"What did happen?" asked one of the men. He gestured with reluctance at Crusoe. "This guy just pointed his hand—"
Angel whirled around. "Him? I thought somebody in back of me threw a grenade. I wasn't askin' who done it—"
"Nobody threw no grenade. He just pointed at them."
"Just with his finger? And them rifles exploded? It ain't possible!"
They surrounded Crusoe and stared at him with fear-filled eyes. "How did you do it, pal?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I just felt as if a weapon belonged in my hand, as if all I had to do was point it. So I did. And the rifles exploded."
"Point at a tree."
He pointed at a tree. Nothing happened.
Angel bounced his hand against his ear, as if trying to shake loose some water that hampered his hearing. He looked uneasy and bewildered. "Somethin's screwy, but we can't stop to figure it now. We gotta keep goin'."
The pursuers were being more cautious now, and after a time Crusoe realized that the acuteness of the danger had passed. They all stopped to rest. The other two men, however, paused only briefly. One of them said, "So long, chum. We better split up here. We're gonna catch a freight goin' north."