Gramp started up the hill.
Topping the ridge, he saw Spike halfway to the ship.
'Come back and fight,' Gramp howled, waving his gun. 'Come back and fight, you ornery excuse for a polecat.'
Spike swung about, snapped a wild burst of flame along his backtrail and then fled, in ludicrous hops, toward the space ship.
Gramp halted, aimed the flame pistol carefully and fired. Spike turned a somersault in mid-air and sprawled on the ground. Gramp saw the guns Spike had taken from them flash redly in the Jupiter-light as the flame struck home.
'He dropped the guns!' Gramp yelled.
But Spike was up again and running, although his left arm hung limply from the shoulder, swinging freely as he hopped over the surface.
Too far away,' grunted Jurg Tec, overtaking Gramp.
'I had 'im dead center,' Gramped yelled, 'but it was a mite long range.'
Spike reached the ship and leaped into the port.