And another thing Jim saw, something that explained why the fearful insects had not flown up to attack him in the air. Their wings were gone!
They had molted, were earthbound now.
There was much food for thought in this, but no time to think. Already the creatures were almost on him.
Jim turned his gaze from them and bent over his dials in a last frantic effort to get his motor started. The instinct of self-preservation was dominant now—and to his joy, suddenly the powerful little engine began to hum with life.
He drew one deep breath of infinite relief, then gave her the gun and whirled off down the desert floor, the enraged horde after him.
For agonizing instants it was a nip-and-tuck race. Then as he felt his wheels lift, he pulled hard back on his stick, and swept up and away from the deadly claws that clutched after him in vain.
Climbing swiftly, Jim banked once, swept back, put the bead full on that scattering half-circle of fiery termites, and pressed the trigger of his automatic camera.
“There, babies!” he laughed grimly. “You’re in the Rogues’ Gallery now!”
Then, swinging off to the northeast, he continued to climb, giving that weird ant-hill a wide berth.