IX

A PRISONER

The squad of Vairking soldiers, with Myles Cabot as their prisoner, had

traversed nowhere near the distance to the palace, when they turned from

the street through a gate.

“Where are they going to take me now?” Myles wondered.

This question was soon answered, for the party entered a building which

was evidently a dwelling of the better class. The hall was well lighted,

so that Miles blinked at the sudden glare.

The leader of the party placed himself squarely in front of his

prisoner, with hands on his hips, and remarked with apparent

irrelevance: “Well, we fooled Quivven, didn’t we?”

The prisoner stared at him in surprise. It was Jud! Jud, disguised as a

common soldier.

Cabot laughed with relief.

“You certainly gave me a bad hundred-and-forty-fourth part of a day,” he

asserted. “I didn’t recognize you in your street clothes. What is the

great idea?”

“‘The great idea’,” the noble replied, “to quote your phrase, is that I

did truly represent Theoph the Grim. He authorized me to arrest you in

his name. The pretty little spy will report your capture to Arkilu, and

her father will stonily refuse to reveal where you are imprisoned.

“Meanwhile I shall give the golden one time to escape, and shall then

send a second squad to seize your effects. Your expedition will start

immediately. Come, unbind the prisoner.”

As soon as his bonds were loosed, Myles warmly grasped the hand of his

benefactor.

“You are all right!” he exclaimed. “You have completely succeeded

without leaving anything to explain.”

“I _always_ succeed, and never have to explain anything!” Jud replied a

bit coldly.

And so, late that night, the Radio Man, dressed in leather tunic and

helmet, and armed with a tempered wood rapier, set out with his

bodyguard for the western mountains. In silence, and with the minimum of

lights, they threaded the streets of Jud’s compound and then the streets

of the city until they came to the west gate, where a pass signed by

Theoph the Grim gave them free exit. Thence they moved due westward

across the plain, with scouts thrown out to guard against contact with

any roving Roies.

By daybreak they had reached the cover of the wooded foothills, and

there they camped for a full day of much needed rest. Finally, on the

second morning following their stealthy departure from Vairkingi, their

journey really started.

The commander of the bodyguard was an intelligent youth named Crota.

During the meals at the first encampment, Myles described to Crota in

considerable detail the particular form of copper pyrites which furnish

the bulk of the copper used for electrical purposes on the continent of

Cupia.

After listening intently to this description for about the fifth time,

Crota smiled and said, “We Vairkings place no stock in pretty stones,

except as playthings for our children, but I do recall the little golden

cubes with which the children of one of the hill villages are accustomed

to play tum-tum. This village, Sur by name, is only a day’s journey to

the southward. Let us turn our steps thither and learn from the children

where they get their toys.”

“‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,’” the earth-man quoted to

himself.

And so they set out to the southward, following a trail which wound in

and out between the fertile silver-green hills, which were for the most

part scantily wooded.

Toward the close of the day, Crota’s scouts established contact with the

outposts of the village which they were seeking; and after an exchange

of communications by runner, the expedition was given free passage to

proceed. Shortly thereafter they came in sight of the village itself.

From among the surrounding verdant rolling terrain there arose one rocky

eminence with precipitous sides, and with a flat summit on which stood

the village of Sur surrounded by a strong wooden palisade.

Up the face of the cliff there ran a narrow zigzag path, cut in the

living rock, and overhung by many a bastion from which huge stones could

be tumbled or molten pitch poured on any invaders so rash as to attempt

the ascent.

Along this path the expedition crawled in single file with many pauses

to draw their breath; and before they reached the summit Cabot realized

full well how it was that Sur, the southernmost outpost of Vairkingian

civilization, had so long and so successfully withstood the onslaughts

of the wild and savage Roies.

The inhabitants, furry Vairkings, turned out in large numbers to greet

the visitors and especially to inspect the furless body and the much

overfurred chin of the earth-man. Guides led the expedition to a large

public hall where, after a speech of welcome by the headman of the

village, they were fed and quartered for the night.

Between the meal and bedtime the visiting soldiers strolled out to see

the sights by the pale pink light of the unseen setting sun. Cabot and

Crota together walked to the west wall to observe the sunset.

As the two of them leaned on the parapet, a rattling noise on the rocky

walk beside them disturbed their reverie. Looking down, they saw three

furry children rolling some small objects along the ground. With a

slight exclamation of surprise and pleasure, the Vairking soldier

swooped down upon the youngsters, scooped up one of the toys, and handed

it to the earth-man.

“Tum-tum,” Crota laconically announced, and sure enough it was one of

the small game-cubes, which he had described to his companion.

But before the latter had had the slightest opportunity to examine it,

the bespoiled infant let out a howl of childish rage, and commenced to

assail Myles with fists and teeth and feet.

“Stop that!” Crota shouted, grabbing him by one arm and pulling him

away. “We don’t want to keep your tum-tum; we merely want to look at it.

This gentleman has never seen a tum-tum.”

“Gentleman?” the boy replied from a safe distance. “Common soldier!

Bah!”

But Myles Cabot was too engrossed to notice the insult. The small cube

in his hand was undoubtedly a metallic crystal, but whether chalcopyrite

or not he could not tell in the fading light. In fact, it might be the

sunset which gave the stone its coppery tinge.

Taking a small flint knife from a leather sheath that hung from his

belt, Myles offered it to the child in exchange for the toy, in spite of

Crota’s gasping protest at the extravagance.

The boy eagerly accepted the offer, remarking: “Thank you, sir. You

should take off those clothes.”

It was a very neat and subtle compliment. Gentlemen Vairkings never wore

clothes. Cabot was impressed.

“Your name, my son?” he asked, patting the furry little creature on the

head.

“Tomo the Brief,” was the reply.

“I shall remember it.”

Then he hurried back to the public hall, eager to examine his purchase

by the light of the oil flares.

Sure enough, it turned out to be really pyrites, and by its deep color

probably a pyrites rich in copper. To the Radio Man it meant the first

tangible step toward the accomplishment of the greatest radio feat ever

undertaken on two worlds; namely the construction of a complete sending

and receiving set out of nothing but basic materials in their natural

state without the aid of a single previously fabricated man-made tool,

utensil, or chemical. To this day Myles wears this cube as a pendant

charm in commemoration of that momentous occasion.

As he lay on the floor of the public building that night the earth-man

reviewed the events of the day until he came to the episode of the

purchase of the cubical pyrite crystal from little Tomo.

“Your name, my son?” Cabot had asked him.

“‘My son’,” thought Cabot. “I have a son of my own across the boiling

seas on the continent of Cupia, and a wife, the most beautiful and

sweetest lady in Poros. They are in dire danger, or were many months ago

when I received the S O S which led me to return through the skies to

this planet. Oh, how I wish that I could learn what that danger was, and

what has happened to them since then!”

Thus he mused; and yet when he came to figure up the time since his

capture he was able to account for less than three weeks of earth time.

Perhaps there was still a chance of rescue, if he would but hurry.

The danger which had inspired his Lilla’s call for help was undoubtedly

due to the return of Prince Yuri across the boiling seas. For all that

Myles knew, Princess Lilla and the loyal Cupians were still holding out

against their renegade prince.

The message which Cabot had ticked out into the ether from the radio

station of the ants had been sent only a few days after the S O S. If

received by Lilla or any of her friends, it had undoubtedly served to

encourage them to stiffen their resistance to the usurper; and if

received by Yuri, it had undoubtedly thrown into him the fear of the

Great Builder.

Musing and hoping thus, the earth-man fell into a troubled sleep,

through which there swirled a tangled phantasmagoria of ant-men,

Cupians, whistling bees, and Vairkings, with occasional glimpses of a

little blue-eyed blond head, sometimes surmounted by golden curls and

two dainty antennae, but sometimes completely covered with golden fur.

Shortly after sunrise he awoke, and aroused Crota. No time must be lost!

The Princess Lilla must be saved!

But there was nothing they could do until their hosts brought the food

for the morning meal. From the bearers they now ascertained that the

tum-tum cubes were gathered in a cleft in the rocks only a short

distance from the village; and that, although the perfect cubes were

rare and quite highly prized, the imperfect specimens were present in

great quantities. In fact, hundreds of cartloads had been mined and

picked over in search of perfect cubes, and thus all this ore would be

available in return for the mere trouble of shoveling it into carts.

As soon as arrangements could be made with the headman of Sur, Cabot and

his party, accompanied by guides, crept down the narrow zigzag path to

the plain below the village, and proceeded up a ravine to the quarry,

where they verified all that had been told them.

It was a beautiful sight; a rocky wall out of a cleft in which there

seemed to pour a waterfall of gold.

But on close inspection, every cube was seen to be nicked or bent or out

of proportion, or jammed part way through or into some other cube.

The soldiers, both those from Vairkingi and those from Sur, scrambled up

the golden cascade and started hacking the crystals out of the solid

formation, in search for perfect cubes, while their two leaders watched

them with amusement from below.

All at once there came a shriek, and one of the Vairkings toppled the

whole length of the pile, almost at Cabot’s feet, where he lay perfectly

still, the wooden shaft of an arrow projecting from one eyeball.

“Roies!” Crota shouted.

Instantly every member of the party took cover with military precision

behind some rock or tree.

They had not long to wait, for a shower of missiles from up the valley

soon apprised them of the location of the enemy. So the Vairkings

thereafter remained alert. Those who had bows drew them and discharged a

flint-tipped arrow at every stir of grass or bush in the locality whence

the missiles of the enemy had come.

“We know not their number,” Crota whispered to Cabot. “And since we have

accomplished our mission let us return to Sur as speedily as possible.”

“Agreed,” the earth-man replied.

The withdrawal was accomplished as follows. Crota first dispatched

runners to the village to inform the inhabitants of the situation. Then,

leaving a small rear guard of archers and slingers to cover their

retreat, he formed the remainder of the expedition in open order, and

set out for Sur as rapidly as the cover would permit.

The enemy kept pretty well hidden, but it was evident from the increase

of arrows and pebbles that their numbers were steadily augmenting.

Noting this, Crota sent another runner ahead with this information.

It now became necessary to replenish and relieve the rear guard, of

which several were dead, several more wounded and the rest tired and out

of ammunition. This done, Crota ordered the main body of his force to

leave cover and take up the double quick.

The result was unexpected. A hundred or more Roies charged yelling down

the ravine through the Vairking rear guard, and straight at Cabot’s men,

who at once ran to cover again and took deadly toll of the oncoming

enemy.

But the Roies so greatly outnumbered the Vairkings that the tide could

not be stemmed, and soon the two groups were mingled together in a

seething mass. The first rush was met, spear on spear. Then the sharp

wooden swords were drawn, and Cabot found himself lunging and parrying

against three naked furry warriors.

The neck was the vulnerable spot of the Vairkings, and it was this point

which the Roies strove to reach, as Cabot soon noted. That simplified

matters, for guarding one’s neck against such crude swordsmen as these

furry aborigines was easy for a skilled fencer such as he. Accordingly,

one by one, he ran three antagonists through the body.

Just as he was withdrawing his blade from his last victim, he noted that

Crota was being hard pressed by a burly Roy swordsman; so he hastened to

his friend’s assistance. And he was just in time, for even as Cabot

approached, the naked Roy knocked the leather-clad Vairking’s weapon

from his hand with a particularly dexterous sideswipe, and thus had

Crota at his mercy.

But before the naked one could follow up his advantage, the earth-man

hurled his own sword like a spear, and down went the Roy, impaled

through the back, carrying Crota with him as he fell.

Cabot paused to draw breath, and was just viewing with satisfaction the

lucky results of his chance throw, when a peremptory command of “Yield!”

behind him caused him to wheel about and confront a new enemy. The

author of the shout was a massive furry warrior with a placid, almost

bovine, face, which nevertheless betokened considerable intellect.

“And to whom would I yield, if I did yield?” Myles asked, facing unarmed

the poised sword of his new enemy.

“Grod the Silent, King of the Roies,” was the dignified reply.

“I thought that Att the Terrible was king of your people,” the earth-man

returned, sparring for time.

“That is what Att thinks too,” the other answered with a slight smile.

But the smile was short-lived, for Myles Cabot, having momentarily

distracted his opponent’s attention by this conversation, stepped

suddenly under the guard of the furry Grod, and planted his fist square

on Grod’s fat chin. Down crashed the king, his sword clattering from his

nerveless hand. In an instant Myles snatched up the blade and bestrode

his prostrate foe.

Just as he was about to plunge its point into Grod’s vitals, there

occurred to him the proverb of Poblath: “While enemies dispute, the

realm is at peace.”

With Grod the Silent and Att the Terrible both contending for the

leadership of the Roies, Vairkingia might enjoy a respite from the

depredations of this wild and lawless race. He would leave the fallen

Roy for dead, rather than put him actually in that condition.

Accordingly, he sprang to the aid of his companions.

Crota was already back in the fray, his own sword in his hands once

more, and the sword of his late burly opponent slung at his side. Quite

evidently he did not intend to be disarmed again.

Three Vairking common soldiers and Crota and Myles now confronted seven

Roies. This constituted a fairly even match, for the superior

intelligence and the leather armor of the men of Vairkingi and Sur,

offset the greater numbers of their aboriginal antagonists. What the

outcome would have been can never be known, for at that moment, the

reinforcements from the village came charging up the ravine; and at the

same instant, the tops of the cliffs were lined with Roies, who sent a

shower of arrows upon those below.

The contending twelve immediately separated. Cabot and his followers

passed within the protection of his rescuers and the return to Sur was

renewed. The commander of the rescue party threw out a strong rear

guard, and the Vairking archers on both flanks peppered the cliff tops

with sling shots and arrows, but the marauding Roies harassed every step

of the retreat.

There was some respite when Cabot’s party reached the plain where stood

the rocky peak with the village of Sur on its summit, for arrows could

not carry from the cover of the surrounding woods to the foot of the

rocks. But, as the tired party began the ascent of the narrow path on

the face of the cliff, they noted that the Roies were forming solid

banks of wooden shields and were advancing across the plain.

Arrows now began to fly from below at the ascending Vairking party,

several of whom toppled and fell down the face of the cliff. And then

the warrior just above Myles on the narrow path clutched his breast with

a gasp and dropped square upon the earth-man, who braced himself and

caught the body, thus preventing it from being dashed to pieces at the

foot of the rocks.

Whether or not the furry soldier was dead could not be ascertained until

Myles should have reached the summit, so up he toiled with his burden

until he gained the protection of the palisade, where he laid the

Vairking gently on the ground and tore open his leather tunic to see if

any life were present.

The wounded man still breathed, though hoarsely, and his heart still

beat; but there was a gaping hole in one side of his chest.

No arrow protruding from this hole. Myles tenderly turned the man over

to see if the wound extended clear through. It did—almost. And from the

man’s side there projected the tip of a bullet, the steel-sheathed tip

of a leaden rifle bullet!

X

THE SIEGE OF SUR

Myles quickly extracted the bullet from the back of the wounded

Vairking. Then tender furry female hands bore the victim away, as the

earth-man stood in thoughtful contemplation of his find.

There could be no doubt of it. This was a steel-jacketed bullet,

identical with those used in the rifles of the ant-men. How came such a

weapon in the hands of the savage and untrained Roies?

It was inconceivable that these uncultured brutes had overwhelmed New

Formia and captured the weapons of the ant-men. No, the only possible

explanation was that the Formians had formed an alliance with the Roies,

and were either fighting beside them or at least had furnished them with

a few firearms, the use of which they had taught them.

But this last idea was improbable, due to the well-known shortage of

rifles and ammunition at Yuriana, capital of the new ant empire. No, if

the ant-men were in alliance with these furry savages, there must be

ant-men present with the besiegers, and the shot in question must have

been fired by the claw of a Formian.

This opened up new terrors for the village of Sur and its inhabitants.

Myles glanced apprehensively at the southern sky, half expecting to see

and hear the approach of a Formian plane, but the radiant silver expanse

was unmarred by any black speck. Sur was safe for the moment.

His musings thus completed, Myles hurried to the public hall to

communicate this discovery to Crota and the village authorities. He

found the headman already there in conference with Crota.

Said Myles, exhibiting the bullet: “Here is one of the magic stones

thrown by one of my own magic sling-shots, which is capable of shooting

from the ground to the top of your cliffs and even penetrating your

palisade. It is big magic! With its aid, the Roies can overcome us.

Without it, I am powerless. Therefore, we must secure possession of it.

What do you suggest?”

Crota replied: “It is now sunset. Let us select a squad of picked scouts

and try to stalk the camp of the enemy.”

“No, no!” the headman of Sur exclaimed in horror. “Never have our men

dared to attack the Roies by dark.”

“Do the Roies know this?” Myles asked with interest.

“Most certainly,” was the reply.

“Then,” he said, “all the more reason for attempting it They will be

unprepared.”

The magistrate shrugged his furry shoulders with: “If you can persuade

any men of Sur to attempt anything so foolhardy, I shall interpose no

objection.”

Within a twelfth of a day, Crota had enrolled twenty scouts, and with

Myles Cabot, they had all begun the stealthy descent of the narrow

winding path down the face of the cliff. Before starting, they had

observed the direction of the Roy camp-fires on one of the surrounding

hills; so now they crept quietly toward that hill, and then slowly up to

its crest.

In spite of the dense blackness of the Porovian night, they were able to

find their way, first by starting in the correct direction and then by

keeping the lights of their own village always behind them.

As Cabot had expected from the remarks of the headman, there were no

sentinels on post, for the enemy were quite evidently relying on the

well-known Vairking fear of the unknown terrors of the dark. Indeed, it

spoke volumes for the individual courage of the twenty-one members of

this venture, and for their confidence in their earth-man leader, that

they had dared to come.

Finally, the party emerged from the underbrush at the top of the hill, a

few score of feet from the tents and camp-fires of the Roies. There,

motioning the others to remain where they were until he gave a signal,

Myles crawled forward, always keeping in the shadow of some tent, until

he was able to peek through a small bush beside one of the tents,

directly at the group around one of the camp-fires.

Just as Cabot arrived at this observation post, a Roy warrior was

declaiming: “I told you it would work, for had I not seen it

demonstrated fully to me? You yourselves saw it kill. Now will you not

believe me?”

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!”

“The signal for my exit,” Myles said to himself, as he hastened to crawl

out through the back of the tent, but then he reflected: “No, I want

more than this gun and ammunition; I want information.”

So he remained.

As the Roy entered the tent and felt for the rifle, the crouching

earth-man flung himself upon him; and before the startled furry one

could utter even a gasp, strong fingers closed upon his windpipe,

throttling off all sound. The struggle was over in a few moments.

When Myles Cabot finally crept out of the enemy tent, it was with a limp

form under one arm, and a bandolier and a rifle slung across his

shoulders.

The conversation at the camp fire continued.

One of the warriors was saying: “Our friend takes long to find his

wonderful sling-shot. Methinks he was lying and does not dare to face

us.”

Said another voice: “Let us pull him from his tent and confront him with

his perfidy.”

At this, Myles sprang to his feet and ran to the cover which concealed

his followers.

“Rush in among them as we planned,” he urged, “while you two come with

me.”

Then on he sped down the hillside towards the lights of Sur with his

captive and trophies and two previously-picked members of the band,

while Crota and the remaining eighteen charged yelling into the midst of

the Roy camp, upsetting tents, scattering camp fires, and laying about

them with their swords. Straight through the camp they charged,

shouting: “Make way for Att the Terrible!” Then they circled the hill

under cover of the darkness and rejoined Myles.

The startled Roies were taken completely by surprise. From the cries of

Crota and his followers, they assumed that the intruders were Roies,

partisans of Att the Terrible, attacking them for being partisans of

Grod the Silent. As they came rushing out of their standing tents, or

crawled from beneath such tents as had been wrecked, they met others of

their own camp, similarly rushing or crawling, and mistaking them for

enemies, started to fight.

The confusion was complete, and never for a moment did the naked furry

savages suspect that the whole trouble had been caused by a mere handful

of Vairkings.

Truly, as Poblath the Philosopher has said, “While enemies dispute, the

realm is at peace.”

While the Roy followers of Grod the Silent fought among themselves until

they gradually discovered that there was no one there except themselves,

Myles Cabot and his Vairkings safely regained the Village of Sur with

the rifle, the ammunition, and the still unconscious Roy warrior.

In the public hall, under the tender ministrations of Vairking

maidens—who would far rather have plunged a flint knife into him—the

captive finally regained his senses and looked around him in

bewilderment.

“Where am I?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“In Sur,” some one replied.

“Then are we victorious? For never before has a Roy set foot in Sur.”

“No, your forces are not victorious,” Crota answered. “You are a

prisoner. And it is only by the grace of Cabot the Minorian that you are

permitted to come here even as a prisoner. For the men of Sur take no

prisoners, and give no quarter.”

In reply, Myles himself stepped forward.

“I myself, am Cabot the Minorian,” he said.

To which Crota added impressively: “The greatest magician of two

worlds!”

The prisoner shook his head.

“I know of only one world,” he asserted, “and this man before me is

dressed as a mere common soldier, as are all of you.”

“Know then, O scum of Poros,” the earth-man admonished, “that there are

other worlds beyond the silver skies, and that in the world from which I

come, all soldiers are gentlemen.”

But the Roy warrior was not to be subdued by language. “How did I come

here?” he asked.

“You did not come here,” Myles answered. “You were brought. I brought

you.”

“But how?”

“By magic.”

“What magic?”

“My magic cart which swims through the air as a reptile swims through

the waters of a lake.”

“True,” the Roy mused, “there be such aerial wagons, for I have seen

them near the city of the beasts of the south.”

“Mark well!” Myles interjected to the assembled Vairkings, then to the

prisoner again: “I captured you because you possessed the magic

sling-shot, and presumed to use it on one of my own men. This effrontery

could not be permitted to go unpunished; hence your capture. The

offending weapon is now mine, and you are my prisoner.”

“What do you propose to do with me?” the captive asked. “I propose to

ask you some questions,” Myles evaded. “First where did you get the

magic sling-shot?”

“The great magician knows everything,” the Roy replied, with a sneer.

“Why, then, should I presume to tell him anything?”

But the earth-man remained unruffled. “You are correct,” he countered.

“I ask, not because I do not already know, but because I wish to test

whether it is possible for one of your degraded race to tell the truth.”

“Why test that?” came back the brazen Roy, “for doubtless you, who know

everything, know that, too.”

Myles could not help admiring the insulting calm with which this furry

man of inferior race confronted his relentless captors.

“Who are you, rash one?” he asked.

The prisoner drew himself up proudly, with folded arms, and answered: “I

am Otto the Bold, son of Grod the Silent.”

“Ah,” Myles said, “the son of a king. And I am the father of a king.

Well, then, as one man to another, tell me where you got this gun.”

“Gun?” Otto queried. “Is that the name of this weapon of bad omen? Know

then that I got it from you yourself when I wounded you beneath the tree

beside the brook at the foot of the mountains, before the Vairkings of

Jud the Excuse-Maker drove me off. I have spoken!”

“And spoken truly,” Cabot replied, concealing his surprise with

difficulty. Of course. Why had he not guessed it before? But there were

still some more points to clear up, so he continued: “Why did you shoot

those two arrows at me in the house at the top of the mountains?”

“Because we wished to explore the house. But you killed my companion,

whereupon I resolved to kill you in revenge, and to capture the noisy

‘gun’—and is that the right word? So I trailed you. The rest you know.”

“Remember, I know _everything_,” Myles said, grinning. “But did you ever

see any one but me shoot the gun?”

“You know I never did,” was the reply. “No one on Poros, save Cabot the

Magician and Otto the Bold, has ever done this big magic. I saw the

results, but not the means, when you killed my companion; so I

experimented for myself after I had stolen your gun, and soon I learned

how, after which I carefully conserved the magic stones until last night

when I shot one of the Vairkings of Sur, so as to give visible proof of

my magic powers to my doubting comrades.”

The earth-man heaved a sigh of relief. There existed as yet no alliance

between the Formians and the Roies. Pray Heaven that such a calamity

would never suggest itself to the minds of either race; for if so, then

woe to Vairkingia!

“Son of a king,” he said, “return to your people and your father. Give

him my greetings, and tell them that you are the friend of a great

magician, who lent you his ‘gun’, who transported you through the air

within the walls of Sur, where no Roy has ever stood or will ever stand,

and who last night caused phantom warriors to attack your camp under the

guise of followers of Att the Terrible. Go now. My men will give you

safe conduct to the plain below.”

“And what is the price of this freedom?” Otto disdainfully inquired.

“The friendship of a king’s father for a king’s son,” Myles Cabot

replied with dignity.

The two drew themselves up proudly and regarded each other eye-to-eye

for a moment.

“It is well,” Otto the Bold declared. “Good-by.” And he departed under

the escort of a Vairking guard.

“The master knows best,” Crota remarked, sadly shaking his head, “but I

should have run the wretch through the body.”

The next morning Cabot thanked the headman of Sur for his hospitality,

and took up the return trail for Vairkingi, the vacancies in his ranks

being filled by the loan of soldiers from Sur. The party had gone but a

short distance when they found the way barred by a formidable body of

Roies. But before these came within bow-shot a bullet from Cabot’s rifle

brought two of them to the ground, whereupon the rest turned and fled

precipitately.

Later in the day a bend in the road brought them suddenly upon a furry

warrior. Myles fired, and the man instantly fell to the ground. But when

they reached the body there was not even a scratch to be found on it;

the bullet had missed.

“Dead of fright,” Myles thought; but no, for the heart was still

beating, although faintly, and the lungs were still functioning.

“Sit up there!” Myles ordered.

“Can’t,” The Roy replied. “I’m dead.”

“Then I’ll make you alive again,” his captor declared, placing his hands

on the head of the Roy. “_Abra cadabra camunya._”

Thereat the soldier sat up with a sigh of relief, and opened his eyes.

“Stand up!” Myles ordered.

For reply the Roy jumped to his feet and started running for cover.

“Halt!” the earth-man commanded. “Halt, or I’ll kill you again!”

The man stopped.

“Return!”

The man returned, like a sleep walker.

“What do you mean by running away? Now listen intently. Are you one of

the men of Grod?”

“Yes.”

“Then go to Otto, the son of Grod, and tell him that it is the order of

Cabot the Magician that Vairking expeditions into these mountains, in

search of golden cubes and other minerals, be unmolested. Tell Otto that

he can recognize my expedition by the blue flags which they will carry

hereafter. Now go. I have spoken.”

The Roy warrior ran up the trail and this time was not halted.

“Another mistake,” Crota remarked, half to himself.

The rest of the return to Vairkingi was without event. On the way the

radio man made notes of the best deposits of quartz, limestone, and

fluorspar. Also he carried with him a few large sheets of mica. But he

found no traces of galena, zinc ore, or platinum. These would require at

least one further expedition.

Crota spared no extravagant language in relating to Jud the exploits of

Cabot the Minorian in raising the siege of the village of Sur; and Jud

repeated the story with embellishments to Theoph the Grim. Also the long

deferred sleight-of-hand performance was held at the palace, to the

great mystification of the white-furred king.

Arkilu did not show up to mar the occasion. In fact, little Quivven

reported that her sister was very indignant at the earth-man for

trifling with her affections, and had turned to Jud in her pique.

Needless to say, Jud had taken every possible advantage of Cabot’s

absence to reinstate himself with the chestnut-furred princess. But

neither Myles nor Quivven appeared to exhibit any very great sorrow at

this turn of affairs.

So long as Arkilu’s hostility did not become active, the support of Jud

and Theoph ought to prove quite sufficient.

The standing of Cabot the Minorian as a magician was now well

established, and accordingly Jud the Excuse-Maker and even Theoph the

Grim were willing to accord him all possible assistance in the gathering

of the materials with which he was to perform his further magic, namely

radio.

Theoph made a levy upon all the nobles, and turned over to the earth-man

upward of five hundred soldiers with their proper carts and equipment.

Jud (himself,) Quivven (still unknown to her father), and Crota (the

soldier who had demonstrated on the expedition an intelligence far above

his social class), were enrolled as laboratory assistants. Several

inclosures adjoining Cabot’s yard were vacated and converted into

factories, in one of which were mounted a pair of huge millstones such

as the Vairkings use in grinding certain of their food.

Myles divided his men roughly into three groups. One group, under Crota,

he established at the clay deposits to the northeast of the city, to

make bricks and charcoal.

The second group, under Jud, were engaged in the mining operations,

digging copper ore, quartz rock, fluorspar, limestone, and sand, at

various points in the mountains, and carting some of the limestone to

the brickyard, and the rest with the other products to Vairkingi. The

carters carried back with them to the mountains all the necessary

supplies for the expeditions.

The third group, under Quivven, were engaged in setting up the grist

mill, and in other building and preparatory operations.

At the claypits the first operation was to scrape off the surface clay

and spread it out thin in the open air, so it would age fast.

The limestone, upon its arrival at the brickyard, was burned in raw

brick ovens, and then carted to Vairkingi, to be ground at the mill. It

was then shipped back to the brick plant, where it was mixed with the

aged clay—first screened—molded into bricks, baked, burned, and carted

to Vairkingi, to be ground into cement.

Some of the ground limestone was retained at Vairkingi for use in later

glass-making, and some of the unground for smelting purposes.

Other aged clay was screened, moistened, molded, and baked to form

ordinary brick. Fire-brick was similarly made by the addition of white

sand finely ground at Vairkingi, but this kind of brick had to be baked

much more slowly.

Thus only a week or two after this whole huge industrial undertaking had

begun, the radio man was in possession of fire-brick and fire-clay with

which to start the building of the smelting furnaces.

Meanwhile Myles Cabot, with a small bodyguard, kept traveling from one

job to another, giving general superintendence to the work. And when

everything was well under way he set out on another exploring expedition

in search of galena, zinc ore, and platinum.

Quivven had furnished the inspiration for this trip by suggesting that

the sparkling sands of a large river, which ran from west to east, about

a day’s journey north of Vairkingi, might contain the silver grains

which he sought. So thither he set out one morning, with camping

equipment and a detachment of soldiers.

All day they marched northward across the level plains. Toward evening

they reached a small estuary of the main stream, and there they camped.

As the silver sky pinkened in the west Myles Cabot ran quickly down this

brook to inspect the sands of the river, which lay but a short distance

away.

The pink turned to crimson, and then purple. The darkness crept up out

of the east, and plunged the whole face of the planet into velvet and

impenetrable black. But Myles Cabot did not return to the camping place.

XI

ATT THE TERRIBLE

When Myles Cabot left his encampment beside the little brook, he

hastened down stream to where the brook joined the big river, along the

edge of which there stretched a sandy beach. Falling on his knees, he

picked up handful after handful of the silver sands.

There was still plenty of daylight left for him to examine the multitude

of shiny metallic particles.

There could be no doubt of it, these sands held some metal which could

be separated out in much the same manner as that in which the California

gold miners of 1849 used to wash for gold, but only time would tell

whether or not this metal was the much-to-be-desired platinum which the

radio man needed for the grids, filaments, plates, and wires of his

vacuum tubes.

On the morrow he would wash for this metal, using the wooden pans which

he had brought for that purpose. The precious dust he would carry back

to Vairkingi, melt it into small lumps if possible, and then try to

analyze its composition in his laboratory.

As he sat on the sandy beach and thus laid his plans, his thoughts

gradually wandered away from scientific lines, and he began again to

worry about Lilla.

It was many days since she had sent the S O S which had recalled him

from earth to Poros. Whatever she had feared must have happened by now.

It was possible that he would never be able to effect a return to Cupia.

Why not then accept the inevitable, settle down permanently among the

Vairkings, and solace himself as best he could?

Even an ordinarily stalwart soul would have done his best and have been

satisfied with that. But Myles Standish Cabot possessed that indomitable

will which had given rise to the Porovian proverb: “You cannot kill a

Minorian.”

To such a man, defeat was impossible. He _would_ rescue the Princess

Lilla in the end; that was all there was to it.

So he laid his plans with precision, as he sat on the sandy shore of the

Porovian river in the crimsoning twilight.

Before the velvet darkness completely enveloped the planet, the

earth-man arose from the sands, and began his return up the valley of

the little estuary. But, as he was hurrying along, and was passing

through a small grove of trees, a dark form noiselessly dropped on him

from above.

The creature lit squarely upon his back, wrapping its furry legs around

his abdomen and its furry arms around his neck. Although taken

completely by surprise, Cabot wrenched the creature’s feet apart and

then threw it over his head as a bucking broncho would throw a rider, a

jiujitsu trick which he had learned from one of the Jap gymnasts at

college.

The Roy, for that is what Cabot’s assailant proved to be, scrambled

quickly to his feet, although a bit stunned, and crouched, ready to

spring at him again. The earth-man planted his feet firmly apart,

clenched his fists, and awaited the onslaught; then, when the creature

charged, he met him on the point of the jaw with a well-aimed blow. Down

crashed the furry one!

Cabot was rubbing his bruised knuckles and viewing his fallen antagonist

with some satisfaction, when suddenly he was seized around the knees

from behind, and was hurled prone by one of the neatest football tackles

he had ever experienced.

Squirming quickly to a sitting position, he dealt the Roy who held his

legs a stinging blow beside the ear. The grip on his knees loosened, and

he was just about to scramble erect, when a third assailant caught him

around the throat and pulled him over backward. Then scores of these

furry savages swarmed upon him from every side. Yet still he fought,

until his elbows were pinioned behind his back, his eyes were

blindfolded, and a gag was placed between his teeth.

Thereupon, he ceased struggling, not because there was no fight left in

him, but rather because he wisely decided to save his strength for some

time when he might really need it. So he offered no further resistance

when he was picked up and thrown across a pair of brawny shoulders, and

carried off, he knew not whither.

Finally, after what seemed many hours, he was unceremoniously dumped

onto the ground, and then jerked roughly to his feet.

His bandage was snatched off, and he found himself standing in the

center of a circle of flares, confronting a large, squat, and

particularly repulsive gray-furred Roy, who sat with some pretense of

dignity upon a round boulder in front of him. Beside him stood another

Roy, evidently the one who had brought him thither.

This one now spoke. “See the pretty Vairking which I have brought you.”

“If that’s a Vairking,” the fat one remarked, “then I’m my own father.”

“If he _isn’t_ a Vairking,” the other countered, “then why does he wear

Vairking leather armor? Answer me that.”

“Vairking or not,” the fat one declared, “he will do very nicely to

string up by the heels and shoot arrows at. For quite evidently, he is

no Roy. What say you to that, my fine target?”

The guard removed the gag.

“I say,” Myles evenly replied, “that you had better not take any such

liberties with me.”

“And why not, furless?” the seated Roy sneered.

“First, let me ask _you_ a question,” Myles said. “Who is King of the

Roies, Grod the Silent or Att the Terrible?”

“Grod the Silent, most assuredly. Why do you ask?”

“And do you know Prince Otto, his son?”

“Otto the Bold? Most assuredly.”

“Know then,” the captive asserted, “that I am no Vairking, but rather a

Minorian, which is a sort of creature I venture you have never met

before. Furthermore, I am a particular personal friend of Otto the Bold.

He will not thank you to string up Cabot the Minorian by the heels, and

shoot arrows into him. I demand that I be taken before Prince Otto.”

Thereat the fat Roy smiled a crafty smile. “I shall take you before Att

the Terrible,” he said.

It thus became evident that this fat chieftain had falsely asserted his

belief in the kingship of Grod for the purpose of securing from Myles an

admission as to which side the earth-man favored.

The rest of the night Myles spent on a pile of smelly bedding in a tent.

He was still bound, and was kept under constant surveillance by a

frequently changing guard. By morning, his arms below the elbows had

become completely numb, in spite of his having loosened his bonds

somewhat by straining against them.

When the velvet night had given place to silver day, the guard brought

some coarse porridge in a rough stone bowl, which he held to the

prisoner’s lips until it was all consumed. Myles thanked him politely,

and then asked if he would mind chafing the numbed arms.

For reply, the soldier kicked him savagely.

“Get up!” he ordered. “The time is here to start the march. You’ll wish

the rest of you were numb, too, when Att the Terrible starts shooting

arrows into your inverted carcass.”

Presently, Myles was driven into the open, the tents were struck and

loaded onto carts—probably stolen from the Vairkings—and the furry

warriors took up the march, with their prisoner in their midst. The fat

chief alone rode in a cart; all the others walked.

By straining at the thongs which bound his arms, Myles further loosened

them sufficiently to relieve the pressure on his blood vessels, and then

by wiggling his fingers, he managed finally to restore the circulation.

After that he began to take some interest in his surroundings.

His captors were a coarse-looking lot of brutes, with long gangling

arms, thickset necks, low foreheads, and prognathous jaws. In general,

they more closely resembled the anthropoid apes of the earth than they

resembled the really human, although furred Vairkings.

Their weapons—wooden spears and swords, and flint knives—were like those

of the Vairkings, only cruder. They marched without any particular order

or discipline, and jested coarsely with each other as they ambled along.

After taking in all this, Myles next turned his attention to the country

through which they were passing. The trail led upward into mountains.

This at once aroused his interest. Here and there he noted what he felt

sure must be zinc-blende. Yes, and cropping out of the rocks on the left

was an unmistakable rosette of galena crystal!

The radio man was sincerely glad that he had been captured. And so he

even joked jovially with the soldiers around him, until they became

quite friendly.

At one point, their route lay across a foaming mountain stream, by means

of a log bridge. As they were crossing over, one of the furry soldiers

had the misfortune to stumble, and in another instant completely lost

his footing and plunged headlong into the stream below. He happened to

be one who had recently become particularly chummy with the captive.

“Poor fellow,” one of the guard casually remarked. “It’s too bad he

can’t swim.”

“_I_ can,” Myles shouted. “Quick, some one cut my cords!”

And, before any one could interfere, a young and impetuous Roy had drawn

his knife and severed the earth-man’s bonds, thus permitting him to dive

after the poor creature who was rapidly being washed down stream by the

swift current.

It had all happened in an instant. A few swift strokes brought Myles up

to the other. But it became no easy matter to reach the shore. However,

the troop of Roies showed much more interest in regaining their captive,

than they had shown in rescuing their comrade; and thus, by the aid of

their spears, finally dragged the two ashore.

Then Cabot was bound again, and the march resumed. The carts had

detoured, and so the fat chief had not seen the episode.

“Better not tell him, any one,” one of the guard admonished, “or it will

go hard with the youngster. Our leader would not relish any chance of

not being able to present this furless Vairking to Att the Terrible.”

“And will Att shoot arrows into me?” Myles asked.

“Most assuredly.”

Myles thought to himself: “I guess they are right, especially if Att

knows how I was befriended by Arkilu, whom he covets!” Then he asked:

“And when am I to see the Terrible One?”

“To-morrow morning,” was the reply.

However, Myles Cabot fell asleep at the encampment that night wondering

when he would get that radio set finished for a talk with Lilla and

wondering whether that really was galena crystal which he had passed on

the road.

But galena crystal wasn’t going to help him any with Att the Terrible.

XII

COMPANIONS IN MISERY

In the morning Myles Cabot was to be brought before Att the Terrible,

king of the Roies—for execution in the diabolical manner common to these

furry aborigines, namely by being strung up by the heels and then used

as a target for the archery of the king.

In spite of this, he slept soundly and dreamed of radio sets and blast

furnaces and galena mines, until he was awakened by a soft furry paw

shaking his shoulder.

A voice spoke close to his ear: “A life for a life.”

“So you have that proverb on this continent as well as in Cupia?” was

his reply. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“I am the soldier whom you saved from the raging mountain torrent, and

what I want is to repay that favor. It is really true that you are a

friend of Otto the Bold?”

“Yes.”

“Then come. The forces of Grod the Silent, Prince Otto’s father, are

encamped but a short distance from here. I am on guard over you for the

moment. Come, while there is yet time.”

Cabot arose in haste. The other promptly severed the cords which bound

his elbows. Oh, how good it felt to have his arms free once more! He

held them aloft, and flexed and reflexed the lame and bloodless muscles.

Excruciating pain shot through the nerves of his forearm, but it was

pleasant pain, easy to bear, for it portended peace and rest to his

tired members.

He wiggled all his fingers rapidly, and the pain gave way to a prickly

tingling, which in turn gradually faded off as the blood coursed freely

through his veins and arteries once more. He drew a deep sigh of relief.

“Come!” the guard commanded.

Together the two left the tent, and threaded their way among the other

tents out of the camp, and down a rocky hillside path, the Roy in

advance, with Myles following, holding the other’s hand for guidance.

Myles lost all sense of direction in the jet black starless night, but

the other, born and reared on Poros, and hence used to the daily

recurrences of twelve hours of absolute darkness, walked sure-footedly

ahead, and seemed to know where he was going.

Finally, after about two hours of this groping treadmill progress lights

appeared ahead, and presently there came the sentry’s challenge: “Halt!

Who is there?”

“Two messengers with word for Grod the Silent,” Cabot’s conductor

replied.

In an aside, Cabot interestedly inquired: “How does it happen that this

camp is guarded, whereas the camp which besieged the village of Sur was

not?”

“There is no need to post sentinels when fighting against the Vairkings,

for Vairkings never go out in the dark, but we Roies are different.”

“Why, then, did we meet no sentinels when leaving your camp?”

“Because we were going _out_. We passed one but he did not challenge us.

Coming _back_ would be different.”

At this point the hostile guard interposed: “Stop that whispering among

yourselves. Ho there, a light!”

Whereat a small detachment arrived on the double quick, with torches.

The leader shaded his eyes with one palm, and inspected Myles and his

companion carefully.

“This is a Vairking,” he said in surprise, noting the leather trappings

of the earth-man. “You are spies. Seize them!”

In an instant they were seized and bound, and thrown into separate tents

under guard.

When morning came, Myles was fed and then led before Grod the Silent.

The earth-man smiled ingratiatingly as he entered, but there was no sign

of recognition on the stern face of the King of the Roies.

“Who are you?” the latter asked, “and what are you doing here?”

“I am Cabot the Minorian,” was the reply, “a recently escaped prisoner

of Att the Terrible.”

“Do not mention that accursed name in my presence!” thundered the king;

then: “I do not seem to recall your name, but your face looks familiar.

Where have I seen you before?”

“In the ravine near Sur.”

Grod’s brow clouded.

“I remember. You felled me with your fist,” said he, darkly; then

brightening a bit: “But you spared me. Why?”

“Because your death would please the Roy whose name you do not permit me

to mention.”

“You improve,” Grod declared, smiling. “Know, then, that we Roies hold

to the maxim, ‘A life for a life.’ Accordingly, I shall set you free,

and shall content myself with shooting arrows into merely the soldier

who brought you here.”

“You give me a life for a life unconditionally?” asked Myles.

“Yes.”

“Then give me the life of the poor soldier who saved me from the

unmentionable one. Shoot your arrows into my body instead.”

“Very magnanimous of you,” Grod said. “And really, it makes but little

difference to me just whom I practice archery upon. Ho guard! Bring the

other prisoner in.”

One of the soldiery accordingly withdrew, and presently returned

with—Quivven! Quivven, of all persons!

Cabot gasped, and so did the golden-furred Vairking maiden; then both

uttered simultaneously the single word, “You!”

The savage chief smiled. Said he, “A slight mistake, guard; I meant you

to bring the Roy soldier who was captured with this furless one early

this morning. But evidently it has turned out to be a fortunate mistake,

for it has brought to my attention the fact that this common Vairking

man and this noble Vairking lady are acquainted.”

While the Roy was speaking an idea occurred to Cabot: He was entitled by

the code of honor of this savage race to save a life. Chivalry demanded

that he save the life of this maiden rather than that of himself, or

even the soldier who had rescued him from Att the Terrible. Yet what

would Lilla think?

Did he not owe it to Lilla to save his own life in order that he might

some day return across the boiling seas to save _her_ from the unknown

peril which menaced her? For him to sacrifice himself and her, or even

merely himself, for the sake of some strange woman, would fill Lilla

with consuming jealousy.

Luckily Lilla was not here to see him make his choice. He was an officer

and a gentleman, to whom but one course lay open. And if he decided in

the way that would displease Lilla, then that very decision would

forever prevent Lilla from knowing.

So, his mind made up, he spoke: “O king, you still owe me a life.

Inasmuch as your guard has made the mistake of substituting this young

lady for the Roy warrior, whose life I had elected to save, I now accept

the substitution, and elect that you shall spare her life in place of

mine.”

Quivven the Golden Flame stared at him with tears of gratitude and

appreciation in her azure eyes. Grod the Silent smiled knowingly in a

manner which infuriated Myles, but fortunately Quivven did not notice

this, so Myles let it pass.

Then the Roy king spoke: “We shall see about that later. Meanwhile,

guard, bring in the _right_ prisoner.”

The guard sheepishly withdrew, and soon returned with the soldier who

had befriended Myles.

“Why did you rescue this furless Vairking, who was a prisoner of your

forces?” Grod asked the newcomer.

“Because he rescued me from a mountain torrent, O king,” was the reply.

“A life for a life.”

“Quite true,” Grod admitted, nodding his head contemplatively. “But was

it altogether necessary to that end that you leave your own forces?”

“No, O king,” the soldier replied, “but I fain would battle on your

side. I have had quite enough of the fat one who commands our outfit.”

“Good!” cried Grod, clapping his hands. “We shall need every man we can

muster. Thus have you bought your own life and freedom. Unbind him,

guards, and give him weapons, so that he may fight for us. As for you,

you yellow minx, the quicker you get out of here the better it will suit

me. We are at war, and women have no place in warfare. Therefore I

gladly give you your life, which this furless one had purchased.

“Do not think,” he continued, “that I do not know who you are, or that I

do not realize that I could hold you for high ransom. But for the

present it suits my purposes to release you; for my mind is a one-cart

road, and at present I am engaged in an important and highly personal

war.

“Besides, if I were to keep you, my enemy might get hold of you and

collect the ransom himself, which would never do. Twelve days from now,

if I should be in need of carts, a messenger from me will call at the

palace of Theoph the Grim; and if you are at all grateful, you will make

me a present of about twenty sturdy wagons.

“As for you,” turning to Myles, “your life is mine, since you failed to

redeem it. Some day I may call upon you for it, but for the present I

wish to use it. You are detailed, as my personal representative, to

escort this lady safely to Vairkingi. Now both of you get out of here,

for I have more important things to do. I must put my army on the

march.”

One of the guards stepped up to Myles and cut his bonds. Quivven had not

been bound.

“May I have arms, O king, so that I can fulfill your mission with credit

to you?” Myles asked, with a twinkle in his gray eyes.

“You keep on improving,” Grod replied. “Yes, you may. Here, take my own

sword. You are a brave man and an able warrior, as my chin well

remembers. May the Builder grant that some day we shall fight side by

side.”

This gave Cabot an idea. “Why can that not be now?” he suggested. “Why

not form an alliance with Vairkingi against the unmentionable one?”

But Grod the Silent shook his head. “No,” he said positively, “it cannot

be. In the first place, the unmentionable one is himself seeking to make

such an alliance against me; and in the second place, this is my own

private fight. I have spoken.”

Then Cabot had a further idea. “About the wagons,” he said, “would you

mind sending for them to my brickyard north of Vairkingi? That would be

more convenient.”

“Very well,” Grod replied.

Roy warriors then supplied the two prisoners with portable rations, and

escorted them for quite a distance from the camp, until they struck a

mountain trail. This, the escort informed them, led to Vairkingi. There

the Roies left Myles and Quivven alone.

The first thing that she asked was, “With all these mountains full of

warring Roies, do you believe that we shall be safe?”

“I think so,” Myles replied. “The very fact that they are at war will

keep them much too busy to bother about us. Come on.”

As they hurried down the trail, each related his or her adventures to

the other. Cabot’s have already been set down. As for Quivven, she had

gone with a few soldiers to hunt for Myles after his prospecting party

had returned and reported his disappearance by the river; but her party

had been killed, and she had been taken prisoner.

“Did Grod treat you with respect?” Myles asked, with clenched fists.

“Absolutely,” she replied, tossing her pretty head. “I never knew a man

so impersonal. I am accustomed to have men recognize my presence and pay

some attention to my existence. But this brute—why, I might just as well

have been a piece of furniture or one of his servants. I don’t believe

he knows now what color my eyes are, or whether I’m pretty or not. And

you’re just as bad as he is,” she added somewhat irrelevantly.

“Your eyes are blue, and you are very pretty,” Cabot replied. “In fact,

you closely resemble my own wife, the beautiful Princess Lilla, who

waits for me far across the boiling seas.”

“Which reminds me to ask,” Quivven said abruptly. “How successful was

your expedition, apart from your being captured and getting yourself

into all kinds of trouble?”

So he told her about the glistening metallic particles in the sands of

the river. Also how he had found what were probably zinc-blende and

galena. Then they discussed in detail his plans for his various

factories. From time to time they munched some of the food which had

been given them.

The day quickly sped, and evening drew near, yet still they were upon

the mountain road with no sight of Vairkingi or of any landmark familiar

to either of them. Quivven was for stopping and resting, but Myles urged

her on.

“No matter how tired you are,” he said, “it is not safe to stop in this

strange country.”

So still she struggled on. The sky darkened without the usual pinkening

of the west. All too well they knew what that portended—one of the

heaven-splitting tropical storms so common on Poros. And they were

right. The storm broke, the thunder roared in one continuous volume of

sound, the lightning and the rain alike poured down in continuous

sheets. The trail became a mountain torrent, so that they had to cease

their journey and crawl upon a huge boulder, in order to avoid being

engulfed by the water.

The rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Again the silver sky

appeared overhead. The extempore brook rapidly disappeared, but left in

its wake a wet, muddy, and slippery trail, down which the two took up

their journey once more.

Several times Quivven stumbled and fell, until at last her companion had

to help her in order to keep her going at all. But, in spite of this

assistance, she finally broke down and cried.

“I shall not go one step farther,” she asserted.

Myles seated himself beside her and talked to her as one would soothe a

child. And that was what she was, a tired little child.

“You can’t stay here,” he urged, “the ground is damp, the night is

coming on, and your fur is sopping wet.”

“I don’t care anything about anything,” she sobbed. “All that I know is

that I positively cannot go on.”

So he decided that it would be necessary to change his tactics. “I am

ashamed of you,” he replied, “You, the daughter of a king, and can’t

stand a little exercise! Why, I believe you are just plain lazy.”

For reply she jumped to her feet in a sudden rage. “Oh, you beast!” she

cried. “You insulting beast! You common soldier, you! I’ll show you that

I can stand as much hardship as the pampered womenfolk of your Cupia,

though the men of my country, even our common soldiers, would be

gentlemanly enough not to force a lady to endure any more than is

absolutely necessary. Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

“You are not being forced to endure more than is necessary,” her escort

harshly replied. “In the first place it _is_ necessary to go on; and, in

the second place, I am not forcing you. _You_ can go on or not, just as

you see fit, but as for me, I don’t intend to spend the night here in

this wet valley. Good-by!”

For reply Quivven raced ahead of him with, “Oh, how I hate you!” and

disappeared around a turn in the trail.

XIII

FURTHER PROGRESS

His change of tactics had worked, although it made him feel like a

brute. But only by arousing Quivven’s anger could he stir her to

continue the journey; and to remain would have menaced her safety and

her health.

She had a good head start of him. The silver sky was turning crimson in

the west. Night was coming on. So he hurried after her down the wet and

slippery trail.

At last it became so dark that he had to slow down and walk; and finally

merely grope his way, shoving his feet ahead, one after the other, in

order to be sure to keep to the trail and not to stumble.

Time and again his foot would touch something soft, which he would

picture as some strange and weird Porovian animal, a gnooper for

instance. Quickly he would withdraw the foot. Then waiting in suspense

for the creature either to go away or to spring upon him, at last he

would cautiously push his foot forward, touch the object again, kick it

slightly, and find that it was only a clump of Porovian grass or a

rotted piece of lichen log.

Poor Quivven! How terrified _she_ must be at such encounters!

After a while he got a bit used to these occurrences, and accordingly

each succeeding one of them delayed him less than the preceding.

“You know,” he said to himself, “this will keep on until finally one of

these obstacles will actually turn out to be a gnooper, and it will eat

me alive before I can get out of the way.”

Just then his groping foot touched another of these soft objects.

“Get out of my way,” Cabot shouted, and gave it a kick. But this time it

was not attached to the soil. It yielded and wriggled a bit. Then it

gave a peculiar groaning sound.

Myles leaped backward and waited. But nothing happened; so he tried to

circle the creature. Again the groan. His scientific curiosity got the

better of his caution. He approached once more and investigated more

closely, reaching down with his hand. The animal was covered with wet

and muddy fur.

It was Quivven!

Tenderly he raised the crumpled form in his arms, and groped on down the

treacherous trail.

Myles wondered how long he could bear up with this dead weight in his

arms. But just as he was beginning to stagger, the road gave a turn and

flattened out, and there before him were lights, the flares and bonfires

of a city! They had reached the plain.

“Quivven!” he cried joyfully. “This is home! There ahead lies

Vairkingi!”

But she made no reply. Her body was cold and still.

Quickly he laid her on the ground and placed one ear to her chest. Thank

the Great Builder! Her heart still beat. So he chafed her hands and

feet, and worked her arms violently back and forth until she began to

groan protestingly.

“Quivven!” he cried. “Wake up! We are home!”

“Are you here, Myles?” she murmured faintly,

“Yes.”

“And you won’t make me walk any more?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll wake up for you,” she murmured cheerfully, and promptly fell

fast asleep.

Again lifting her tenderly in his arms, he resumed the journey.

On reaching the city he circled the wall until he came to one of the

gates, where he stood the girl on the ground and shook her gently into

consciousness.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“At the gates of Vairkingi,” Myles answered.

She ran her hands rapidly over her mud-caked fur.

“Oh, but I can’t go in like this,” she wailed, “I’m covered with mud

from head to foot! Think how I must look! No, I refuse to go in.”

“If you stay here,” he urged mildly, “then when morning comes every one

will see you, the Princess Quivven, bedraggled with mud, hanging around

outside the city gates. Better far to go in now, and take a chance of

being seen by only one sentinel.”

“Oh, you beast, you beast!” she sobbed, beating him futilely with her

tiny paws.

For reply he seized her in his arms, swung her across one hip, and

shouted: “Open wide the gates of Vairkingi for Cabot the Minorian,

magician to Jud the Excuse-Maker, and to his Excellency Theoph the

Grim!”

The gates swung open, and the sentinel stared at them with surprise and

some amusement. Myles whipped out his sword, and the smile froze on the

soldier’s face.

“Thus do I teach men not to laugh at Myles Cabot,” the earth-man

growled. “Remember that you have seen nothing.”

And he handed the soldier the choice blade of Grod the Silent. The

soldier smiled again.

“I have seen nothing but a Roy, whom I robbed of his sword and drove off

into the darkness. It is a fine sword, and I will remember that I have

seen nothing. May the Great Builder bless Myles Cabot the Minorian.”

Cabot glanced at his burden, Quivven, the beautiful. No wonder she did

not want to be seen. It always humiliates a lady not to look her best in

public. But by the same token, no one could possibly recognize her. He

might perfectly well have saved the sword.

So he passed on through the city streets. Finally he had to put the girl

down, and ask her to help him find the way, which she did grudgingly. At

the gate of Jud’s compound, Myles again swung her across his hip, before

he demanded entrance. No swords this time, for diplomacy would take the

place of payment.

“Myles Cabot demanding entrance,” he cried.

The local guard inspected them carefully by the light of his torch.

“It is Cabot all right,” he replied, “and you look as though you had

seen some hard fighting. But who is this with you?”

“A girl of the Roies,” answered Myles. “That is what the fighting was

about.”

“Not for mine!” the soldier asserted, grimacing. “Though there is no

accounting for tastes. They are filthy little beasts, and spitfires as

well, so I’m told. My advice to you, sir, is to throw it down a well.”

Quivven wriggled protestingly.

“Perhaps I will,” Myles laughed.

At their own gate at last, he placed her once more on her feet, whereat

she shook herself free, raced into the house, slammed the door of her

room.

Cabot himself went right to bed, without waiting to wash or anything,

and dropped instantly to sleep the moment he touched his pile of

bedding; yet, so intent was he on wasting no time in getting Cupia on

the air that he was up early the next morning.

He found his laboratory force sadly demoralized, owing to the absence of

Quivven and himself, but he quickly brought order out of chaos, and set

the men to work on their first real construction job, to which all the

other work had been mere preliminary steps.

Quivven kept to her rooms, but one of the other maids roguishly informed

him: “The Golden One says she hates you.”

Now that his fire-bricks were ready, Myles Cabot laid out on paper the

plans for his smelting plant, all the units of which were to be lined

with fire-brick.

First he designed a furnace for roasting his ore. This furnace was to be

in two sections, one above the other, the lower holding the charcoal

fire, and the upper holding the ore. Later he planned to use the sulphur

fumes of this roaster to make sulphuric acid, which in turn he would use

to make sal ammoniac for his batteries. But at present he had not yet

figured out this process in detail.

The smelting furnace, for smelting the roasted ore into copper-matter,

was to consist of a chimney about two feet in diameter, sloping sharply

outward for about two feet, and thence sloping gradually inward again

for a height of about ten feet. Near the bottom were to be a number of

small holes leading from an air passage.

This air passage and the vent for the hot flames from the top of the

smelter were to run in parallel pipes made of hollow brick tile, to two

chambers containing a checkerwork design of fire-brick. The two pipes

were to be interchangeable; so that, when the exhaust had heated one of

the checkerwork grids to a red heat, the pipes could be switched, and

the incoming air would be warmed by passing through the heated grid.

From gnooper hide and wood he could easily construct bellows to pump in

the air for the blast.

Molten copper-matte and slag would be separately run off through two

separate openings at different levels near the bottom of the blast

furnace.

To further refine the matte, he designed a Bessemer converter, that is

to say, a barrel-shaped box of layers of fire clay, the inner layer

being very rich in quartz sand. This barrel, when filled with molten

matte, would be laid on its side; and a hot blast introduced through

holes near this side would convert the matte into pure copper in about

two hours.

The first converter which he made was rather small, as he expected that

it would not last very well without metal reinforcements, and of course

he would have no metal for reenforcing purposes until after he had run

off at least one heat.

For the extraction of iron, he made crucibles of fireclay, which he set

in deep holes in the ground.

On the second morning after the unpleasant homecoming, Quivven appeared.

All her rage had burned out, and she was meek and subdued.

With downcast eyes she reported to Myles: “I am ready to go to work

now.”

With a welcoming smile he patted her golden-furred shoulder, whereat her

old anger started to flare again, but this one remaining ember merely

flickered and died out, and she submitted with a shrug of resignation.

So the Radio Man explained to her his plans for the furnaces; then,

leaving her in charge of the work, he set out once more to the river of

the silver sands, this time accompanied by a heavy guard of Vairking

soldiers, and flying a blue flag, as agreed on with Prince Otto of the

Roies.

As he was departing, Quivven flung her arms around him and begged him

not to go to certain destruction, but he gently disengaged himself,

smiling indulgently at this show of childish affection.

“My dear little girl,” he admonished, “most of our troubles last time

came from your following me. This time I warn you that I shall be very

displeased if you fail to stick closely to home and complete my two

magic furnaces for me. Promise me that you will.”

So, with tears of dread in her blue eyes, she promised; and the

expedition set forth. They were gone about five days. The trip proved

uneventful from any except a scientific viewpoint. They returned,

bearing several pounds of silvery grains, placermined from the river

sands; also some large lumps of galena crystal, and nearly a ton of

zinc-blende. They found that, under the skillful direction of little

Quivven, the furnaces were nearly completed.

Quivven the Golden Flame was overjoyed at Cabot’s safe return, while

even he had to confess considerable relief. He complimented her warmly

on the progress of the furnaces, and noted her pleasure at his

expressions of approval.

A few details which had perplexed her were quickly straightened out, and

the work was rushed to completion.

He next tested the silver grains which he had brought from the river.

His method was a very simple one, invented by himself. It consisted in

filling a clay cup with water and weighing it, then weighing a quantity

of the metal, and then putting this metal in the water and weighing the

whole. A simple mathematical calculation from these three weights gave

him the specific gravity of the metal. This process was repeated a

number of times to avoid error, and gave as an average the figure 21.5,

which he remembered to be the specific gravity of pure platinum.

As a further test he hammered some of the supposed platinum into a thin

sheet, and attempted, without success, to melt it. Then he laid a sliver

of one of his lead bullets on it, and tried again, with the result that

the lead melted and burned a hole through the metal sheet. This test

convinced him that he truly had found platinum.

Cabot next turned his attention to glass making. For ordinary glass he

would need quartz, soda, potash, and limestone.

The reason for his employing both soda and potash instead of merely one

or the other, was that together they would have a lower fusing point,

and thus be easier for him to handle with his crude equipment. For glass

for his tubes he would use litharge in place of the limestone.

The quartz and the limestone were already available. Soda would be a

byproduct of his sal ammoniac when he got around to making it, but this

would not be until he had made sulphuric acid from his copper ore, which

was a most complicated process as he remembered it.

Potash could be got simply by dripping water through wood-ashes,

evaporating the water, roasting the sediment, dissolving again in water,

letting the impurities settle, and then evaporating the clear liquid,

and roasting again. He started this process at once.

But he had no idea how to make litharge. Furthermore, he could not blow

his glass until he had metal tubes, so he abandoned further steps for

the present.

While he was pondering over these problems a messenger arrived,

demanding his immediate presence at the quarters of Jud the

Excuse-Maker.

Jud was in a state of great excitement when the earth-man arrived.

Said Jud: “Do you remember what you told me about the beasts of the

south, who swim through the air, talk soundless speech, and use magic

slingshots like yours which you captured from the Roies near Sur?”

“Yes,” Cabot replied. “I hope that by this time I have given sufficient

demonstration of my truthfulness so that you now believe the story.”

“Oh, I believed it at the time,” Jud hastily explained, “But now I have

proof of it, for we have captured one of these beasts. That is, we

_think_ it is one of them. I want you to see and identify it, before we

present it to Theoph the Grim.”

“Thereby displaying commendable foresight,” Myles commented. “Where is

this Formian?”

“In a cage in the zoo,” the Vairking noble replied. “Come; I will take

you there.”

So together the two threaded the streets of Vairkingi to the zoo. This

was part of the city which the earth-man had never before visited. Its

denizens fascinated him.

There were huge water snakes with humanlike hands. There were spherical

beasts with a row of legs around the equator, a row of eyes around the

tropic of cancer, and a circular mouth rimmed with teeth at the north

pole. There were—

But at this point Jud urged him on into another room, where he promptly

forgot all the other creatures in the sight which met his eyes.

In a large wooden cage in the center of the room was an enraged ant-man

gnawing at the bars, while a score or so of Vairking warriors stood

around and prodded him with spears.

“Stop!” Jud shouted at the soldiery, whereat they all fell back

obediently.

This called the attention of the imprisoned beast to the newcomers, so

he looked up and stared at them. Cabot stared back.

Then he rushed forward to the cage!

XIV

OLD FRIENDS

“Doggo!” he cried. “Doggo! They told me you were dead!”

But of course all this was lost on the radio speech sense of the

prisoner. Vairking soldiers interposed their spears between Myles Cabot

and what they believed was sure destruction at the jaws of the black

beast. Cabot recoiled.

“Jud,” he called out, “order off your henchmen! I am not crazy, nor do I

court death. This creature is the only one of the Formians whom I can

control. He will prove a valuable ally for us, if I can persuade him to

forgive the indignities which your men have already heaped upon him.”

“I do not believe you,” Jud replied, “for how can men communicate with

beasts, especially with strange beasts such as this, the like of which

man ne’er set eyes on before?”

“Remember that I am a magician,” Myles returned somewhat testily. Then

seeing that Jud was still obdurate, he addressed the guards. “You know

me for a magician?”

“Yes,” they sullenly admitted.

“And you know the magic on which I am now engaged, and to which all of

my recent expeditions relate?”

“Yes,” one replied. “You seek to call down the lightnings of heaven, and

harness them to transport your words across the boiling seas.”

“Rightly spoken!” the Radio Man asserted. “Therefore, if you do not

stand aside, I shall call those lightnings down for another purpose,

namely, to blast you. Stand aside!”

One of the guards spoke to another, “Why should we risk our lives to

save his? Let the magician save himself!”

So they stood aside. Myles stepped up to the cage, and he and Doggo each

patted the other’s cheek through the bars.

Jud the Excuse-Maker sheepishly explained, “I knew that you were

speaking the truth, but I wished to learn what method you would use to

handle the soldiers. You did nobly.”

“Bunk!” the earth-man ejaculated, well knowing that the Vairking would

not understand him.

“What means that word?” Jud inquired, much interested.

“That,” Myles replied, grinning, “is a complimentary term often applied

on my own planet, the earth, to the remarks of our great leaders.”

Jud, highly complimented, let it go at that. Myles now ordered paper and

a charcoal pencil, and began a conversation with his ant friend.

“They told me you were dead,” he wrote. “Or I never would have left the

city of Yuriana or deserted your cause.”

“My cause died with my daughter, the queen,” Doggo replied. “I alone

survive. I escaped by plane, and have been flitting around the country

ever since, until my alcohol gave out. Then these furry Cupians captured

me. They got me with a net so that I could not fight back.

“Also, I was distant from my airship at the time, or it would have gone

hard with them for the ship is well stocked with bombs, and rifle

cartridges, and one rifle. Now tell me of yourself. How do you stand

with these furry Cupians?”

“They are not Cupians.” Myles wrote. “They are Vairkings, a race much

like myself, who send messages with their mouths and with their ears,

instead of using their antennae for both, as the Cupians and you

Formians do. Do you remember the old legend of Cupia, that creatures

like me dwell beyond the boiling seas? Well, it appears to have been

true, though how any one could have known or even suspected it, is a

mystery to me.”

“You have not yet told me how you stand,” the ant-man reminded him.

“They recognize me as a great magician,” Myles answered, “and I have

promised to build them a radio set, and to lead them to victory over the

Formians.”

“Just as you did for the Cupians,” Doggo mused. “But you will have a

harder task here, for these furry creatures appear to know no metals,

nor any of the arts save woodcarving.”

They patted each other’s cheeks again. Then, before any one could

interfere, Myles Cabot unbolted the door of the cage, and out walked

Doggo, a free ant once more.

The soldiery, and Jud with them, promptly scattered to the four walls of

the room.

“Come over here, Jud,” Myles invited, “and meet my friend—that is,

unless you are afraid.”

“Oh, no, I do not fear him,” Jud the Excuse-Maker replied, “but I do not

consider it consistent with the dignity of my position to be seen

fraternizing with a wild beast.”

It was typical. Myles laughed. Then he led the huge ant home with him to

his quarters.

Quivven was amazed, but not at all frightened, at the great black

creature; and when an introduction had been effected on paper, she and

Doggo developed quite a strong liking for each other.

As soon as the Formian had been fed and assigned to a room in the

ménage—some improvement over the menagerie, by the way—his host and

hostess took him on a tour of inspection of their laboratory.

With the true scientific spirit so characteristic of the cultured but

warlike race which once dominated Cupia, Doggo plunged at once into the

spirit of the almost super-Porovian task which Myles had undertaken; and

it soon became evident that the new comer would prove to be an

invaluable accession. His scientific training would dovetail exactly

with that of the earth-man, and would supplement it at every point.

Almost at the very start he suggested a solution of the problems which

had been puzzling Myles.

Cabot’s recollection of the process of sulphuric acid manufacture had

been that it required a complicated roasting furnace, two filtering

towers, and a tunnel about two hundred feet long made of lead, and into

which nitric acid fumes had to be injected. His recollection of nitric

acid manufacture was that it required sulphuric acid among other

ingredients. So how was he to make either acid without first having the

other? And furthermore, where was he to procure enough lead to build a

two-hundred-foot tunnel?

Doggo solved these problems very nicely—by avoiding them.

“What do you need sulphuric add for?” he wrote.

“Merely to use in making hydrochloric acid,” wrote the earth-man in

reply.

“And that?”

“To use in making sal ammoniac for my batteries.”

“Do you need nitric acid for anything except the manufacture of

sulphuric?”

“No.”

“Then,” Doggo suggested, “let us make our sal ammoniac directly from its

elements. We shall build a series of about twenty vertical cast-iron

retorts, as soon as you have smelted your iron. These we shall fill with

damp salt, pressed into blocks and dried. We shall heat these retorts

with charcoal fires, and through them we shall pass then, air, and the

sulphur fumes of your ore-roasting.

“After about fifteen days we shall daily cut out the first retort, dump

out the soda which has formed in it, refill it, and place it at the

farther end of the series. The liquid, which condenses at the end of the

series, will be diluted hydrochloric acid. By passing the fumes of roast

animal-refuse through it we shall convert it into sal ammoniac

solution.”

Accordingly, the quicker they started their foundry operations, the

better.

By this time chalcopyrite, quartz, and charcoal were present at

Vairkingi in large quantities. The ore was first roasted, and then was

piled into the smelter with the quartz and charcoal; the air-bellows

were started, fire was inserted through the slaghole, and soon a raging

pillar of flame served notice on all Vairkingi that the devil-furnace of

the great magician was in full blast. By this time it was night, but no

one thought of stopping.

Of course, there were complications. The furry soldiers deserted the

pumps at the first roar of green-tinged flame, but Doggo instantly

stepped into the breach and operated all of the bellows with his various

legs. Finally the warriors, on seeing that Myles and Quivven had

survived the ordeal of fire, sheepishly returned to their posts, and

were soon loudly boasting of their own bravery and of how their fellows

would envy them on the morrow when they should relate their experiences.

Along toward morning Cabot drew his first heat of molten matter into a

brick ladle and poured it into the converter. It was an impressive

sight. The shadowy wooden-walled inclosure, lit by the waving greenish

flare of a pillar of fire, which metamorphosed the white skin of the

earth-man into that of a jaundiced Oriental, tinged Quivven with

green-gold, and glinted off the shiny carapace of Doggo as off the

facets of a bloodstone. In the darkness of the background, toiled the

workers at their pumps.

Then there came a change. The fires died down, the pumping ceased, oil

lamps were lit, and the ghostly glare gave place to a faint but healthy

light, although over all hung the ominous silence of expectancy.

The ladle was brought up, a hand-hole-cover removed, and out flowed a

crimson liquid, tinting all the eager surrounding faces with a sinister

ruddiness.

Again the red glare, as the ladle was poured into the barrel-shaped

converter. Then the pumps were started again, and the blast from the

converter replaced that of the furnace with its ghostly light. Two hours

later the converter was tipped, and pure molten copper was poured out

into the ladle. Once more the sinister ruddiness.

Quickly the molds were filled, the red light was gone, the spell was

broken, conversation was resumed. The first metallurgy of Vairkingi was

an accomplished fact.

Day came, and with it loud pounding on the gate. Cabot answered it,

carelessly and abstractedly sliding back the bolt before inquiring who

was outside. The gate swung open with a bang, almost knocking Myles into

a flower bed, and in rushed a Vairking youth with drawn sword and

panting heavily.

“You beast!” he cried, lunging at the earth-man as he spoke.

But in his haste and anger he lunged too hard and too far; so that

Cabot, although unarmed, was able to step under his guard and grasp him

by the wrist before he recovered. Quick as lightning the boy’s sword arm

was bent up behind his back, and he was “in chancery”, to use the

wrestling term.

Slowly, grimly, Cabot forced the imprisoned hand upward between the

shoulder-blades of his opponent, until with a groan the latter

relinquished the sword, and it fell clattering to the ground.

Smiling, Cabot stooped down and picked it up, and forced the young

intruder against the wall.

“Now,” said the earth-man, “explain yourself.”

The boy faced Myles like a cornered panther.

“It’s Quivven,” he snarled. “You have stolen my Quivven.”

“Nonsense!” Myles exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“I am Tipi the Steadfast,” the youth replied. “Long have I loved the

Golden Flame, and she me, until you came to this city. When you arrived

I was away on a military expedition, winning distinctions to lay at the

tiny feet of my fair one. Last night I returned to find her working at

your laboratory. One or the other, you or I, must die.”

“You are absurd!”

“In _my_ country,” Tipi returned, looking the earth-man straight in the

eye, “no common soldier is permitted to dictate manners to a gentleman.

I repeat that Quivven—”

But at this point, Myles cuffed the young Vairking over one ear,

knocking him flat upon the walk; and, as he scrambled sputtering to his

feet, dealt him another blow which sent him reeling into the street.

Then Myles barred the gate, and turned toward the house.

In the doorway stood Quivven, shaking with laughter. Myles was

immediately embarrassed. He hadn’t known that his encounter had been

observed. He hated to show off, and was afraid that his actions had

appeared very melodramatic.

“Isn’t Tipi silly?” she asked.

“But he may make trouble with your father,” Myles said, with a worried

frown.

“Oh, I’m not afraid of father.”

“But he will put an end to my experiments.”

So Quivven went home to chat with her father before young Tipi could get

there to stir up possible trouble. She returned later in the day to

resume her work. While she was gone, Cabot conferred with Doggo.

“Why are you building this radio set?” the ant-man wrote. “I did not ask

you before in the presence of the lady, for I felt that perhaps you did

not wish her to know your plans.”

“Doggo, you show remarkable intuition,” Myles wrote in reply. “It is

true that I do not wish any of the Vairkings to know. My idea is to

communicate with Cupia, learn how Lilla is getting along, and encourage

my supporters there to hold out until in some way I can secure a Formian

airship and return across the boiling seas.”

“Then cease your work,” Doggo wrote, “for my plane, in perfect

condition, lies carefully hidden in a wood not a full day’s journey from

this city. All that we need is alcohol for the trophil-engines.”

XV

PLANS FOR ESCAPE

“We can make the alcohol in a few days in my laboratory,” Cabot wrote,

“but it will not do for us to escape too precipitately, lest our plans

be discovered and blocked. The Vairkings like sleight-of-hand, and wish

to keep me with them as their court magician. Let us bide our time until

they become sufficiently accustomed to you, so that they will not

question your accompanying me on an expedition. Then, away to the plane,

and off to Cupia!”

The ant-man assented. It seemed logical. And yet I wonder if this logic

would not have done credit to Jud the Excuse-Maker. I wonder if Cabot

was not subconsciously influenced by a scientific desire to complete his

radio set in this land of people who used only wood and flint. I wonder.

At all events, the work proceeded.

He had planned to use the slag from the copper furnace as the “ore” for

his iron, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that

its high sulphur content would probably ruin any steel which he

produced. Fortunately, however, he ran across a deposit of magnetic iron

ore near Vairkingi.

This he ground and placed in his crucibles with charcoal, and they built

charcoal fires in the pits around them. The slag he slammed off with

copper—later iron—ladles. The melting had to be repeated many times in

order to purify the iron sufficiently, and further in order to secure

just the right carbon content for cast-iron, steel, or wrought-iron,

according to which he needed for any particular purpose. This securing

the proper carbon content was largely a matter of cut-and-try.

With iron and steel available, he now made pots, retorts, hammers,

anvils, drills, wire-drawing dies, and a decent Bessemer converter.

Copper tubes for glass-blowing, and copper wire were drawn. A simple

wooden lathe was made for winding thread around the wires. This thread,

by the way, was the only Vairkingian product which the earth-man found

ready to his hand.

As soon as the iron retorts were available, the joint manufacture of sal

ammoniac and soda was started, as already outlined by Doggo.

In iron pots, Cabot melted together finely ground white sand, with lime,

soda, and potash, and blew the resulting glass into bottles, retorts,

test tubes, and other laboratory apparatus; also jars for his electric

batteries. He used both soda and potash, as this would render the glass

more fusible than if made with either alone.

Lead was melted from galena crystal in small quantities for solder. Thus

was suggested to Doggo, the manufacture, on the side, of bullets,

gunpowder, and cartridges, for the rifle which Myles had in his

quarters, and for the one which lay in the concealed airplane.

Tales of the copper-smelting had spread among the populace, who evinced

such great interest that double guards had to be placed and maintained

about the laboratory inclosure. And every returning military expedition

brought with it samples of unusual minerals.

Meanwhile, Cabot instituted a regular campaign of getting Vairkingi

accustomed to Doggo. Every day, Doggo would parade the high-walled

streets, with Quivven the Golden Flame perched upon his back. The

ten-foot ant inspired great interest and considerable fear.

She enjoyed her rides thoroughly, not only for the novelty of the thing,

but also because her seat on his six-foot-high back brought her head

above the level of the fence palings, and thus enabled her to survey the

private yards of everyone.

Tipi had not been seen or heard from.

Arkilu the Beautiful thoroughly made up with the earth-man, and even

admitted that her love for him had been a mistake. Plans for her wedding

with Jud proceeded rapidly. When this coming marriage was publicly

announced, Att the Terrible sent in a Roy runner with the message that

he didn’t in the least care.

Quivven now lived in the palace, so as to be near her father, but came

to work regularly each day. Theoph the Grim interposed no objection to

this, and, in fact, frequently accompanied his daughter to the

laboratory. He loved to mess around the bottles and retorts, and lost

much of the grimness when engaged in this childish meddlesomeness.

So every one was happy except Tipi the Steadfast and Att the Terrible.

Jud continued the operation of the brickyard, even though Cabot had no

more need of bricks, for Jud planned to build himself a brick palace

which would outshine even the palace of King Theoph.

Melting the platinum for the wires presented a problem, until Myles

thought of electrolizing some ordinary water into its constituent

hydrogen and oxygen, and then burning these two materials together in a

double blow-pipe, much like that used in oxyacetylene welding.

But to do this he had to make batteries. To this end he already had sal

ammoniac and jars. He needed carbon and zinc. For carbon he pressed

charcoal into compact blocks. To extract zinc from the blend ore he made

long cylindrical retorts of clay, with a long clay pipe for a vent. The

ore, after being thoroughly roasted in the copper-roasting furnace to

remove all sulphur, was ground, mixed with half its weight of powered

charcoal, and then charged into the retorts, where it was baked. The

result was to distill the pure zinc, which condensed on the walls of the

tubes.

Cabot now at last had all the elements for his batteries, and so was

able, by employing about seventy cells in multiple, to get the two

volts, three hundred fifty amperes, necessary to electrolize the oxygen

and hydrogen for melting his platinum.

The platinum proved to be quite free of iridium, and so was easily drawn

into wires.

Needless to state, the distilling of alcohol in large quantities,

ostensibly for the laboratory burners, but actually for Doggo’s

airplane, was commenced as soon as they had blown their first glass

retorts.

Myles was going strong!

One day, in the midst of all this technical progress, as Myles was

passing through one of the streets of Vairkingi on some errand or other,

and admiring the quaint and brightly colored wood carvings on the high

walls which lined the way, his attention was arrested by the design over

one of the gateways.

It was a crimson swastika within a crimson triangle, the insignia of the

priests of the lost religion of Cupia, the priests who had befriended

him in their hidden refuge of the Caves of Kar, when he was a fugitive

during the dark days of his second war against the ant-men.

Could it be that the lost religion was also implanted upon _this_

continent? Myles had never discussed religion with Arkilu, or Jud, or

Quivven, or Crota, or any of his Vairking friends. Somehow the subject

had never come up. Full of curiosity, Cabot knocked in the door.

Immediately a small round aperture opened and a voice from within

inquired “Whence come you?”

For reply, the earth-man gave one of the passwords of the Cupian

religion. To his surprise, the gate swung open, and he was admitted into

the presence of a long-robed priest, clad exactly like his friends of

the Caves of Kar.

“What do you wish?” asked the guardian of the gate.

Having made his way so far, Myles decided to continue, on the analogy of

the religion of his own continent. Accordingly, he boldly replied, “I

wish to speak with the Holy Leader.”

“Very well,” said the guard; and closing the gate and barring it, he led

Myles through many winding passages, to a door on which he knocked three

times.

The knock was repeated from within, the door opened, and Myles entered

to gaze upon a strangely familiar scene. The room was richly carved and

colored. On three sides hung the stone lamps of the Vairkings. Around

the walls sat a score or more of long-robed priests, some on the level

and some on slightly raised platforms. On the highest platform of all,

directly opposite the point where Cabot had entered, sat the only hooded

figure in the chamber, quite evidently the leader of the faith.

Him the earth-man approached, and bowed low.

Whereat, there came the unexpected words: “Welcome to Vairkingi, Myles

Cabot.”

Then the priest descended, took the visitor by the hand, and led him to

a seat at his own left. A few minutes later, the assembly had been

temporarily suspended, and Myles and his host were chatting together

like old friends.

Myles told the venerable prelate the complete history of all his

adventures on both continents of the planet Poros, not omitting to dwell

with considerable detail upon the vicissitudes of the lost religion of

Cupia. This interested the priest greatly, and he asked numerous

questions in that connection.

“Strange! Strange!” he ruminated. “It is undoubtedly the same religion

as ours. So there must at some time have been some connection between

the two continents.”

“Yes, there must have been,” the earth-man assented, “for the written

language of both Cupia and Vairkingi is the same. Yet the totally

different flora and fauna of the two continents negatives this history.”

“Where did the Cupians originate, if you know?” the priest inquired.

“We do not know,” Myles replied, “but there are two conflicting legends.

One is that the forerunners of the race came from across the boiling

seas. The other is that they sprang, fully formed, from the soil. There

is also a legend that creatures like me dwell beyond the boiling seas;

and _this_ legend, at least, appears to be borne out by the existence of

your Vairkings.”

“Strange! Still more strange!” the prelate declared. “For we have but

_one_ story of _our_ origin. The race of Vairkings descended from

another world above the skies. Who knows but that we, like you, came

from that place which you call the planet—Minos, I think, you said?”

After some further conversation, the conclave was called to order again,

and Myles took this as the signal for his departure. He was given a warm

invitation to return.