The native grunted and went limp. McLean jerked the knife from its scabbard. He did not have to use it. A series of fine tremors passing through his body, the Martian was dying. The explosive slug from the Rangeley had finally done its work. With relief McLean let the body drop.
McLean wiped sweat and sand from his face. "That was the death charge, all right. But you didn't miss. See—" He pointed to the wound in the Martian's chest.
The Rangeley stopped burping as the girl took her eyes from the sight and looked around. Glancing at the Martian, she hastily averted her face. An instant later, she was back at the sight. The Rangeley began burping again.
McLean had the impression that all the time he had been fighting with the Martian, the Rangeley had been burping.
She had kept the gun going!
There was something he wanted to say to this archaeologist. He waited until he had enough breath to say it.
"You're all right," he said at last. "I mean you use your head and keep the others holed up while I fight this one."
She flashed a smile at him. "They're not holed up, they're running," she answered.
McLean lifted his head above the level of the hole. A corpse was sprawled almost at the muzzle of the Rangeley. A second lay fifty feet away. A third was perhaps a hundred yards distant.