Kimber’s dark eyes opened and stared up at them bemusedly. Then comprehension came back and he demanded:
“Who shot us down?”
Santee had his rifle in his hands.
“That’s what I’m gonna see, right now!’
Before the rest could protest, he darted away, back down the valley where they had landed, zigzagging into cover as he neared its mouth. There was a final boom of an exploding shell from that direction and then silence.
Dard and Cully got Kimber free of the sled. The pilot’s right arm was bleeding from a ragged wound near the shoulder. They broke open the medical kit and the engineer went competently to work so that Dard had nothing to do. When Kimber was stretched out on a bedroll Cully returned to examine the sled itself. He took up the cover of the motor and squirmed half into the space which enclosed it, ordering Dard to hold the torch for him. When he crawled back his face was very sober.
“How bad?” asked Kimber. There was more color in his dark face and be levered himself up on an elbow.
“Not the worst-but about as near to that as we can get.” Cully was interrupted by a shout from the trees where Santee had disappeared.
The big man returned walking in the open, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm-as if they had nothing to fear.
“Fellas, this here’s plain crazy! There’s a nest of guns down there all hidden away. Little stuff-light field pieces. But there’s not a livin’ critter in the place. Them there guns fired at us their ownselves!”