"Oh—" cried Hilda—"and it's still alive. They're eating it alive!"
"Not much difference," grunted John as he aimed and fired rapidly at three more. Then he led her around the circle of rolling, crowding bodies. One coyote at the edge of the circle howled dismally. There were still a dozen or more between them and the door.
John tried a new trick. He shot one of the beasts and ran quickly forward with his radilight in the cliff's shadow, frightening the others back. Then, while Hilda held her gun ready, he quickly scooped up the fallen coyote by its bushy tail and whirled it round his head to heave it far out over the milling mass of hungry bodies. Each hairy carcass felt unbelievably light to him, and he could cast them thirty feet away. When most of the coyotes were facing the living food away from the door John dragged her toward the great copper portal, shooting as they ran.
The lighter gravity had made the work fairly easy, but even so, he was sweating and his hands trembled as he seized the last one and tossed it into the air. Hilda was fumbling with the door.
"Let me do it!" he gasped, "I remember—"
The shot exploded in a burst of light.