place. He hasn't landed on any regular spaceport."
"There's lots of room for that in the Palanortis Country," said Farrell.