"Don't!" screamed Marc. And with a sudden motion of his shoulders, he lurched free of the deputy's heavy grasp.
"Get 'im, Fred!" the sheriff bellowed.
In the furious moment that followed, Marc was briefly aware of just two things. The first was a Gargantuan fist, moving swiftly into his face; the second ... and most alarming ... was Harold's finger, pressing firmly down on the white button. Both made contact in the same dreadful instant.
There was a sudden, terrifying burst of white, white light, then complete, roaring darkness.
Marc felt the floor go fluid under his feet. Then the swirling tide caught him up, and he was spiraling downward, into the deep blackness of a gigantic whirlpool. Nearer and nearer the pointed, thrashing center he moved, but he did not struggle against it. Somehow, he was suddenly too weary to care. He relaxed and let himself be borne along in the racing, circling current.
The journey ended just as it reached its twisting, turning climax. Deposited lightly on a soft, velvety surface, Marc lay perfectly still for a moment, savoring a strange feeling of quiet contentment. Slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed out at the muted greenness of the quiet little valley. He ran an eager hand over the grass. It was as soft and fine as rabbit's fur. With a contented sigh, he rolled over. Then he sat up abruptly.
The pert, vivid face that was lowered to his, was familiar. Also, it was irritated in expression. Dangerously so.
"What's the big idea?" Toffee demanded hotly.
"What do you mean?"