He scrambled to his feet as Toplinsky tore down on him.
“Shall I shoot him?” Billy asked softly.
“And stay on the moon all the rest of your life?” Toplinsky shrilled. “Shoot, will you? Shoot! I’m the only man who can take this expedition back to the earth.”
He stopped, tore open his shirt and exposed his hairy chest.
“Run,” Epworth urged. “Keep your cartridges as long as possible. I will attend to this gentleman.”
Without waiting to see what Billy did, Epworth squatted, sprang forward, and threw his arms around Toplinsky’s legs, jerking at them with all his strength. The result was exceedingly funny.
Toplinsky threw out both hands, waved them wildly, and attempted to fasten himself down with his powerful leg muscles. But this time light gravity aided the American, and he was able to shove the giant’s feet from under him. For a second Toplinsky was a bundle of flying arms and legs threshing the air and he fell in half a dozen directions. Joan, looking back, laughed outright.
To be laughed at was the crudest punishment that could be inflicted on the egotistical scientist. He let out a bellow like a bull, and made a desperate, thoughtless effort to stand up. The effort proved a contortion of muscles in the wrong way, and he sprawled in every direction again.
There was now no mercy in Epworth’s battles with this man, and he was not overlooking an opportunity. The first assault by the giant had taught him caution, and now he moved slowly, thoughtfully. He was not a man to draw a weapon carelessly on a man but he was fighting for the lives of three people. He could not afford to be squeamish. This was not like fighting on the earth. He was physically outclassed.
Drawing his gun he brought the butt down on Toplinsky’s head with all the force he had in his arm.