Truly, a new avenue of speculation had been opened up to him by his

chance meeting with the Holy Leader. Myles firmly resolved to return

again at the earliest opportunity. But, from this time on, events moved

with such rapidity that never again did he enter the sacred precincts.

First, he was stumped by his radio tubes. How was he to make a

vacuum-pump which would exhaust the air?

The solution, when it finally occurred to him, was absurdly simple; he

utilized atmospheric pressure.

He made a glass tube thirty feet long, and sealed his grid, his plates

and his lead-wires into one end, closing that end off hermetically. Then

he fashioned a piston of waterproof cloth fiber so as to fit into the

closed end, almost touching these elements and yet free to move away

from them without tearing them. Then he filled the tube with water, and

inverted it. But the water did not drop away to a height of about

twenty-eight feet, as it would have done on Earth.

Of course not, for this was Venus—Venus of an atmospheric pressure

practically equal to that of earth, holding the water up; and yet with a

gravity much less than that of Earth, tending to pull, the water down!

But, by lengthning the pipe sufficiently, Cabot finally got the proper

balance, the fiber piston was pulled down, and a partial vacuum,

practically free of water-vapor had been created. He then sealed off the

upper portion of the glass tube with his blow-torch, and had his radio

triad.

For these radio tubes, the glass was made according to a special

formula. Of this same glass, Cabot fashioned lenses for the goggles

which he and Doggo planned to wear on their trip home across the boiling

seas.

One of the constituents of this special glass is lead monoxide, commonly

known as litharge. This gave the Radio Man some concern, until Doggo

suggested melting lead in a rotating cylindrical iron drum with spiral

ribs. By pumping cold air in one end of this drum, fine particles of

litharge were driven out through the other, where they accumulated in a

stationary container.

About this time the king and Jud began clamoring for results, so Cabot

made a few electric lights with platinum filaments. And entirely apart

from pacifying his two patrons it was well that he did this, for the

speedy burning out of these lights showed him that he had a new problem

to face, namely: the elimination of all traces of oxygen in his tubes.

He got rid of considerable by placing tubes in a strong magnetic field

while exhausting, but this was not quite enough.

It looked as though his experiments would have to end at this point; for

with an immense quantity of alcohol completed, and with pyrex glass for

their goggles, everything was all set for the conspirators to locate

Doggo’s hidden plane and fly across the boiling seas to Cupia.

The Vairkings were by now sufficiently used to the huge ant-man and to

his participation in Cabot’s scientific experiments, so that no

objection would be raised to his accompanying the radio man on one of

the latter’s expeditions in search of certain minerals which he believed

could be found in the country.

Two carts, laden with tents, food and bedding, were taken along, and

beneath these supplies he placed the alcohol and goggles. There was no

need to conceal them, for none of the Vairkings, except Quivven, ever

had any very distinct knowledge of what he was about, and to her he

explained that the alcohol was for the purpose of loosening certain

materials from the solid rocks, and that the goggles were to protect his

and Doggo’s eyes from the fumes.

A squad of soldiers pulled the carts. Doggo had demurred at this,

suggesting that the soldiers be left behind, and offering to pull them

himself, but Myles pointed out how easily he could scatter the Vairkings

when the time came, by threatening them with his “magic sling-shot” (i.

e., rifle).

Early in the morning they set forth, just as the unseen rising sun began

to tint the eastern sky with purple. When the time came to say farewell

to Quivven Myles found to his surprise that his voice was positively

choked with emotion.

“Good-by, Golden Flame,” he said. “Please wish me a safe journey.”

“Of course I do,” she said, “But why so sad? You sound as though you

never expected to see me again.”

“One never can tell,” he replied.

“Your food has disagreed with you,” she bantered. “I feel confident that

you will return. For have you not often quoted to me: ‘They cannot kill

a Minorian?’ Run along now, and come back safely.”

Thus he left her, a smile on her face and a tear in his eye. He hated to

deceive Quivven, who had been a good little pal, in spite of her

occasional flare-ups of temper. He looked back and waved to her where

she stood like a golden statue upon the city wall; it would be his last

glimpse of a true friend. Then he set his face resolutely to the

eastward.

Not only did he feel a pang at leaving Quivven, but he felt even more of

a pang at leaving his radio-set half finished. The scientist always

predominated in his makeup; and besides, like the good workman that he

was, he hated an unfinished job.

But he realized that his radio project had been only a means to an

end—the end being to get in touch with his friends and family in

Cupia—and that this end was about to be accomplished more directly. Just

think, to-morrow night he would be home, ready to do battle for his

loved ones against the usurper Yuri! The thought thrilled him, and all

regrets passed away.

Lilla! He was to see his beautiful dainty Lilla once more; and his baby

son, Kew, rightful ruler of Cupia! He resolved that, once back with them

again, he would never more leave them. Lilla had been right; his return

to Earth had been a foolhardy venture; results had proved it. As

Poblath, the Cupian philosopher, used to say, “The test of a plan is how

it works out.”

Cabot was eager, even impatient, to see the ant-plane which was to carry

him home. He was bubbling over with questions to ask his ant-man

companion; the condition of the plane, its exact location, how well it

had been concealed, and so forth. But his only means of communication

with Doggo was in writing, and it would never do to delay the expedition

for the purpose of indulging in a written conversation. So he merely

fretted and fumed, and urged the Vairking pullers of the carts to

greater speed.

But along toward evening a calm settled over him, a joyous calm. He was

going home, going home! The words sang in his ears. He was going to

Cupia, to baby Kew, and Princess Lilla. A nervous warmth flooded through

his being, and tingled at his fingertips. He felt the strength to

overcome any obstacles which might confront him. He was going home!

Just before sunset the party encamped on the outskirts of a small grove

of trees, which Doggo indicated as the hiding-place of his plane and

other supplies. It had already been agreed that they should not inspect

the machine before morning for they did not wish to give even the slow

brains of Vairking soldiers a chance to figure out their ulterior

purpose, and perhaps to dispatch a runner to Vairkingi with a warning to

Theoph and Jud.

So Myles was forced to possess his soul in patience, and await the dawn.

To keep his mind off his troubles he sat with the furry warriors about

their camp fire, and told them tales of Cupia and the planet Earth.

Never before, in their experience, had this strange furless leader of

theirs been so graciously condescending or so sociable. It was an

evening which they would long remember.

Finally they all turned in for the night. The earth-man slept fitfully,

and dreamed of encounters in which, with his back to the wall, he fought

with a wooden sword alone against Prince Yuri, and ant-men, and

Vairkings, and Cupians, and whistling bees, in defense of Lilla and her

son.

Yet such is the strange alchemy of dreams that sometimes Lilla’s face

seemed to be covered with golden fur.

With the first red flush of morning Cabot and Doggo bestirred

themselves, and informed their campmates that they intended to do a bit

of prospecting before breakfast. Then they set out into the interior of

the wood, the ant-man leading the way. At last they came to a small

clearing and beyond it a thicket, which Doggo indicated with one paw as

being the spot which they sought. There was to be the plane!

Parting the foliage, they looked inside. But the thicket was empty!

On the farther side the bushes had been recently chopped down, and

thence there lay a wide swath of cut trees clear out of the woods. It

was only too evident that the precious plane had been stolen!

XVI

AFTERTHOUGHTS

There could be no doubt of it. Doggo’s plane was gone, and with it had

vanished all hopes of a speedy return to Cupia. Sadly the two returned

to camp, and gave directions to start back to Vairkingi.

But Myles Cabot was not a man to despair or he would have yielded to

fate many times in the past during his radio adventures on the silver

planet. Already, as the porters were loading the carts, his agile mind

was busy seeking some way whereby to snatch victory from defeat.

So when the expedition was ready to start he led it around the woods

until he picked up the trail of the stolen airship. Quite evidently the

theft had not been made by ant-men, for they would have _flown_ the

machine away, upon clearing the woods. No, it had obviously been taken

by either Roies or Vairkings, who had wheeled or dragged it away. If he

and Doggo could follow its path, they might yet be able to locate and

recover the stolen property.

The trail led north until it struck, at right angles, a broad and

much-rutted road which ran from Vairkingi to the northeast territory of

the Vairkings. And at this point the trail completely vanished.

Myles held a written conference with Doggo, at which it was decided to

return at once to the city and make inquiries there as to the stolen

plane. If no one there knew of it, Doggo was to be dispatched on a new

expedition into the northeast territory, and in the meantime Cabot was

to rush the completion of his radio set. So they turned to the left and

took up the march to Vairkingi.

It was a tired and disgusted human who returned that evening to the

quarters which he had never expected to set eyes on again. Myles Cabot

gave himself up to a few moments of unrestrained grief.

As he sat thus a soft, sympathetic voice said: “Didn’t you succeed in

finding that which you sought? I am so sorry! At least you came back

safely to me.”

But the blandishments of little Quivven, his pal, failed to comfort him.

That evening when Jud returned from the brickyard, Myles sought an

audience with him and demanded news of the plane. Said Myles: “This

beast friend of mine came near here in a magic wagon which travels

through the air. Possession of this magic wagon would mean much to

Vairkingi in your wars, and especially if the beasts ever take it into

their heads to attack you, as they undoubtedly will do sooner or later.

“Yesterday Doggo and I embarked on a secret expedition to bring this

magic wagon as a surprise to you and Theoph. But we find that it has

been stolen. We have traced it to the northeast road, and there the

trail ends. It must be either in this city or in the northeast

territory. Will you help me to find it?”

But Jud smiled a crafty smile, and said: “It is not in Vairkingi—of that

I am certain. Nor will I send into the northeast territory to find it

for you; for I well know that you would use it to return to your own

land beyond the boiling seas. We wish you to stay with us and do wonders

for us. We believe that we can make your lot among us a happy one.

“But remember that, although you are treated with great honors, you are

nevertheless still my slave. Any attempt on your part to locate the

magic wagon will be met with severe punishment, and an end will be put

to your experiments. I have spoken.”

Myles Cabot met the other’s eye squarely. “You have spoken, Jud,” he

said.

Myles was now convinced that Jud knew more about the missing plane than

he was willing to admit; so the only thing to do was to lie low, bide

his time, keep an ear out for news of the plane, and continue the

manufacture of the radio set. Thus the earth-man ruminated as he walked

slowly back to his quarters.

And then the linking of radio and airplanes in his mind gave him an

idea. He had felt all along that he was doing the correct thing in

building a radio set rather than in manufacturing firearms with which to

attack the Formians, or in trying to fabricate an airplane for a flight

across the boiling seas.

His intuition had been correct; his subconscious mind must have guided

him to make the radio _in order to phone Cupia for a plane to come over

to Vairkingi and get him_. Why hadn’t he realized this before? It gave

him new heart.

With a laugh he reflected that this afterthought was pretty much like

those so characteristic of the man whom he had just left. Jud the

Excuse-Maker, always bungling, and always with a perfectly good excuse

or alibi, thought up afterward to explain why he did something which,

when he did it, was absolutely pointless. Myles had always looked down

on the Vairking noble because of this failing.

But now what he found himself going through exactly the same mental

processes, he began to wonder if perhaps Jud were not guided by a fairly

high-grade intuition. Perhaps Jud’s afterthoughts and excuses were but

the breaking through of a realization of some real forethoughts on the

part of Jud’s subconscious mind. Myles wondered. He was still wondering

when he fell asleep that night.

The next morning he plunged into his work with renewed vigor. He now had

copper wire, copper plates, wood, mica, solder, platinum, glass, and

batteries—everything that he needed for his radio set except a better

vacuum for his tubes; but without that he was as far from success as

when he started.

Of course he knew what he needed—magnesium. But it was one thing to step

into a drug store on the earth, or into a chemical laboratory in Cupia,

and take magnesium off the shelves, and quite another matter to pick

this elusive element out of thin air in Vairkingi.

Nevertheless, in spite of this lack, Myles kept on working. He wound his

inductances, transformers, earphones, and rheostats. He assembled his

variable condensers and microphones. He fashioned his sockets and lamp

bases. He strung his antennae. He wired up his baseboard and panel.

Small sets were installed in Quivven’s rooms at the palace, at Jud’s

house, and at the brickyard. Each of these was equipped with a

transformer-coupling for Doggo’s antennae, as well as with mouthpieces

for the others, so that now at last oral conversation was possible with

his Formian friend. Later he would prepare a portable head-set such as

he had worn in Cupia.

Laboratory experiments demonstrated the success of his sets in

everything except durability of tubes. Yet in spite of this drawback he

was able to communicate across his laboratory, and even with Jud’s

house, and under favorable conditions with Quivven at the palace by

using a cold-tube hookup. But this was not powerful enough to send as

far as the brickyard, let alone Cupia.

At this juncture there appeared one morning at his gate a Vairking

soldier in leather tunic and helmet, requesting entrance with important

secret news. Myles grudgingly left his work-bench and gave audience. The

fellow had a strangely familiar appearance and smiled in a quizzical

manner; yet Myles could not place him.

“Who are you?” Myles asked.

“Do you not know me?” the other asked in reply.

“No.”

The soldier doffed his leather cap. “Do you know me now?”

“No.”

“A life for a life?”

“Now I know you!” Cabot exclaimed. “You are Otto the Bold, son of Grod

the Silent, who is King of the Roies. To paraphrase one of the proverbs

of my own country, ‘A face that is familiar in Sur is oft a stranger in

Vairkingi.’ I did not recognize you away from the surroundings in which

we met. What good fortune brings you here?”

“Not _good_ fortune, but _bad_,” the Roy replied. “It is true that Grod,

my father, is our king, but it is also true that Att the Terrible

likewise claims the kingship. Att loves Arkilu, and is even at this

moment on the march against Vairkingi with the largest army of Roies

ever gathered.”

Myles smiled. “We are grateful for the information,” he said. “With this

forewarning we are secure against attack.”

“If you will pardon me,” Otto continued, “I think that you are _not_

secure. For one of your own Vairkings, Tipi by name, marches with Att.

Att has promised Tipi the glorious golden Quivven in return for Tipi’s

support. And Tipi has many partisans within this city.”

Myles continued to smile. “We can deal with traitors,” he asserted

smugly. “There are many lamp-posts in our city.”

But Otto kept on: “Sur has fallen.”

“What!” the earth-man shouted, at last shocked out of his complacency.

“The rock-bound impregnable fortress of Sur fallen? Impossible!”

“Not impossible to those who travel through the skies and drop black

stones which fly to pieces with a loud noise,” Otto calmly replied. “The

beasts of the south have made alliance with Att the Terrible, and Tipi

the Steadfast, and are marching with them. Good Builder! They are upon

us even now. Quick, the beasts enter this very room. Come, draw, defend

yourself!”

Wheeling quickly, Cabot confronted Doggo standing in the doorway. Much

relieved, he explained to Otto who this newcomer was; then, seizing a

pad and a lead stylus of his own manufacture, he hurriedly sketched the

situation to his Formian friend.

In reply Doggo wrote: “At last I have magnesium ore. Some soldiers

brought it in, attracted by its pretty red color. There is no time to be

lost. To the laboratory. You must complete our set and summon aid from

Cupia. Meanwhile I will get Jud on the air, and call him here for a

conference. We have no time to wait upon him, or even Theoph, in this

emergency.”

Myles read the message aloud to Otto.

“It is well,” the latter commented. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must

be running along. My disguise as a Vairking soldier will get me safely

out of your city, and I must join my father, who is planning to

counter-attack, if a fit opportunity presents itself. Till we meet

again.”

“Till we meet again, in this life or beyond the waves,” the earth-man

replied. “And may the Builder bless you for your help this day.” Then he

rushed to the laboratory.

Doggo was already tuning the set. “Jud is not at home,” he wrote. “Shall

I waste a tube on the brickyard?”

“No,” Myles signified with a shake of his head; then seizing the pad and

stylus again, he wrote: “I will try and get Jud. You meanwhile attempt

to extract magnesium from this piece of carnallite.”

The ant-man knew exactly how to proceed. Grinding the ore, he mixed it

with salt and melted the mass in an iron pot, which he connected

electrically with the carbon terminal of a line of electric batteries.

In the boiling pot he placed a copper plate connected with the zinc

elements of his cells.

By the time the earth-man returned from calling Jud on the radio, a

coating of pure magnesium had begun to form on the copper anode.

An hour or so later he scraped off his first yield of the precious

metal, the final necessity of his projected radio set.

At this stage Jud appeared. “Pardon the delay,” he started to explain.

“You see, I—”

But Myles cut him short with: “Never mind explanations now. It is enough

that you are here. Sur has fallen. The beasts of the south and Att the

Terrible are on the warpath. They seek to rob you of your Arkilu. With

their aerial wagons they will drop magic rocks upon this city and

destroy it. Give Doggo back his plane, and he will try to combat them.”

But Jud shook his head. “You would merely escape,” he replied, “and then

we would be worse off than now.”

“Then you admit that you know the whereabouts of Doggo’s plane?” Myles

eagerly asked.

“Not at all, not at all,” the Vairking suavely replied. “I was merely

stating that, even if I knew where this ‘plane,’ as you call it, is—”

“For Builder’s sake, man!” Cabot cut in. “This is no time to quibble

over words! Give us the plane, if you would save Theoph, yourself, and

Arkilu.”

“It’s hardly necessary,” Jud asserted, unruffled. “Don’t get so excited!

If Att wants Arkilu, he certainly won’t drop things on the palace. And

we can defend the palace against all the Roies in Vairkingi.”

“But not against magic slingshots,” replied the earth-man.

“Perhaps not,” the noble said with a crafty smile; “but we shall see.

Now I go to prepare the defense. You are at liberty to come with us, if

you will, or putter around your tubes if you had rather. Good-by.”

“Shift for yourselves then!” Myles shouted after him, and frantically

resumed his work. His attempt to get the plane by stratagem had failed.

Perhaps Jud did not know anything about the plane after all. It would be

typical of him.

Myles had plenty of sets of grids, plates, and filaments all prepared.

Also plenty of long tubes of pyrex glass. All that remained necessary

was to coat the platinum elements with magnesium, fuse them into the

tube, exhaust the air by the water method as before, seal the tube, and

his radio set would be complete.

“Where is Quivven?” he wrote to Doggo. “She ought to be here helping

with this.”

“On her way from the palace,” the ant-man replied. “I radio-phoned her

there.”

Presently she entered, and jauntily inquired what all the excitement was

about. Myles explained as briefly as possible.

Her only answer was to shrug her golden shoulders and remark, “Tipi is a

little fool. He can have me if he can get me.”

Then she took her seat at the workbench.

After a while she inquired, “Why the rush with the radio set, when

Vairkingi is in peril?”

Myles replied, “Our only hope now is to get Cupia on the air, and

persuade my followers there to send across the boiling seas enough

aerial wagons to defeat the beasts of the south, or ‘Formians,’ as we

call them.”

“And will you talk with your Lilla?” she asked innocently.

“Yes, if the Builder wills,” he eagerly and reverently replied.

To his surprise, Quivven jumped to her feet with flashing eyes, and,

seizing a small iron anvil from the workbench, she held it over the

precious pile of platinum elements.

“And if I drop this anvil, you will _not_ talk to her. Is not that so?”

Myles, horrified, sat rooted to his seat, unable to move.

XVII

THE BATTLE FOR VAIRKINGI

But the flaming Quivven did not drop the anvil on the precious tube

elements. Instead she flung it from her to the floor and sank limply

into her seat, her golden head on her arms on the workbench.

“I couldn’t do it,” she moaned between sobs, “for I too know what it is

to love. Talk to her, Myles, and I will help you.”

He gasped with relief. “You wouldn’t spoil all our days and days of

labor, I am sure,” he said. “What was the matter? I don’t understand

you.”

“_You_ wouldn’t,” was her reply, as she shook herself together and

resumed work.

After a while one of the soldiers attached to the laboratory brought in

word that the Roies and Formians were attacking the walls, and that

“planes” were sailing around in the sky overhead. Cabot gave word to

mass his men to defend the laboratory at all costs and went on working.

One by one the tubes were completed and tested.

From time to time Quivven would step into the yard, glance at the sky,

and then report back to Myles. The Formian planes were scouting low, but

were not dropping bombs. Jud had apparently been right in one thing—that

the beasts would not risk injuring the expected prizes of war, namely

Arkilu and Quivven.

From time to time runners brought word of the fighting at the outer wall

of the city. It would have been an easy matter for the ant-men to bomb

the gates, and thus let in their Roy allies, but evidently they were

playing safe even there. At last, however, word came that

traitors—presumably friends of Tipi—had opened one of the gates, and

that the enemy was now within the city.

Still Myles worked steadily on.

Suddenly Quivven returned from one of her scouting trips in the yard

with the cry, “One of the air wagons has seen me, and is coming down!”

At that the Radio Man permitted himself to leave his bench for a few

moments and go to the door. True, the plane was hovering down, eagerly

awaited by a score or so of Cabot’s Vairking soldiers armed with swords,

spears and bows. As the Formians came within bowshot they were met with

a shower of arrows, most of which, however, glanced harmlessly off the

metallic bottom of the fuselage.

The ant-men at once retaliated with a shower of bullets. Two Vairkings

dropped to the ground, and the others frantically rushed to cover within

the buildings, forcing back Myles and his two companions, as the

fugitives crowded through the door.

“Where is _your_ magic slingshot?” one of them taunted him as they swept

by.

The earth-man shook himself and passed the back of one hand across his

tired brow, then hurried to his living room. Seizing his rifle, he

cautiously approached one of the slit windows which overlooked the yard,

and peeked out. The plane was on the ground. Four ants were

disembarking.

Here at last was a chance to secure transportation!

Myles opened fire.

The Formians were taken completely by surprise. Oh, how it did Cabot’s

heart good to see those ancient enemies drop and squirm as he pumped

lead into them! They made no attempt to return his fire, but scuttled

toward their beached plane.

Only one of them reached it; but one was enough to deprive the earth-man

of his booty. Up shot the craft, followed by a parting bullet from

Myles. Then he proceeded to the yard once more. His furry soldiers,

brave now that all danger was over, were already there before him,

putting an end to the three wounded ant-men, with swords and spears.

A strong and pungent odor filled the air. Myles sniffed. It was alcohol

in large quantities. The plane could not last long, for he had punctured

its fuel tank.

Each of the dead enemies had been fully armed, so that, although Myles

failed in his plan to secure the airship, the encounter had at least

netted him three rifles and three bandoleers of cartridges. These he

bestowed on Doggo, Quivven, and the captain of his guards, saying, “You

three, with four or five others, had better go at once to Jud’s compound

before the fighting reaches here; for, now that the Formians have

located Quivven, they are sure to attack again, sooner or later.”

But the golden-furred princess remonstrated with him: “Let us stay

together, fight together, and, if need be, die together.”

“For the Builder’s sake, run along,” he replied testily. “We are wasting

valuable time. I will join you if the fighting gets too thick

hereabouts.”

“But how can you?”

“By the back way which you taught me.”

“But you need the help of Doggo and myself.”

“No longer, for the set is complete. All that remains to be done is to

tune in and either get Cupia on the air or not. Now, as you are my true

friends, please run along!”

So, with a shrug and a pout; she left him. And with her went Doggo, and

the captain, and five of the guard. Much relieved, the Radio Man

returned to his workbench. Although the move truly was wise for the

safety of Quivven, the real motive which actuated Myles was a desire to

have her absent, when and if he should talk to his Lilla.

He leaned his rifle against the bench, hung the bandoleer handily near

by, and set to work. A few more connections and his hookup was complete.

He surveyed the assembled set with a great deal of satisfaction; for,

although it really was a means to an end, yet it was a considerable end

in itself after all, as any radio fan can appreciate.

Once more Myles Standish Cabot, electrical engineer, had demonstrated

his premiership on two worlds. He had made a complete radio set out of

basic natural elements, without the assistance of a single previously

fabricated tool, or material! It was an unbelievable feat. Yet it had

been completed successfully.

With trembling hands, he adjusted the controls, and listened. Gradually

he tuned in a station. It seemed a nearby station.

A voice was saying: “We could not report before, O master, for we have

only just repaired the set which this Cabot wrecked. The Minorian lied

when he told you that he had affairs well in hand, for even at that

moment he was a fugitive.

“He is now with the furry Cupians who live to the north of New Formia.

Today our forces are attacking their city. It is only a matter of a few

parths before he will be in our hands. I have spoken, and shall now

stand by to receive.”

This was the supreme test. Could Myles Cabot hear the reply? Adjusting

his set to the extreme limit of its sensitivity, he waited, his hands on

the wave-length dials.

Faintly but distinctly came the answer in the well-known voice of Yuri

the usurper: “You have done well. Now I will hand the antenna-phones to

the Princess Lilla, and I wish you to repeat to her what you have just

told me, so that she may hear it with her own antennae and believe.”

A pause and then Cabot heard the ant-man stationed at the shack on the

mountains near Yuriana recount the tale of Doggo’s abortive revolution

and flight, of Cabot’s wrecking the radio set and disappearing, of the

Formian alliance with Att the Terrible, of the fall of Sur, and of the

attack on Vairkingi, ending with the words which he had already caught.

As he listened to this narration, the earth-man was rapidly making up

his mind what to do, and, as soon as the ant-man signed off, Cabot cut

in with: “Lilla, dearest, do not show any sign of surprise, but listen

intently, as though the Formian were still speaking. This is your own

Myles. I am sending from a station which I have only just completed

after many sangths of intensive work.

“It is true that the Formians are now attacking our city but they cannot

win. Sur fell because we were taken by surprise, but we were warned in

time to defend Vairkingi. Already I, myself, have driven off one plane

and killed three Formians.

“As yet I have been unable to secure an airship, or I should have flown

back to you. Please get in touch with Toron, or some other of my

friends, and persuade them to fly across the boiling seas and bring me

back.

“Yuri has made it twice, and ‘what man has done, that can man do.’ Now I

am about to finish. When I sign off, please request Yuri for permission

to talk to the Formian at Yuriana, to ask him some questions. Then tell

me as much as you can of yourself, our baby, and the situation in Cupia,

before Yuri shuts you off. I have spoken, dearest.”

And Myles stood by to receive.

With what a thrill did he hear his own Lilla’s voice answer: “Oh,

Formian, I have Prince Yuri’s permission to speak to you. You may answer

what I ask you, and reply to what I tell you, but he himself will

receive, lest I hear something which I ought not. This leads me to

believe that affairs are not so bad with Cabot as you report.”

“She is doing fine,” Myles remarked to himself, admiringly. “So far,

Yuri will not suspect that she is talking to me.”

Lilla’s voice continued: “You and the other Formians may be interested

to know that Prince Yuri is in complete control here. Baby Kew and I are

well, and are being respectfully treated by Prince Yuri as his guests in

the palace at Kuana. He has promised me that if I will marry him, Kew

can have the succession after his death. And this I might have accepted

for the baby’s sake, but now that I know that you still live, this

cannot be.”

“She has made a slip,” Cabot moaned.

Evidently she realized it herself, for her voice hurried on: “You see,

the whistling bees—”

Then Yuri’s voice cut in abruptly with: “Congratulations, Cabot. I don’t

see how you did it. Your ex-wife would have gotten across a lot more

information to you if she hadn’t inadvertently let me know to whom she

was talking by her careless use of the word ‘you’. I don’t know what you

said to her, but I shall be on my guard. No more radio for the Princess

Lilla, until my henchmen in New Formia report your death, which I hope

will be soon. Good-by, you cursed spot of sunshine. Yuri, king of Cupia,

signing off for the night.”

So that was that. Myles switched off the set, and sat submerged in

thought. Lilla and his baby were safe. He doubted not that she would

sooner or later find means to send him a plane. He had given Yuri cause

to doubt the glorious story told by the Formian radio operator. The new

set had fulfilled its mission.

But how had Yuri succeeded in climbing into power again in Cupia,

nine-tenths of the inhabitants of which were loyal to Princess Lilla and

the baby king?

Then Myles remembered her closing words: “The whistling bees—” It was as

little Jacqueline Farley had prophesied on her father’s New England

farm, during Cabot’s brief revisit to the earth. Cabot had stated:

“There can be no peace on any continent which is inhabited by more than

one race of intelligent beings”; whereat little Jacqueline had pointed

out that the whistling bees were intelligent beings.

Doubtless, Yuri had stirred up trouble between the bees and their Cupian

allies, and had ridden to the throne on the crest of this trouble.

Portheris, king of the bees, had undoubtedly been deposed; for he was

too loyal to Myles to stand for this.

The earth-man’s reverie was rudely interrupted at this point by one of

his soldiers who rushed into the laboratory shouting: “Sir, there is

fighting in your very yard!”

Cabot slipped the bandoleer over his shoulders, adjusted the straps,

picked up his rifle, and hurried to the door. In the yard, his guards

were struggling in hand-to-hand combat with a superior force of Roies.

He could tell them apart, not only by the contrast between the fine

features of his own men and apelike faces of the intruders, but more

easily by the contrast between the leather tunics of the Vairkings and

the nakedness of the Roies. So, standing calmly in the doorway, Myles

began picking off the enemy, one by one, with his rifle. It was too

easy; almost like trap-shooting.

But it didn’t last long, for the Roies soon learned what was up, and,

breaking away from their opponents, crowded out through the gate,

followed by a shower of missiles and maledictions.

Cabot’s Vairkings were for following, but their master peremptorily

called them back, and directed them to barricade the laboratory. It was

well that he did so, for presently the heads of the enemy began to

appear above the top of the fence. Evidently they had built a platform

in the street.

Soon arrows and pebbles began to fly at the windows of the house. The

Vairkings replied with a volley, but Cabot cautioned them to conserve

their ammunition, and watch him pick off with his rifle, one by one, the

heads which showed themselves above the paling.

This soon ceased to be interesting. So, giving the rifle and bandoleer

to one of the more intelligent of his men, and instructing them to hold

the laboratory at all costs, the earth-man set out, sword in hand, by

the back way to rejoin Doggo and Quivven.

The alleys which he threaded were deserted. He reached the rear of Jud’s

compound without event, and passed in to one of the inclosures through a

small and well concealed gate in the face of the wall. Quivven had

pointed this route out to him before, but never had he traversed it

farther than this point. He looked cautiously around him. Then he rubbed

his eyes, and looked again! He could hardly believe his senses!

There stood a Formian airplane in apparently perfect condition.

Approaching it gingerly with drawn sword, he circled it carefully to

make sure that it contained no enemies. But it was deserted. A hasty

inspection disclosed that everything was in working order, except that

the fuel tank was empty.

Probably then, this was the plane at which he had fired. But no, for

this plane did not even _smell_ of alcohol. The tank had evidently been

dry for some time, and there was no sign of any bullet hole in it.

Gradually the fact dawned on him that this was Doggo’s plane, which Jud

had concealed from them for so long. He must reach Doggo and tell him.

At the farther side of the inclosure from the side at which he had

entered, there was a door. Myles raced toward it, and flung it open.

Beyond it there was a second inclosure similar to the first. Myles raced

across this one as well, and flung open another door, whereupon out

poured a crowd of Roies, upsetting him and throwing him sprawling upon

the ground.

But they were as surprised as he was at the encounter, and this fact

enabled him to regain his sword and scramble to his feet before they

were upon him again, with parry and thrust.

Good swordsman as he was, they had soon forced him, his back against the

wall, to defend his life with his trusty wooden blade. Time and again

one of their points would reach his tunic, but he kept his neck well

guarded, and so was able to stand them off.

When he had drawn his breath and got his bearings, and his defense had

become slightly a matter of routine, he recognized the leader of the

enemy as none other than the traitor Tipi. His first thought was to run

Tipi through for his treachery. But then he reflected that quite likely

Quivven really loved Tipi after all. It would be a shame to kill this

boy merely because his unrequited love had caused him to lose his head.

From then on, Myles had no time to reflect on anything, for he was

engaged in the difficult task of trying to defend himself without

hurting Tipi.

The young Vairking had recognized the earth-man, and was hurling

vituperations at him, but Myles saved his breath for his sword-play.

Even so, he gradually tired. His sword hand no longer instantly

responded to every command of his agile brain, and even his brain itself

became less agile. It was only a matter of time when he would be certain

to make a misplay, and go down before his opponents. Yet, still he

struggled on.

And then suddenly a new complication entered the game, for he was seized

from behind the arms and was lifted struggling and kicking off the

ground.

XVIII

THE FALL OF VAIRKINGI

As Miles was lifted from the ground by the unknown force behind which

had seized him beneath the armpits, his Roy opponents fell back away

from him in surprise. But immediately their expressions changed to

intense pleasure. Quite evidently they regarded this mysterious new

power as an ally.

Myles could not squirm around to see what was holding him; so still

grasping his sword in his right hand, he felt with his left hand under

his right armpit, and found there—the claw of a Formian! In another

moment he would be within reach of its horrid jaws, and then would came

the paralyzing bite which he knew so well from past experience.

Nevertheless he could die fighting.

Shifting his sword quickly, so that he held it point upward, he struck

backward with it across his shoulder, and had the satisfaction of

hearing and feeling it glint on the carapace of his captor. A few more

strokes, and by lucky chance his blade might find a joint in the black

shell of the ant-man.

But just as he was about to strike again a familiar voice behind him

called out, “Stop, Myles, for Builder’s sake, stop! It is Doggo who

holds you, and is rescuing you from your enemies.”

It was the voice of Quivven. Tipi and the Roies instantly understood and

made a rush at their late victim; but they were too late, for Doggo had

lifted the earth-man safely over the wall. There stood Quivven and the

members of their guard.

“Quick, Doggo, the rifles!” Myles shouted. “Your missing plane is in the

next inclosure. We must reach it before the enemy does.”

Of course, this was all lost on the radio-sense of the Formian, but the

other members of the party acted at once. On their side of the wall

there was a platform near the top. Springing lightly onto this, the

furry maid and the captain of the guard covered the Roies with their

rifles.

“You!” exclaimed Tipi in surprise.

“What did you expect?” Quivven taunted. “You attacked this city in

search of me. Here I am. You can have me, if you can catch me. But you

had better not try it just now, for I and my friends have these magic

sling-shots, which can kill at almost any distance. Go quickly before I

try it on you. For old times’ sake, go!”

But Tipi and his Roies stood steadfast. The captain and Quivven fired;

two Roies dropped, and the others fled precipitately out through the

gates by which they entered. Tipi the Steadfast was left alone

confronting Cabot and his companions. But he never budged.

Over the fence vaulted the five Vairking guardsmen in their leather

armor, and attacked their renegade countryman, who, being a noble, wore

only a leather helmet. The unequal contest could have but one result.

Yet Quivven looked on complacently at the impending downfall of her

former sweetheart.

Cabot, however, had more heart. Running along the platform within the

wall, he vaulted over at a point distant from the contest, sneaked

steadily up on Tipi, and suddenly throttled him from behind, at the same

time shouting to his own henchmen to desist. The five Vairkings

obediently dropped their swords, and then trussed up the young noble

with his own leather belt and sword-sling by placing him in a sitting

posture, tying his ankles together, slipping a piece of stick beneath

his knees, placing his elbows under the ends of this stick, and tying

his wrists together in front of his shins. Also they gagged him. And

thus they left the traitor, rolled ignominiously into a corner, his eyes

blazing with a piteous hate.

Meanwhile Doggo, exploring the exits, had seen his plane! He returned to

the group, bristling with excitement, and made signs to them to follow

him. Out of respect for his joy, none of the party let on that Cabot had

been the first to find the airship and had already informed them of it.

So they followed Doggo and gave every indication of being much

impressed.

With loving touch the huge black ant-man caressed each strut and brace,

and guy, and joint, and lever, as he made a thorough inspection of his

long-lost craft. All appeared to be in perfect condition. Even the

bombs, the rifle, and the ammunition were intact.

From somewhere in the interior of the fusilage Doggo produced a pad of

paper and a Formian stylus, and wrote: “Alcohol. We must have alcohol.

Then away from these accursed shores forever.”

Seizing the writing materials Myles replied, “You have four rifles. Let

me take one of them. Protect this plane with the other three, while I

return alone by the back way and bring the alcohol here under convoy of

the entire laboratory guard.”

Then, giving no time for dissent, he seized the rifle and bandoleer from

the plane, and was gone. Out through the next inclosure he went, slid

open the secret door in the wall, and peered cautiously out. One lone

ant-man with rifle and bandoleer was parading the alley.

Myles fired, but missed. The Formian promptly took cover behind a pile

of rubbish, and fired back. Myles hastily withdrew, then cautiously put

his head through the opening again in order to take a shot at his enemy.

But the enemy fired first, the bullet grazing the leather helmet of the

earth-man and stunning him considerably. So he sat on the ground within

the inclosure, and rubbed his sore head for a few minutes. What a narrow

escape!

Then he had an idea. He propped his hat on a stick, so that it would

sway gently in the breeze, its rim just projecting through the opening

in the wall giving every indication of life. Then he ran quickly along

inside the wall until he came to a corner, which he judged must be about

opposite the rubbish heap which sheltered the Formian. Climbing quietly

up the studding at this point, he peered carefully over. There lay his

black enemy, only a few feet away, steadily watching the bobbing edge of

the helmet.

Two shots from Cabot’s rifle, and the vigil was over; and soon the

earth-man, his helmet regained, and with an extra rifle and cartridge

belt flung across his shoulders, was proceeding unmolested down the

alley.

He reached the laboratory without further adventure, and found

everything as he had left it. The guard, however, reported that they had

had to repulse three assaults by Roies, the last of which had been led

by a Formian armed with a rifle.

“If it had not been for this magic sling-shot which you left with us,”

said the guardsman, “we should have been beaten. But the surprise of the

savage ones at finding us thus armed was so great that even their leader

could not rally them, though the beast did kill several of our men

before he finally fled with his Roy henchmen.”

The Radio Man then informed them of his intention to cart the alcohol to

Jud’s inclosure, where new wonders would be performed. Accordingly, all

except a few sentinels withdrew into the laboratory to load up.

First Myles sorted out the bottles which were small enough to carry

conveniently, and then filled these bottles with alcohol from the large

carboys in which it was stored. This left a dozen or so carboys still

unemptied. It would be a pity to leave these behind, but it would be

impossible to get a cart out by the back way.

So the Radio Man gave hasty directions to take an empty cart through his

front gate under guard, and attempt to get it around by the various

winding streets into the alley without its being captured by the enemy.

Meanwhile all the alcohol was moved to the alley gate, and heavily

guarded there.

While this was being done Myles Cabot took a few minutes time for a

farewell glance around his laboratory, which he was about to quit for

the last time. He had enjoyed working here, for there is no human

pleasure greater than the joy of accomplishment, and here he had

accomplished the almost superhuman task of building up a complete

sending and receiving radio set out of its basic elements. Even though

he was at last about to journey home to his Lilla and his baby son in

Cupia, he hated to leave this precious set.

An irresistible impulse drew him to it, as a loadstone draws a magnet.

He placed his fingers on the controls. He tuned to the same wave length

in which he had talked and received earlier in the day.

A voice was speaking in the language of Formia and Cupia: “Vairkingi is

about to fall, O master, and with it the Minorian must certainly get

into our hands, for our scout fliers are circling the outer walls to the

city to prevent his escape.”

So that was why the ant planes hadn’t bothered them recently.

“But O master,” the voice of the ant-man continued. “I have bad news to

report along with the good; for while practically our entire populace

was engaged with the hordes of our ally, Att the Terrible, in besieging

Vairkingi, other hordes of furry savages under Grod the Silent have

attacked and captured our own city of Yuriana, and with it have seized

our reserve planes and supplies of ammunition. I have—”

But before the Formian could complete his signing off, Myles slammed

over the leaf switch, and cut in with: “Cabot speaking. Cabot speaking.

Know then, O Yuri, that Vairkingi will not fall. My arms are victorious

here as at your ant city of Yuriana. Presently you will cease to receive

any further messages from either here or your own mountain station, and

then you will know that the last of your Formians has perished off the

face of this continent.

“Soon you may expect me and my furry allies to fly across the boiling

seas to redeem Cupia, but of our coming we shall give you no further

warning. Tremble and await us. Meanwhile believe none of the stories

which your henchmen will falsely send you to keep up your courage.

Answer me now, and tell me that you have received my message. I have

spoken.”

Then he set the switches to receive.

Back came the answer, but it was from the mountain station to the south,

and it came from Prince Yuri in Cupia: “It is a lie. The Minorian lies.”

Of course it was a lie, but it was war; and Yuri would not know which

version to credit. If anything should happen to the sending set near the

city of the ants, Yuri certainly would believe the worst from that time

on. Cabot smiled to himself. The Formian continued denying, and

explaining, and apologizing. Finally he signed off, and then Prince Yuri

got on the air. “Listen, O Formian,” he said, “and you, O Cabot. I

received both of your messages. Naturally, I believe my own man. Call me

again when you have something further to report. I have spoken.”

“He may believe his own henchman _now_,” Cabot muttered to himself, “but

later he will begin to doubt.”

Then, shutting off his set, he penned a hurried note in duplicate to

Otto the Bold.

Congratulations on the capture of the city of the black beasts.

Destroy their hut in the mountains, where you first shot arrows at me,

and first saw me use the magic slingshot. Destroy it at all costs, for

with it ends the power of the beasts.

Cabot the Minorian.

One copy he gave to each of two of the most trusted of his laboratory

guards, and adjured them at all costs to break through the lines

separately and get the message to the prince of the friendly faction of

the Roies.

“If either of my Vairkings succeeds in reaching Prince Otto,” Myles said

to himself, “it will mean the end of Yuri’s reports from this

continent.”

Then with a sigh the Radio Man picked up an iron mallet and demolished

his own radio set, the work of so many hours of care. When he had

finished, there was not a fragment left intact.

“This, too, must pass,” he quoted sadly.

At this point one of his Vairkings rushed in upon him with a shout: “A

party of Roies is attacking the alley gate.”

Shaking himself together, the Radio Man bade farewell to his beloved

laboratory, picked up his two rifles and his ammunition, and hastened to

take command of his forces. He found that his cart had safely got around

to the gate, but that a hand-to-hand conflict for its possession was now

in progress between the guard and a large force of Roies. So

inter-mingled were the contestants that the leader of the Vairkings had

not dared to use the rifle.

Cabot, however, had the confidence of greater experience. A few well

placed shots fired by him from the gate, and the enemy broke away and

retreated down the alley. Myles handed out one of his own two rifles,

thus raising the number of his riflemen to two. These, with several

bowmen, took cover down the alley to hold off any counter-attack by the

enemy.

The carboys of alcohol were then quickly loaded into the cart, along

with all the reserve ammunition which Doggo had manufactured, and the

expedition set forth. Cabot with his rifle in the lead, the other two

riflemen and the archers forming a rear guard, closely followed by the

hostile band of Roies. But, in spite of this pursuit, all went well

until the party turned into the alley of the secret door to Jud’s

enclosure.

Here they found the way blocked by a formidable body of the furry

savages, led by half a dozen ant-men armed with rifles. Luckily there

was plenty of rubbish in the alley behind which to take cover from those

ahead. Those behind were not much of a problem, not having any firearms

other than bows and arrows.

But it was aggravating to be stopped within sight of one’s goal.

Furthermore, three of the rifle-armed ants promptly departed, doubtless

for the purpose either of bringing up reenforcements, or of joining the

Roies who were on the other side of Cabot’s party.

There was no time to be lost. The rifles were now three to three.

Accordingly the earth-man called his archers from the rear and ordered a

charge. Of course, his porters could not fight while carrying a bottle

of alcohol under each arm, so all the bottles were piled around the cart

and left with a small guard.

The attack proved temporarily successful. Step by step the three ants

and their Roy allies were driven back. But, just as Cabot and his

Vairkings were about to gain the secret opening in the wall, word was

brought that the Roies in the rear were attacking the cart; so Cabot had

to order a speedy retreat to save his precious alcohol, thus giving up

in an instant the ground which it had taken so long to gain.

The Roies were readily repulsed from the cart and retreated down the

alley in disorder, but the party with whom Cabot and his Vairkings had

just been fighting formed at once for a counter-attack.

At this juncture a row of heads suddenly and unexpectedly appeared over

the top of the wall, Quivven the Golden Flame, Doggo the ant-man, and

six Vairking guardsmen. Quivven and two guardsmen held rifles with which

they promptly covered the approaches to the alley, while Doggo started

hurling airplane bombs into the group of Roies led by his three

countrymen.

When the smoke cleared the alley was cleared as well. Here and there

were arms and legs and other anatomical sections of Roies and Formians.

All the survivors had fled. Myles picked up two ant rifles and the

twisted remains of a third, and hurriedly passed what was left of his

precious liquid fuel in through the little gate in the wall.

Nearly half the bottles and carboys had been broken during the fighting.

The Vairking dead numbered about a dozen, with several more wounded.

These were brought within the inclosure and ministered to by Quivven.

By this time the pink twilight had begun to settle over the planet

Poros. Departure that day was now out of the question. Accordingly

guards were posted, and the rest of the party prepared to spend the

night close to the plane, on tapestries filched from the palace of Jud

the Excuse-Maker.

The Radio Man himself was nearly exhausted, having worked steadily for

thirty-six hours on the completion of his set and the subsequent

fighting. Yet before he turned in he inquired about the state of the

battle.

It appeared that little was known, save that the city was overrun by

ant-men and the furry savages of Att the Terrible, and that isolated

groups of Vairkings were defending as best they could their respective

inclosures against the invaders. Cabot reported the capture of the ant

city by Grod the Silent, which news served to hearten his own little

band considerably.

The mention of the radio set, whereby he had obtained this information,

suggested to him to ask: “Have you tried to get the palace of Theoph the

Grim with the small set in Jud’s quarters?”

“Yes,” Quivven replied, “repeatedly, but no one answers. You see, the

palace set is in my own rooms, and it has probably not occurred to

anyone to go there.”

Then they lay down for a fitful night of shouts and shots and flares.

But no one attacked the inclosure which they occupied.

Along toward morning the earth-man fell into a soundless sleep, only to

be awakened by one of his Vairking soldiers shaking him roughly by the

shoulders.

“Awake!” the leather-clad warrior shouted. “Awake! Vairkingi is in

flames. The fire is rapidly eating its way toward us.”

It was true. All around them was the uncanny red of the conflagration.

Overhead there sped flocks of sparks against a background of billowy

clouds of smoke, and a further background of jet-black sky. Immediate

steps were necessary to protect their airship from the flying embers.

Accordingly the bottles and carboys of alcohol were emptied into the

fuel tank of the craft, and then filled with water. Brooms of brush were

brought and used to beat out such sparks as endangered the plane. Doggo

tested the motors, and found them in good order.

The tapestries were loaded on board. Then there remained nothing they

could do except keep watch, guard the plane, and await the dawn;

although, of course, if the holocaust should approach too near it would

become necessary for them to fly, night or no night.

Meanwhile it occurred to Myles to try once more to get the palace on the

air; so, with rifle and ammunition slung over his shoulders, and

carrying a torch, he proceeded to Jud’s quarters.

On the way he espied a dark form crouching in a corner of the fence of

one of the inclosures.

XIX

THE BATTLE IN THE AIR

Cabot unslung his rifle, held his torch high above him, and approached

the crouching figure.

The crouching figure groaned. It was Tipi, still trussed up, forgotten

by all. Myles cut his bonds and helped him to his feet, but he collapsed

again with a groan. So, leaving him lying there, the earth-man hastened

back to the plane, and then returned with one of his Vairkings, whom he

instructed to take charge of the young noble until he was able to walk,

and then turn him loose through the secret gate into the alley. There

was no point in leaving even an enemy to be burned to death, trussed up

in a corner.

Tipi attended to, Myles proceeded to Jud’s quarters, where he tuned in

the palace. The result was immediate.

“Jud speaking,” said a voice. “Answer, Cabot. For Builder’s sake,

answer!”

“Cabot speaking,” he replied. “I am at your quarters, O Jud. With me are

Quivven, Doggo, and about two dozen of the laboratory guards. We have

eight magic slingshots now, and also the magic aerial wagon, which you

have so long concealed from me. As soon as day breaks we shall rise in

the air and do battle with the beasts. If you had let me have this wagon

before, I could have prevented the fall of Vairkingi. Now it may be too

late. How are things with you?”

Back came the answer. “Theoph the Grim, Arkilu the Beautiful, and I are

safe in the palace, with most of the army of the Vairkings. So far we

have repulsed every assault of the beasts and their Roy allies, but

their magic slingshots do frightful havoc. Come and rescue us, O

magician.”

To which Cabot replied: “With daylight I shall come.”

As he came out of the house he looked up at the sky. The background,

against which swirled the smoke clouds, now showed faintly purple. By

the time he rejoined his party by the plane, day had come. And it was

well, for the buildings in the next inclosure had started to burn.

Cabot gave his parting instructions to the captain of the guard: “Take

six of these eight rifles. Convoy the Princess Quivven to her father’s

palace.”

“But am I not going with you?” she interrupted in surprise.

“I am afraid not, my dear,” Myles sadly replied. “You have been a good

little pal, and I hate to leave you, but you would be entirely out of

place among the Cupians. Besides there is every chance of our perishing

in crossing the boiling seas.”

“Then you are going home?” she wailed. “You are planning to desert us in

our extremity?”

“No,” he answered, “I shall first fight the ant-men, and do all that I

can to save Vairkingi. When I am done, you will be safer here than you

would be with me.”

But she sank to the ground by his side and buried her head on her arms,

sobbing: “Myles, Myles, I love you. Can’t you see that I loved you all

this time? Oh, you are so blind. You _must_ take me with you. Your

Quivven. Your own little Golden Flame.”

The earth-man sternly put her in the care of one of the guards, saying

grimly: “This makes it more impossible for you to go with me, Quivven,

for I have a wife and child in that other land across the seas. I am

sorry, sorrier than I can say, that you have come to love me. Can’t you

see, Quivven, that this effectually seals the question? If it had not

been for this, I might have yielded to your entreaties, but now it is

impossible.”

Then to the captain of the guards: “With these six rifles, march to the

palace and join the forces of Theoph and Jud. I will endeavor to destroy

as many of the beasts as possible before I finally leave you and depart

for my own country. Start at once, leaving only two or three of your

number to help us.”

So the guard marched away, dragging a reproachful and tear-stained

Quivven with them. Three leather-clad Vairkings remained, and these

shortly were joined by a fourth. Cabot half consciously noticed this new

arrival, but paid little attention in the bustle of his preparations.

The tapestries which were to serve in place of fire-worm fur to swathe

himself and Doggo in their flight across the boiling seas were

rearranged so as to take up less room. The goggles, which he had brought

from the laboratory, were packed with them. The bombs and rifle

ammunition were placed in handy positions. A small quantity of

provisions were added. Everything was lashed down.

Then Myles drew Doggo to one side for a conference and wrote: “I plan

first to attack those Formians and Roies who are besieging Theoph’s

palace; then to dispose of as many as possible of the scout planes. How

many of these are there?”

“We had seven airships in our city in the south,” wrote Doggo in reply.

“This is one of them here. One is probably temporarily disabled by the

shots which you fired in the laboratory yard. That should leave five.”

“Can we fight five?”

“Most assuredly,” Doggo wrote, agitating his antennae eagerly.

“Then let’s go!” wrote Cabot.

With a quick take-off diagonally down the inclosure, the huge bombing

plane rose slowly into the air amid shouts from the Vairking soldiers

below. It was now broad daylight. Myles glanced over the rail, and noted

that there were now only three leather-clad warriors. He vaguely

wondered what had become of the fourth, but it was too late to inquire.

Up through the swirling sparks and smoke they rose, up, up, until they

could get a bird’s-eye view of the whole city of Vairkingi. There, on a

slight eminence in the center, stood the palace and inclosures of the

white-furred king, its walls manned by leather-clad Vairking warriors,

surrounded by savage besiegers. The flames had not yet reached that part

of the city, and with a change in the wind, appeared to be sweeping past

it.

As Myles and Doggo circled the palace they noted that practically all

the ant-men within sight were massing in a side street, evidently

preparing for an assault. How convenient! Myles took the levers and

swooped low, while Doggo deluged his fellow countrymen with bombs. When

their sudden attack was over, fully half of the Formian menace to the

city had been wiped out.

Now for the scout planes. These, five in number, could be seen circling

the outskirts of the city. The two friends were able to approach one of

these without being suspected of being an enemy. Before its flyers

realized the peril it had gone down in flames from one well-placed bomb.

The other four scout planes at once realized that their own countryman,

Doggo, had returned to do them battle, and accordingly converged upon

him. Again the two friends exchanged places. And then there took place

one of the finest examples of aerial warfare which the earth-man had

ever witnessed.

This was not like the battles with the whistling bees before the advent

of Cabot-made rifles on the planet Poros, when the fighting tail of the

plane was pitted against the sting of the bee. For now it was rifle

against rifle, bomb against bomb.

One by one the enemy planes crashed to the ground, as Doggo spiraled,

looped, tailspun, and side-slipped. At last there was only one Formian

opponent left.

Doggo maneuvered to a position just above it, and Cabot reached for a

bomb to give it the _coup de grâce_.

But the bombs were all gone! And the ant-men in the plane below were

raising their rifles, watching for a good opening.

What was to be done? With Doggo’s deafness to sound waves, it would be

impossible to explain the situation to him in time for him to veer away.

He naturally assumed that, as he maneuvered the ship into this position

of advantage, Cabot would at once put an end to the fight.

In this extremity the earth-man suddenly thought of the obsolete

fighting tail. Its levers were there. Was it still in operation? He

would see.

Grasping its levers, he manipulated them swiftly, and drove the tip of

the tail through the fuel tank of the enemy. Two bullets zipped by him.

Then the machine below careened and soared to earth—or rather,

Poros—followed by a stream of shots from the earth-man’s rifle. The

battle was over.

Cabot relieved Doggo at the controls, and circled the palace once more.

His own squad of laboratory guards were just entering one of the palace

gates. The captain waved to him. But he noted that Quivven was not among

them. Poor girl! What could have become of the poor little golden

creature?

But there was no time to ask. With so many of the ants killed, all their

aircraft disabled and the Vairkings firmly entrenched in the palace and

supplied with at least six ant-rifles, Quivven’s people were in as good

a position as possible.

For Cabot to stop now might mean not only renewed complications with the

golden maid, but also possibly the confiscation of his plane by Jud. It

would not pay to take any chances; he must hasten home to Lilla, leaving

the ants, the Roies, and the Vairkings to contend for the possession of

the burning city.

As he turned the nose of the airship upward and began the ascent

preparatory to flying across the western mountains to the sea, he

observed a large marching body of troops far to the south. These might

change his responsibility with respect to his late hosts; it would only

take a few minutes to investigate; so southward he turned the plane.

The marching troops were Roies, as he judged by their absence of leather

armor. Swooping low he picked out the face of their leader. It was Otto

the Bold, son of Grod the Silent, the leader of the friendly faction of

the furry wild-men of the hills. Having captured and sacked the city of

the ants, they were now evidently on their way to relieve Vairkingi.

The last feeling of obligation passed from the earth-man, as, waving to

his savage friend, he turned the nose of his plane upward once more.

Then it occurred to him that, having flown so far south, he might just

as well take a final look at the ant-city. Besides, this would place him

in exactly the location where the ant-men had landed when they flew east

across the boiling seas from Cupia to found New Formia, and thus would

be a good point for him to take off in his flight westward.

Accordingly, he turned to the right until he topped the mountain range,

then turned to the left again, and followed the range southward.

But a tropical thunderstorm forced him to descend in a cleft of hills.

Myles hoped that this rain extended to Vairkingi, and would serve to

quench its fires.

After several hours, the weather cleared once more. The two companions

compared notes on the adventures which had befallen them since their

first hop-off that morning. Then they embarked once more, and continued

their course southward. Soon they passed over the smoking ruins of the

once-impregnable Sur, and at last came to the little radio hut of the

Formians.

This, too, was in ruins; Otto had received his note. Wireless

communication between Cupia, and Vairkingia and New Formia was at an

end. Yuri would now believe the worst that Cabot had told him over the

air. And that worst was likely to prove to be the truth after all.

Swinging to the westward, Myles passed over the deserted city of the

ants, patrolled by a handful of Otto’s Roies; and thence on and on until

there loomed before him a solid wall of steam. It was the boiling sea,

over which he must pass in order to rejoin his loved ones.

Hovering gently down on a little silver-green meadow about five miles

inland, the two fugitives prepared for the trip. First they pulled off

some of the tapestries to pad the fuel tank.

And there before them lay a figure in leather Vairking armor, a golden

figure smiling up at them, little Quivven, whom they thought they had

left behind.

“You!” Myles exclaimed, scowling.

“Yes,” she replied. “I usually accomplish what I set out to do. When you

sent me away, I persuaded one of the guards to lend me his suit. Then I

returned, helped with the loading, and hid myself while you and Doggo

were writing notes to each other. But I nearly died of fright when you

were turning me over and over, up there in the sky.”

Myles sighed resignedly. “I can’t send you back now,” he said, “though

what I shall do with you in Cupia, the Builders only knows!”

So the three friends completed the preparations, and then sat down

together for a meal.

It was too late to start their flight that day and, besides, a rest

would do them all good; so they encamped for the remainder of the

afternoon and the night.

The next morning, as the first faint flush of pink tinged the eastern

sky, they took their farewell meal on Vairkingian soil. Then, swathed in

tapestries and with goggles in place, they took their stations in the

plane, and headed straight for the bank of steam.

As they passed within its clouds, all sight was blotted out.

They had decked the fusilage over like an Eskimo kayack, only Cabot’s

well-wrapped head protruding. Within, Doggo manipulated the levers and

watched the altimeter and gyro-compass by the light of a Vairking stone

lamp; strange mingling of modernity and archaism. Cabot’s vigil was for

the purpose of guarding against flying too high, and thus piercing the

cloud envelope and exposing them to the fatal glare of the sun.

On and on they went. Cabot could see nothing. The hot vapor condensed on

his wrappings, seeped through, and scalded his head and shoulders

unbearably. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He pulled in his head

and tore off the bandages. The relief was instantaneous. He seized the

levers, and Doggo took his place at the opening.

But at last even Doggo succumbed. Having braved the heat too long, he

collapsed weakly on the floor of the cockpit.

“It’s my turn,” Quivven shouted, above the noise of the motors. “Now

aren’t you glad you brought me along?”

And in spite of Cabot’s remonstrances, she swathed her golden head and

stuck it through the opening.

By this time, scalding water was leaking through all the covering of the

cockpit. It was only a question of minutes before it would soak through

the body-coverings of those within.

But just then the girl cried out, “Land. Land, once more; and clear

silver sky.”

Doggo revived and tore off the covers. True, the steam bank of the

boiling seas lay behind them. Below them was the silver-green land.

What did it hold in store?

XX

THE WHOOMANGS

Thoroughly exhausted by their flight across the boiling seas, the Radio

Man and his two strange companions—the huge ant-man, Doggo, and the

beautiful, golden-furred Vairking maiden, Quivven—wished to land at

once, without waiting to ascertain what particular section of Cupia lay

beneath them. But the entire area below appeared to be thickly wooded.

Accordingly the fugitives hovered down to a short distance above the

ground and then just skimmed the treetops at a slow rate of speed,

keeping a careful watch for a landing place. They had not long to wait,

for presently they espied a road running beneath the trees; and, after

putting on more speed and following this road for a couple of stads,

they finally came to a sufficiently large clearing a short distance from

the road, to enable them to settle down quietly to the ground.

The party quickly disembarked upon the silver-green sward, and the three

companions then broke through the bushes to the road, which proved to be

of dirt, although well-traveled.

Myles remarked, “This must be some very out-of-the-way part of my

country; for practically all of our roads are built of concrete, a

material similar to the cement with which I fastened the bricks together

in making our furnaces in Vairkingi.”

Quivven shuddered. “Please don’t remind me of my poor city,” she begged

piteously; then in a more resigned tone: “But that is behind us. Let us

forget it and face the future. You were speaking of cement roads?”

“Yes,” Myles replied. “The fact, that this road is not made of concrete

indicates that it is not a main highway, but the fact that it is

well-worn shows that it is traveled considerably. Let us therefore wait

for some passer-by who can tell us where we are.”

At this point Doggo produced a pad and stylus, and wrote, “Let me in on

this.”

Cabot obligingly transcribed, in Porovian short-hand, an account of the

conversation. Meanwhile the golden girl abstractedly examined the

foliage beside the road.

While Doggo was reading the manuscript, Quivven called Cabot’s attention

to the trees and shrubs. “How different they are from those in

Vairkingia,” she remarked.

“That is to be expected,” Myles answered, “for your land and mine are

separated by boiling seas across which no seeds or spores could pass and

live. Thus it is surprising that the two continents support even the

same general classes of life. Come, I will point out to you some of the

more common forms of our flora.”

He had in mind to show her the red-knobbed gray lichen-tree; and the

tartan bush, the heart-shaped leaves of which are put to so many uses by

the Cupians; and the saffra herb, the roots of which are used for

anaesthesia; and the blue and yellow dandelionlike wild flowers. But

although he searched for a hundred paces or so along the road, he was

unable to locate a single specimen of these very common bits of Porovian

vegetation.

“It is strange,” he muttered half to himself. “When I want to show the

common plants of Cupia, I find nothing but unfamiliar plants, and yet

I’ll bet that if I were to go out in search of rare specimens for my

castle garden at Lake Luno, I should find nothing but tartan, saffra,

lichen-trees, and blue dandelions.”

The mention of Luno Castle turned his thoughts homeward with a jerk.

Here he was at last, after many adventures, on the same continent with

his Lilla and his baby Kew. He had come here to rescue them, if it were

not too late, from Yuri the usurper and his whistling bees. Now that he

was apparently within reach of his loved ones, he began to worry about

their safety a great deal more than ever before.

But this fear _for_ Lilla was completely out-weighed by a growing fear

_of_ Lilla. What would she say to his two allies? Doggo, the ant-man,

was a representative of a race which Cabot had vowed to exterminate from

the face of Poros; for, as he had repeatedly asserted, there can be no

lasting peace on any continent, which is inhabited by more than one race

of intelligent beings.

And Quivven, the golden-furred Vairking maiden, would be even more

difficult to explain. She was beautiful, even by Cupian standards. She

was more nearly the same race as Myles than was his own wife, Lilla. She

and Myles could talk together, unheard by the radio-sense of Lilla. In

these circumstances, it was hardly possible that the Princess Lilla

would receive Quivven with open arms, or even be passably decent to her.

At this point, his reveries was interrupted by Doggo handing him the

following note:

If we are to await passers-by, do you not think it would be well to

return to the plane and secure our rifles, so as to protect ourselves

in case the passers-by should prove to be hostile?

Myles nodded his assent, and informed Quivven of their intentions. She,

being nearer to the point where they had entered the road, plunged

through the bushes at once, and they hastened after her.

Just as Myles and Doggo were breaking through the bushes in the wake of

the golden one, they heard an agonized scream ahead. Redoubling their

efforts, they reached the clearing in an instant, and beheld a most

unexpected sight!

Perched upon the airship, like a flock of enormous vultures, were about

a dozen huge, bat-winged, pale green reptiles, each with a wing-spread

of fully ten-feet; and one of these loathsome creatures held the

writhing form of Quivven tight in its claws.

Without a moment’s thought for his own safety, the intrepid earth-man

drew the Vairkingian sword which hung at his side, and rushed straight

at the beast which held the girl. Doggo followed close behind, clicking

his mandibles angrily.

But before they could reach the plane, the noisome flock flapped heavily

into the air and disappeared over the trees to the northward, Quivven’s

childish face an agony of despair, and one little furry paw waving a

forlorn farewell.

The next move was obvious. Myles and Doggo sprang to their places in the

aircraft and soared after. It was an easy matter to overtake the

clumsy-winged saurians, but not so easy to decide what to do after

reaching them. The reptiles flew so close together their pursuers were

afraid to fire on them for fear of hitting Quivven. The girl was as yet

apparently unharmed, so the only thing to do seemed to be to follow and

watch for some opportunity to effect a rescue.

Thus the chase continued for several stads without event. Myles was in

an agony for the safety of his little friend, but even his deep concern

did not keep his scientific mind from speculating about the pale green

dragons which he was following. He had read about such beasts in books

on paleontology as a child. These were undoubtedly pterodactyls.

He had seen somewhat similar stuffed specimens in the imperial museum at

Kuana, capital of Cupia. He had encountered swarms of tiny pterosaurs,

the size of sparrows, in the caves of Kar. But he had been informed by

Cupian scientists that the larger species had long since become extinct

on Poros.

Whence then these captors of Quivven?

While engaged thus in speculations, he flew a bit closer to the flock,

whereat two of them suddenly turned and simultaneously attacked the

plane from both sides. Doggo instantly dispatched _his_ assailant with a

rifle shot; but Myles did not dare let go of the control levers, as he

was flying too close to the tree tops for safety as it was. Accordingly

_his_ assailant got a clawhold on the side of the fusilage, furled its

wings and started to crawl in.

But the earth-man steered the machine high into the air, as his

companion swung around and fired at the intruder, which promptly let go

its hold, and, falling with a shriek of pain, crashed through the tree

tops and disappeared from view.

Myles drew a deep breath of relief, and once more swooped down on the

flock of pterosaurs. But this time he kept at a safe distance from them;

and they, warned by the fate of their two comrades, did not attempt any

further sallies at the plane.

So the pursuit continued. Occasionally, between the green wings, the two

in the airship could catch a glimpse of the form of Quivven, held fast

in the talons of her captor. She was still alive. She did not seem to be

in pain. Once she waved feebly to her friends above. What would those

beasts do with her?

The question was soon to be answered. But first it was to be succeeded

by many other questions, for a large and prosperous looking city loomed

ahead. Its appearance was unfamiliar to Cabot. Strange, he thought that

he knew all the principal settlements of Cupia! Its architecture was of

an unknown type, not the pueblolike piles of exaggerated toy building

blocks affected by the Formians, nor the red-tiled spires and minarets

of the Cupians, but rather a style somewhat resembling classical Greek

or Roman.

The architecture was immaterial, however, compared with the fact that

this was a city of some sort, a city of a high degree of civilization.

The beasts were apparently headed straight for it, and thus there was

every prospect of the inhabitants—presumably Cupians—rescuing Quivven.

Suppose, however, it was a deserted city. Its unfamiliar style and

remote location suggested as much. Perhaps this was the long forgotten

court of some Cupian Jamshyd, now kept by lion and lizard, or rather by

woofus and pterodactyl.

This was not so, however; for, as Cabot drew nearer, he could clearly

see that the buildings were in an excellent state of repair, with not a

crumbling ruin among them. No, this was an _inhabited_ city, to which

the green dragons were bringing their prey. Could it be that the Cupian

inhabitants kept these creatures as pets, and that this fact was unknown

to the scientists at the Cupian metropolis?

Cabot’s cogitations were again cut short by his arrival over the city.

The dragons made straight for an imposing centrally-located domed

edifice, which they entered by one of the upper windows. The plane

promptly dropped into a near-by plaza. Making a sign to the ant-man to

guard the ship, Myles seized a rifle and cartridges, and rushed down a

street which led toward the building which the green beasts had entered.

On the way he met several pterosaurs, four or five four-legged

slate-colored reptiles ranging in size from that of a small dog to that

of a horse, one large snake about thirty feet in length, various sorts

of insects, and a few cat-like furry creatures; but not a single Cupian.

If these were the pets of the city, where were their masters?

The strange creatures did not offer to molest him. In fact, they gave

way to him with every indication of respect and not a little fear. This

seemed to indicate that they were all thoroughly domesticated, so he

made no effort to hurt them.

At last he arrived at the building which he sought. A wide incline led

from the street up to its arched doorway. This smacked of Formia, for

the ant-men before they were driven off the continent had used ramps

everywhere instead of the flight of stairs employed by the Cupians.

Over the door was an inscription in unmistakable Porovian characters:

“The Palace of the City of Yat.”

This must be Cupia, or old Formia—now occupied by the Cupians—for this

was the language of those two races. But then, he reflected, it had also

been the _written_ language of the Vairkings, far across the boiling

seas.

Putting an end to his speculations, he rushed up the ramp and entered

the building.

The splendidly arched and vaulted interior was crowded with the

strangest assortment of animals the earth-man had ever set eyes upon.

Picture to yourself Frank Buck’s circus, the New York zoo, and the

gr-ool of Kuana, all turned loose in one hall, and then you wouldn’t

imagine one-half of it; for very few of these assembled beasts bore the

slightest resemblance to anything which you, or even Myles Cabot, had

ever seen. He paused aghast and surveyed the assemblage. There was not a

human or Cupian present, not even an ant-man!

At the farther side of the chamber, on a raised platform, there sat—or,

rather, squatted—a gigantic pterosaur, whose wingspread must have been

at least twenty feet from tip to tip. This beast, unlike those which had

kidnapped Quivven, was pale slate-blue rather than green. His head was

square, with a sharp crested beak, large circular lidless eyes, and

earholes, but no ears.

Four legs he had, very much like those of a toad, except that the fifth

finger of each hand, the finger which should have been the “little”

finger, extended backward over his hips to a distance of about six feet,

and served as the other supporting edge of his leathery wings, which now

lay furled at his side.

In front of this creature stood Quivven the Golden Flame, guarded by two

of the smaller pterodactyls, and seemingly unhurt and unafraid. None of

the animals appeared to have noticed Cabot’s entrance, so he decided to

wait a few moments and size up the situation before doing anything rash.

As he watched the scene, a huge snake some thirty feet in length and at

least half a yard in diameter squirmed on to the platform beside the

slate-colored dragon. This snake had two rudimentary legs and two small

arms, none of which it used to help its progression; but in one hand it

carried what appeared to be a sheet of paper, which it handed with a

hiss to the dragon, who hissed in reply, and taking the paper appeared

to read it.

This called the attention of the earth-man to the fact that each of the

Alice-in-Wonderland animals about him was equipped with a pad and

stylus. Occasionally one would scratch something on its pad, and then

make two sharp clicks with its mouth, at which a small winged lizard

would take the missive and fly with it to some other part of the

chamber.

Standing very near Myles there was a small and particularly

inoffensive-looking furry animal somewhat resembling a beaver. In Cupia

Myles would have assumed that it was some species of mathlab, except for

its lack of antennae.

This looked like a good safe specimen to experiment upon, so he reached

for its pad, which, to his great surprise, the creature promptly handed

him without demur, together with its stylus.

Remembering the inscription above the arched doorway, Myles wrote in

Porovian shorthand: “Most Excellent King—Myles Cabot, a weary sojourner,

craves protection for himself and the golden one who now stands before

you. We are from Cupia and Vairkingi respectively. What country is

this?”

Then he folded the paper and clicked twice with his tongue against the

roof of his mouth. Instantly a fluttering messenger was at his side.

Indicating the platform with a gesture, he handed the note to the little

winged reptile, who flew away with it. Myles passed the pad and stylus

back to the furry creature from whom he had borrowed it, and then

watched the great dragon to whom he had written.

This beast received and read the note, while the messenger hovered nigh.

Then, steadying a pad against the floor with one front claw, he wrote on

it with a stylus held in the other. What he had written he showed to the

snake which lay coiled beside him, and upon obtaining a hiss of

approval, folded the note and gave it to the little bat, who flew back

with it to Myles.

On the paper, written in unmistakable Porovian characters, were the

words: “Welcome to Yat, Myles Cabot. You and your mate are our guests.

We know of no country of either Cupia or Vairkingi. This is the land of

the Whoomangs, and I am Boomalayla, their king. You have permission to

approach the throne.”

So _that_ explained the strange plants, the dirt roads, the unfamiliar

architecture, and the absence of Cupians and Vairkings! This must be a

_third_ continent intermediate between the other two. Well, the plane

was intact, and King Boomalayla had assured him that they were guests,

so that it was just as well that they had landed on this Azores of the

boiling seas. Reassured, the earth-man made his way through the strange

throng to the foot of the throne where he bowed low before the hideous

reptile monarch.

Little Quivven, with a cry of glad surprise, rushed over to him and

nestled confidingly by his side. Placing one arm protectingly around

her, he boldly confronted the winged king.

This beast, after some penciled conversation with his serpent adviser,

handed Myles a note reading as follows: “Our nation was founded many

years ago by a creature closely resembling yourself. Therefore you are

an honored guest among us. We have long awaited this day. It is true

that you have killed the bodies of two of my subjects, and thereby

subjected their souls to a premature birth. The penalty for this would

ordinarily be to have a similar death imposed upon your own body. But

because of your resemblance to our great originator, Namllup, I shall

spare your body. Furthermore, I fear that, like him, you may perhaps

have no soul, although this deficiency can easily be supplied.”

Myles read the note and handed it to Quivven, then pointed to the

writing materials of the saurian. Instantly two of the tiny winged

messengers brought him a pad and stylus.

Thus supplied, he asked the king: “Great ruler, does your offer of

protection include my wings and the black creature who guards them in

the public square outside?”

“And how about little me?” asked Quivven, reading over his shoulder.

“He has already pledged his friendship to both of us,” replied Myles,

handing the note to one of the tiny pterosaurs.

Back came the answer from the king: “You and yours shall all be

protected. I will now send guards to relieve your guard at the wings,

and to summon him into my presence.”

But the earth-man held up one hand in a gesture of protest, and

hurriedly wrote: “Better not, your majesty, unless you wish a fight. I

will send a note, explaining all. You can then follow it in a few

paraparths with your detachment of guards.”

To this proposal the huge saurian assented, so Myles dispatched to Doggo

by one of the tiny pterosaurs a long written explanation of the

situation. A few minutes later, under orders from the reptile king, the

flock of green pterodactyls who had been the original captors of Quivven

departed with much leathery flapping through one of the windows

overhead, and presently one of them returned on foot with Doggo.

“What kind of a gr-ool is this we have got into?” were the ant-man’s

first words, as Cabot handed him the pad and stylus.

“The Great Builder only knows,” his friend replied. “Anyhow they claim

to possess souls, and have offered us protection.”

Doggo looked skeptical. Just then a messenger flitted over with a note

from Boomalayla, reading: “The session is at an end. You will please

follow me to the royal apartments for a conference.”

The king clicked sharply. Instantly all was silence in the huge hall.

Solemnly the king clicked three times. In unison the assembled Whoomangs

clicked back a triple answer. Then all was bustle and confusion as those

without wings crowded through the doors and those with wings departed

through the windows in the dome above.

Boomalayla and his snake adviser, and the three travelers from Vairkingi

were the only persons—if you can call them all “persons”—left in the

vaulted chamber. Whereupon the snake, gliding ahead, led the way to an

anteroom, gorgeously jeweled and draped. There the five reclined on soft

tapestries, attended by a swarm of little messengers and engaged in the

following written conversation. Due to the speed of Porovian shorthand,

the “talk” progressed practically as rapidly as if it had been spoken,

although Doggo was somewhat handicapped by not having a stylus which was

properly adapted to his claw.

“Who are your companions?” the king asked.

So Myles introduced Quivven the Vairking maiden, and Doggo the Formian.

Boomalayla explained that the snake was Queekle Mukki, prime minister of

the Whoomangs, and wise beyond all his countrymen.

“His soul is brother to my soul, although our bodies are unrelated,” the

king wrote.

Myles was much perplexed. “How is it,” he inquired, “that such

diversified animals as you Whoomangs are able to live at peace with each

other?”

“It was not so before the days of Namllup,” the huge pterosaur replied,

“but he gave us souls and made us one people. Our bodies may be

unrelated, but our souls are the same. You and your two companions are

as unalike as any of us; perhaps the three of _you_ have a common type

of soul.”

Myles was even more perplexed. “Who was Namllup?” he asked. “And what

means all this talk of souls?”

XXI

SOULS?

In reply to Cabot’s question, the huge winged saurian, Boomalayla, King

of the Whoomangs, wrote the following reply, “All that I am about to

tell you of the traditional beginning of our race is shrouded in the

mists of antiquity. The legend is as follows:

“Many hundreds of years ago this fertile continent was inhabited by

warring beasts of every conceivable size and form; and they were but

brute creatures, for they had no souls. Souls existed, it is true, but

inasmuch as they inhabited no bodies, they had no learning, experience,

or background. They were of but little use to themselves, each other, or

the planet.

“Then one day there was born out of the ground a creature much like

yourself. His name was Namllup. He it was who discovered how to

introduce souls into bodies by making a slight incision at the base of

the brain and inserting there a young soul.

“First he captured some very tame wild creatures and gave them souls.

With their aid he captured others, more fierce, and so on, until there

was hardly a beast left soulless on this continent. Thus did he make of

one race all the creatures of Poros to dwell together on the face of the

continent. This industry we have kept up to this day.

“It is reported, however, that Namllup himself had no soul. There was no

scar at the back of his head, and no soul issued from his body after

death. Others he gave soul to, himself he could not. This is the general

belief.”

All this was as clear as mud to Myles Cabot. He could not make head nor

tail out of it. Boomalayla appeared to be talking in riddles, or

allegories.

Nevertheless, Myles determined to try and make a beginning somewhere in

order to understand what this mass of verbiage was all about, so he

wrote, “How can you tell? Surely you cannot _see_ souls!”

“Surely we _can_,” the reptile king replied, “for souls are creatures

just as real as we are, and have an independent existence from the day

they hatch until they are inserted in the brain of somebody. From the

way you talk, I cannot believe that _you_ have any soul.”

“Of course I have,” Myles remonstrated.

“Prove it to me,” Boomalayla demanded. “Let me see the back of your

head.”

Myles complied.

“No,” the winged king continued, “you have no soul. There is no scar.”

This conversation was irritating in the extreme. It led nowhere. Quivven

and Doggo read all the correspondence, and were equally perplexed.

The huge pterosaur continued writing. “I can see that you do not believe

me,” he wrote.

“This is not to be wondered at, since you yourself are soulless. Though

I cannot understand how a beast like you, without a soul, can be as

intelligent as you seem to be. Come to our temple, and I will show you

souls.”

So saying, Boomalayla, accompanied by Queekle Mukki, the serpent, led

Cabot and his two companions out of the buildings and through the

streets of the city to another edifice, which they entered.

What a travesty on the lost religion of Cupia!

Within the temple there moved about a score or more of assorted

beasts—pterodactyls, reptiles, huge insects, furry creatures, and so

forth—bearing absolutely no resemblance to each other except the fact

that each and every one of them wore a long robe emblazoned with a

crimson triangle and swastika, emblem of the true religion of Poros.

Among them was one enormous slate-colored pterosaur, almost the exact

counterpart of Boomalayla, the king, who introduced this beast to his

guests by means of the following note: “This is the chief priest of the

true religion. She is my mate. But come, let me show you some souls.”

The chief priest then led the party into an adjoining room, the walls of

which were lined with tiny cages, most of which contained pairs of

moths.

The dragon king explained as follows: “When a Whoomang dies, his body is

brought to the temple and is watched day and night by a priest, net in

hand, to catch the soul when it emerges.”

What it had to do with _souls_ Cabot couldn’t see for the life of him.

Neither could Quivven nor Doggo.

Having made a complete tour of inspection the party then returned to the

palace, where they discussed the glories of Vairkingi and Cupia with the

king and Queekle Mukki, and then dined on cereal cakes and a flesh

resembling fish.

“Be not afraid to eat this,” Boomalayla urged. “It is fresh flesh. We

breed these water reptiles especially for food.”

After the meal the three travelers were assigned rooms in the palace.

At Cabot’s request, tapestries were brought from the plane, and the

party severally retired for the night.

The next morning they were up early, and assembled in Cabot’s room. The

night had proved uneventful, but Doggo wrote in great excitement that he

had talked with the green guards, who had refused to disclose the

whereabouts of the plane, and had said that this was the king’s order.

Immediately after breakfast, which consisted of cakes and sweetened

water, they requested an audience with the king—and, when it was

granted, demanded news of the plane. But Boomalayla waved them off with

an evasive answer.

“Tarry but a day or so,” he wrote, “and then your wings shall be

returned to you, and you shall be permitted to depart. I promise it, on

the word of honor of a king.”

So there was nothing but to wait, for it would not do to antagonize this

powerful beast, and thus perhaps lose forever the chance to return which

he had promised them.

The day was spent in a personally-conducted tour of the city, with

Boomalayla as a most courteous and attentive guide and host. The

Whoomangs appeared to be a highly cultivated race, if you can call them

a “race”—a “congeries” would perhaps be the most accurate term. Objects

of all the arts abounded, and the tour would have been most pleasurable

if the three travelers had not been so anxious to be on their way once

more to Cupia.

The night was spent as before, uneventfully, but the next day Doggo was

missing. In reply to all inquiries, the Whoomangs returned evasive

answers.

“He is gone on business of his own,” was all they would say.

This day Queekle Mukki, the serpent, was their host and guide. He used

every effort to outdo Boomalayla in courtesy, but his two guests were

strangely uneasy. Some impending calamity seemed to hang over them.

Late that evening, when they were in their quarters, Doggo rushed in

bristling with excitement. He had something to tell them, and wanted to

tell it quickly, but had mislaid his pad and stylus. Strange to relate,

Cabot could not find his own writing materials either. Quivven finally

found her stylus but no pad.

Seizing the lead-tipped stick, Doggo scratched on the pavement of the

room, “Quick, give me paper! Quick! Your lives depend upon it! Quick,

before it is too late!”

Cabot rushed into the hall and clicked twice with his tongue against the

roof of his mouth, but nothing happened. Again and again he repeated the

call, until finally one of the little winged messengers flitted into

sight. To him the earth-man indicated his wants by going through the

motions of writing with the index finger of his right hand upon the palm

of his left. The little creature flitted away, and after what seemed an

interminable wait returned with pad and stylus.

Myles snatched them and rushed back to Doggo. “What is the matter?” he

wrote.

But Doggo replied, “Nothing. It was just a joke, to frighten you. We are

all perfectly safe here, and Boomalayla has a wonderful plan to

facilitate our departure three days from now.”

It was not like Doggo, or any other member of the serious minded race of

ant-men, to play a practical joke like this. Myles could swear that his

friend had been genuinely agitated a few moments ago. What could have

happened in the meantime to change him?

The earth-man looked at the Formian steadily through narrowed lids. His

friend appeared to act strangely. Could this, in truth, be Doggo?

If they had been on any other continent Myles would have sworn that some

other ant-man, closely resembling his friend, was attempting an

impersonation, but that could not be the case here, for Doggo was

certainly the only Formian on this continent.

It was Doggo’s body, all right, yet it did not act or look like Doggo.

Even Quivven noticed that something was wrong. Nervously she said good

night, and Cabot followed shortly after.

Instead of retiring he went to Quivven’s room, where the two puzzled

together for some time, trying to guess what had come over their friend.

What at last they parted for the night the mystery was no nearer

solution than before. In fact, they had practically made up their minds

that no mystery existed, after all; and that the strange surroundings,

and strange events, and strange talk of souls, had merely cast an aura

of strangeness even over their friend.

The next morning Doggo was on hand bright and early, but this time it

was Quivven who was missing.

“My turn next,” thought Myles, “and then perhaps I shall find out what

it is all about.”

As before, the Whoomangs were evasive as to the whereabouts of the

golden one, and even Doggo was singularly unresponsive and devoid of

ideas on the subject.

This day the she-dragon high-priestess was their guide, but although she

outdid both Boomalayla and Queekle Mukki, Cabot fretted, and worried,

and merely put on an external show of interest.

Late that afternoon—the fourth—of their stay among the Whoomangs—as soon

as the tour was over, Cabot left Doggo and withdrew to his own room.

Where was Quivven all this time, he wondered.

His question was answered by the Golden Flame herself bursting into the

room full of excitement.

“Thank the Builder I can talk to you with my mouth, and do not have to

wait for pencil and paper,” she exclaimed. “The Whoomangs overlooked our

powers of vocal speech when they hid our writing materials as before.”

It was true; their pads and styluses had miraculously disappeared again.

“Where have you been?” Cabot asked, somewhat testily. “I suppose that in

a few moments you will say that all _your_ excitement has been a mere

practical joke on me, the same as Doggo’s was.”

“Yes,” she replied seriously. “I shall—undoubtedly. And therefore listen

while there is yet time—while I am still Quivven.”

“What do you mean?” Myles exclaimed, staring at her.

“This,” she said. “In a few moments I shall be Whoomang.”

He started to interrupt, but she stopped him with a peremptory gesture,

and continued; “Know, then, the secret of all this talk of souls. The

grubs which they breed from their moths are strong personalities,

potential devils, needing only a highly-developed body in order to

become devils incarnate. Namllup, whoever he was, discovered this, ages

ago.

“By a simple operation, the Whoomangs can insert one of these larvae at

the base of a creature’s brain, where in a few hours the personality of

the larva overcomes the proper personality of the creature, and

henceforth rules the creature until the creature dies. The larva then

flutters free, a moth, to propagate other devil-souls for this nefarious

usage.

“Yesterday these fiends operated upon Doggo. For a time, his own soul

and this brain-maggot struggled for supremacy. While his own personality

remained ascendant, and yet had imbibed sufficient knowledge to

understand the situation, he tried to warn us of our danger. Would that

he had been in time! But when the pad of paper had arrived, dear old

Doggo was dead. His body had become a Whoomang, dominated by one of

their moth-grubs, ‘souls’ as they call them.

“This afternoon they operated on me!”

Myles shuddered, but Quivven went relentlessly on: “Two personalities

are now contending within me for mastery. There can be but one outcome.

Quivven must die, and her brain and body must become the vehicle for the

thoughts and schemes of an alien mind. My will is strong. At present it

is in control. But any moment now, it may snap. So I adjure you, by the

Great Builder and your loved ones, refuse stonily and absolutely to

listen to any denial which my mouth may give you.

“Now, while there is yet time, I must tell you their plans. Boomalayla

sighs for more worlds to conquer. He was captivated by your tales of

your country. To-morrow he will operate on you. Then, when the bodies of

you and Doggo and I are all Whoomangs, and yet retain a certain amount

of our own knowledge and skill, he plans to send us on to Cupia with a

plane-load of moths, to operate on your countrymen, and build up a

second empire of Whoomangs there.”

Myles gasped at the dastardliness of the plan, a plan which might yet

succeed; for, even if he escaped, Doggo’s body might still carry the

plan into execution.

“Where is our plane?” he asked.

“Yes,” Quivven sadly replied, “I must lead you to the plane, while I am

yet me. Come quickly.”

“But can we leave Doggo?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Not only must you leave Doggo, but you must leave

me, too; for Doggo is no longer Doggo, and I shall not be Quivven in a

few minutes from now, for I feel the Whoomang-soul struggling for

ascendency within me. Come!”

Quickly she led him out of the room, and down several hallways to a

courtyard of the palace, where stood the plane, guarded by a green

dragon. This beast interposed no objection to their approach. Quivven

smiled wanly.

“He will not stop you,” she said, “for already they regard me as one of

them, and count on me to inveigle you. And now, Myles, good-by. I feel

myself slipping. In a minute or two your Quivven will be no more.

Whether my own soul will then go to the happy land, as though I had

normally died, or whether it will simply be blotted out, I know not; but

one thing I _do_ know, and that is that I love you with all my heart.”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Then suddenly she cried, “I’ve won! I made you love me. It was all a

scheme, cooked up by Doggo and myself to trap you out of your

complacency and force you to admit your love. The story of the

moth-grubs souls is a lie, woven out of the weird philosophizing of

Boomalayla. From now on, I know that you love me. From now on, I am

confident that I can compete with that Lilla of yours.”

He stood aghast. Could this be so? He was half inclined to believe. Then

he remembered her words: “_Refuse stonily and absolutely to listen to

any denial which my mouth may give you._” Also he reflected that Doggo

certainly would never have been a party to a trick to betray Lilla.

So he thrust the golden maid to one side, and strode toward the plane.

But she rushed after him and clung to him, wailing piteously, “Myles,

Myles, surely you aren’t going to desert us just because of this trick

which we played on you. Surely you don’t intend to leave us to the mercy

of these terrible beasts.”

He did not know what to believe. There was a possibility that her story

about the souls was the truth. If so, then the safety of the whole

continent of Cupia was at stake. And yet, if not, what an awful country

to leave her and Doggo in!

He vaulted into the plane, then stood irresolute at the levers. He

looked intently at the golden maid, who clung to the side of the car.

There was something strange about her face, something clearly

un-Quivven. And yet, as he gazed, he became certain that it was Quivven

after all. And he was right.

“Myles,” she shouted, letting go the plane, “Quick! By the grace of the

Builder, my own spirit is again in the ascendency for an instant. The

story I told you is true! Flee, before it is too late.” Then suddenly

she changed again and shouted to the guardian pterosaur, “Quick, stop

him!”

Her expression altered as she spoke, but Myles slammed on the power, and

the machine rose quickly, leaving behind the frantic golden form of

little Quivven.

After him trailed a swarm of winged creatures of all sorts, but his fast

airship soon outdistanced them as it sped due west toward a sky that had

already begun to turn pink with the unseen setting sun. On and on he

sped until his pursuers dropped from view. Then he turned northward to

throw them off the trail; and then, after a while, due west again,

until, as night was about to fall, the steam-bank of the boiling sea

loomed ahead.

Whereupon he landed. He must wait until morning before attempting the

passage. But as he prepared to spend the night he noticed that all the

tapestries were gone from the cockpit.