Another spoke: “I cannot understand its principle. How can a weapon kill afar, and yet not resemble either a sling or a bow?”
And another: “Show us how it works, friend. Then perhaps we may be persuaded.”
And a third: “I do not believe that he has it.”
Whereat, the original speaker, nettled, spoke again: “It is in my tent there, you doubters,” indicating the one beside which Cabot crouched.
Quick as a flash, Cabot wriggled beneath the back of the tent into its interior. The campfire light, penetrating through the slit opening in front, revealed nothing but rumpled blankets on the floor, and ordinary weapons slung to the tent pole; so the intruder commenced rummaging among the bedding. The conversation outside continued.
“Prove, or be silent!” said a voice.
“You saw the Vairking fall, did you not?” the original speaker replied.
“True, but I did not see you sling any pebble.”
Meanwhile, Cabot continued his frantic search. At last, it was rewarded. In one corner of the tent, his groping fingers closed upon a Formian rifle and a bandolier of cartridges. A thrill ran through him at the touch.
“To prove it to you,” the voice outside was saying, angrily, “I will get it for you; and if you do not believe me, I shall slingshot you with it. That ought to be proof enough even for a stupid one like you. I have said it!”