Tommy stared at her. Then he decisively reached forward and put his hand over her mouth.
“Keep quiet,” he said gently. “They shan’t capture you. I promise that. Now keep quiet.”
There was only silence for a long time. Now and again a hidden figure screamed in rage at them. Now and again some flapping thing sped toward the jungle’s edge. Once a naked arm thrust one of the golden truncheons from behind its cover, pointing at a flying thing a few yards overhead. The flying thing suddenly toppled, turning over and over before it crashed to the ground. There were howls of glee.
“They seem mad,” said Tommy meditatively, “and they act like lunatics, but I’ve got a hunch of some sort about them. But what?”
Sunlight gleamed on something golden beyond the jungle’s edge. Naked figures went running to the spot. An exultant tumult arose.
“Now they try another trick,” Tommy observed dispassionately. “I remember that at the Tube they had pushed something on wheels….”
The sub-machine gun was unhandy for accurate single shots, and no pistol can be used to effect at long ranges. To conserve ammunition, Tommy had been shooting only at relatively close targets, allowing the Ragged Men immunity at over two hundred yards. But now he flung over the continuous-fire stud. He watched grimly.
The foliage at the edge of the jungle parted. A crude wagon appeared. Its axles were lesser tree-trunks. Its wheels were clumsy and crude beyond belief. But mounted upon it there was a queer mass of golden metal which looked strangely beautiful and strangely deadly.
“That’s the thing,” said Tommy dispassionately, “which made the flare of light last night. It blew up the Tube. And Von Holtz told me—hm—his friends, in the City….”