The Martians looked on stolidly as the outlaw raved and cursed, berating them. Then, suddenly, the air above the pit seemed to blast wide open. A shrieking, unhuman sound beat at the ears of the boy; he jerked his arms up to shield his face. For the hundreds of birds clustered grimly about the city were in flight—necks outstretched, eyes glittering, feathered bullets.
Pete screamed faintly and fell to the ground shielding himself. Then he was overwhelmed by the dark, whirring mass.
The birds had gone berserk. They drove straight for the man's face, hundreds of them. His flailing arms smashed against their soft bodies, batting them out of the air, crushing them to the ground, but hundreds more took their places, pecking at him with frenzied beaks, uttering harsh, discordant cries.
It had all happened so quickly that it caught Don off guard. It was incredible—birds attacking a human being! He jerked forward. Immediately Martians rushed to the aid of his guards. His young muscles strained to break their grip, but in their hands he was powerless. Agonized, he watched Pete die, a swaying, staggering figure seen dimly through a heaving whir of wings and stabbing beaks.
Finally it was over and the birds, flying heavily, reeled through the air to their old posts, leaving behind them a hundred dead and dying of their kind, the result of the outlaw's frantic blows.
The boy turned his eyes away from the gory mess on the floor of the amphitheater. In spite of his horror his mind was working with desperate clarity. Birds do not attack human beings. It was against nature. What had maddened them to their deed?