Then Dr. Spartan, who had heard our radio conversation, interrupted. "Why didn't you shoot them, Drake?"
"I was in the car," I told him. "And they're two to one."
He hesitated, then said, "Don't try to outrun them. Lead them slowly. Give me a chance to get there."
"Yes, sir," I said.
You don't argue with Spartan and I was too busy guiding the car over the rocky slope to answer anyhow. I don't think I could have outdistanced the Martians going uphill as I was. On level ground though, it would be different.
My radio suddenly started to chatter with a series of strange noises. The Martians seemed to have discovered my wave length. It was a sound the like of which I'd never heard before. It's hard to describe it. The nearest comparison would be a cricket singing bass. Or perhaps the dah of dit-dah Morse on a code transmitter. But the Martians had demonstrated that they could change frequencies, and vaguely I wondered how they'd do on television and FM channels.
Suddenly they seemed to be trying to imitate my voice.
"Yessir—yessir—yessir—"
They were like talking crows.
Finally I reached the lip of the canal and, rolling over the ridge, saw Axel standing beside a pile of light crates he'd stacked up beside the rocket ship. He waved his hands and I steered toward him.