From somewhere in the interior of the fusilage Doggo produced a pad of paper and a Formian stylus, and wrote: “Alcohol. We must have alcohol. Then away from these accursed shores forever.”
Seizing the writing materials Myles replied, “You have four rifles. Let me take one of them. Protect this plane with the other three, while I return alone by the back way and bring the alcohol here under convoy of the entire laboratory guard.”
Then, giving no time for dissent, he seized the rifle and bandoleer from the plane, and was gone. Out through the next inclosure he went, slid open the secret door in the wall, and peered cautiously out. One lone ant-man with rifle and bandoleer was parading the alley.
Myles fired, but missed. The Formian promptly took cover behind a pile of rubbish, and fired back. Myles hastily withdrew, then cautiously put his head through the opening again in order to take a shot at his enemy. But the enemy fired first, the bullet grazing the leather helmet of the earth-man and stunning him considerably. So he sat on the ground within the inclosure, and rubbed his sore head for a few minutes. What a narrow escape!
Then he had an idea. He propped his hat on a stick, so that it would sway gently in the breeze, its rim just projecting through the opening in the wall giving every indication of life. Then he ran quickly along inside the wall until he came to a corner, which he judged must be about opposite the rubbish heap which sheltered the Formian. Climbing quietly up the studding at this point, he peered carefully over. There lay his black enemy, only a few feet away, steadily watching the bobbing edge of the helmet.
Two shots from Cabot’s rifle, and the vigil was over; and soon the earth-man, his helmet regained, and with an extra rifle and cartridge belt flung across his shoulders, was proceeding unmolested down the alley.
He reached the laboratory without further adventure, and found everything as he had left it. The guard, however, reported that they had had to repulse three assaults by Roies, the last of which had been led by a Formian armed with a rifle.
“If it had not been for this magic sling-shot which you left with us,” said the guardsman, “we should have been beaten. But the surprise of the savage ones at finding us thus armed was so great that even their leader could not rally them, though the beast did kill several of our men before he finally fled with his Roy henchmen.”
The Radio Man then informed them of his intention to cart the alcohol to Jud’s inclosure, where new wonders would be performed. Accordingly, all except a few sentinels withdrew into the laboratory to load up.
First Myles sorted out the bottles which were small enough to carry conveniently, and then filled these bottles with alcohol from the large carboys in which it was stored. This left a dozen or so carboys still unemptied. It would be a pity to leave these behind, but it would be impossible to get a cart out by the back way.