Crusoe shook his head. "Your offer is rejected. Whatever happens to me, I do not intend to help you escape."
"No? You have no choice, friend Tlaxon. I am tired of caring for you like a baby. Either you accept my offer now or I withdraw it for a worse one. And I think I know of ways to make you do as I wish."
It was Crusoe's turn to perspire. He was quite aware that the other man knew of many painful ways. But he knew too that if he accepted the original offer, the murderous little man would break his promise and murder him the moment the ship's controls were freed of their responsiveness to the characteristics of one man.
While Crusoe hesitated, the sharp crack of a rifle broke the silence. Angel winced and pressed his hand to his right shoulder. A red stain spread under his fingers.
Half a dozen men with rifles were advancing across the burned out area of the swamp. "Attracted by the flame," muttered the Professor. "The fools." He swung around to cover them with his weapon, keeping one eye on Crusoe.
He had written off Angel because of the latter's wound. He should have remembered the man's tremendous vitality. Just as the weapon went off, Angel's left hand swung out and caught him under the jaw. A sheet of flame appeared at treetop level and then died out. The weapon fell to the ground and Crusoe picked it up.
The rifles exploded. The next moment the door in the ship's surface had swung silently open. Crusoe leaped in.
"So long, pal," said Angel huskily. "This rat killed Professor. I'm goin' to make sure that he gets his."
Crusoe shook his head, remembering all the times the big man had befriended him before.