"We want to get you off that rock, that's what we want." Then Garth added: "The Martian Princess, don't you remember? The space-wreck? All the others were saved—don't you want to be saved?
"You sound like some street-corner missionary," Prokle said, chuckling.
And again the madman's words came—cunning, but with a certain cool menace:
"I know what you want!"
"See?" Prokle said. "You can't reason with him. Hell, I wonder what he does think we want?" Prokle leaped up, stood exposed in the dying fire-light. Again the ray spurted. Gravity was light, and before Prokle could fall away from it, the ray caught him in the chest. Prokle fell and Garth cursed.
"It's all right, all right!" Prokle assured him quickly. "Just scorched my suit a little. Well, that finishes his ray."
"You're still a fool!" Garth snapped.
Now, from where Chiswell crouched they heard an animal-scream of rage as he realized how he'd been tricked: "Damn you!" And they heard the clatter of the gun as he flung it toward them. And their blood ran cold as Chiswell burst forth in a profane and garbled rush of mad words. The speech was so inarticulate, that it wasn't until he was nearly out of breath that they began to gather the purport:
"... damn tricky are you? But I know you. I know why you're here, too ... want to get me away do you—but you won't!... it's all mine, do you hear, all mine!... mine!... you'll never get it.... I was here first ... keep away from me, keep away!... you just try it ... ha ha!... all mine!"