Wild dread leaped into Berreau’s eyes as he recognized that glittering little vial from his own laboratory.
“The Burmese Blight! You wouldn’t, Farris! You wouldn’t turn that loose here!’’
“I will!” Farris said hoarsely. “I will, unless you come out of here with us, now!”
Raging hate and fear were in Berreau’s eyes as he stared at that innocent corked glass vial of gray-green dust.
He said thickly, “For this, I will kill!”
Lys screamed. Black lianas had crept upon her as she stood with her face hidden in her hands. They had writhed around her legs like twining serpents, they were pulling her down.
The forest seemed to roar with triumph. Vine and branch and bramble and creeper surged toward them. Dimly thunderous throbbed the strange telepathic voices.
“Slay them!” said the trees.
Farris leaped into that coiling mass of vines, his bolo slashing. He cut loose the twining lianas that held the girl, sliced fiercely at the branches that whipped wildly at them.
Then, from behind, Berreau’s savage blow on his elbow knocked the bolo from his hand.