As Prince Yuri thrust the muzzle of his revolver between Cabot’s ribs,
and at the same time revealed his identity, Cabot instinctively slowed
down the kerkool.
“None of that!” the prince shouted in his antennae. “Speed her up!”
The earth-man obeyed.
“What is the idea?” he asked calmly. “Now that you have got me, what do
you mean to do with me?”
“I intend to use you as my chauffeur,” the other answered, “to drive me
through your lines in safety to Formia. Once there, we will leave your
fate to Queen Formis.”
“That is a lie,” Myles calmly asserted, “for the Formis, who is now
queen, has no individuality when you are around.”
“You flatter me,” was all that Yuri deigned to reply.
They drove along for some distance without further conversation. The
rain stopped. The weather cleared. Finally Cabot broke the silence with,
“Seriously speaking, Yuri, I am sorry for you.”
“Sorry for _me_!” the prince exclaimed with a laugh. “Well, well, that
certainly _is_ a good one! Here I go and get you into my clutches; you,
the only person on this whole planet who has ever thwarted my ambitions;
and instead of grovelling before me, you merely sympathize with me. How
so, you cursed spot of sunshine?”
“You have me in your power, yes,” Cabot countered, “but you have had me
in your power before. You induced that ant man, whom I called Satan, to
try and kill me at Wautoosa, but Doggo interfered. Because of your
scheming, the Formians condemned me to the Valley of the Howling Rocks,
from whose frightful din no person had ever escaped; but nevertheless I
got away. You overcame me in the strap-duel in the mangool of Kuana, and
your knife was about to enter my heart, when I thumbed your ulnar nerve
and made you drop your weapon. You arrested me in the stadium the day
you killed your uncle, King Kew; you had Trisp, the bar-mango, destroy
my antennae; yet I escaped and rejoined my army. You fed me to the
woofuses, but one of them turned on you instead. In just what way do you
plan to fail this time?”
“This time there will be no slip-up,” Yuri replied grimly. Then, his
curiosity getting the better of him, he asked: “But you haven’t yet told
me why you are sorry for me.”
“I am sorry for you,” the earthman explained, “because you have missed
your opportunities. You had the ability and the following to have led
your country to victory over the ants. You would have been a hero and
could have had anything that you wanted in the whole kingdom.”
“Not Lilla,” the prince interjected with a sneer.
“Yes, even Lilla,” Cabot soberly replied.
“Well, I shall have her now,” the other asserted. “And ‘what ends well,
ends well,’ as Poblath would say.”
“You are incorrigible!” Cabot exclaimed. “And to quote another of
Poblath’s proverbs, ‘The saddest thing about a fool is that he doesn’t
realize he is one.’”
This irritated Prince Yuri, so he curtly ordered: “Swing to the left at
the next crossroad.”
“But what is to prevent my stopping the car and turning you over to the
pinqui if there is one stationed there?” Cabot asked.
“This revolver,” the other replied.
“Not enough,” said Cabot. “I could wreck the controls before the bullet
could do its work. The pinqui would arrest you. And then where would you
be? Yuri, the traitor, in the toils at last! It would be the Valley of
the Howling Rocks for you, my friend.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said the prince. “With you out of the way,
methinks I could reconquer Cupia, even from a prison cell. In the past,
whenever you have been out of the way, I have always won, and I could do
so again.”
“Maybe you could,” the earthman mused aloud. “So I think I had better
remain alive for the present.”
Accordingly he turned to the left at the next crossroad as he had been
directed.
As they approached the battlefront, they were often halted by Cupian
sentinels. To each of these Cabot revealed his identity, and was
permitted to pass. And each time he was sorely tempted to turn Yuri
over, even though this would probably mean his own instant annihilation.
What deterred him? Not fear of death, for he had faced death so often on
the silver planet that he and the dark angel were well acquainted.
Perhaps it was caution, due to uncertainty as to the outcome. If he
could but be sure that Yuri would not get the better of the sentinel,
that the sentinel would not yield to the temptations which Yuri would
undoubtedly offer, that Yuri would not be able to work his way back into
power even from the cell of a mangool, that the courts would condemn
Yuri to the Valley and then enforce the sentence—if Myles could have
been sure of all this, he would have willingly given his life for his
adopted country.
Yet would he? For his fatalism assured him that he could risk his own
life, and yet come out on top, as he had done before.
Finally there occurred Cabot’s last opportunity. They were in a little
ravine, almost at the front. The sentinel who halted him refused to let
him pass on to no-man’s land without permission of the officer in charge
of that sector; so the sentinel called another soldier to guard the
kerkool and went to summon the officer, who proved to be a young
bar-pootah, a stranger to Cabot.
“Excellency,” said he, “it must be important business which leads you to
risk your life out there, for yonder lie the forces of Formis. The
moment that you emerge from this ravine you will be under fire. May I
ask what takes our regent into such danger?”
The revolver muzzle of the man crouching hidden beside Cabot, ground
into his ribs as a reminder.
“No, you may not,” Myles replied.
Then he had an idea.
“Give me two sticks,” he said.
So the sentinel cut two branches and affixed them to the front of the
kerkool in the form of an X. Crossed sticks—these were the Porovian
equivalent of a flag of truce! Then the young bar-pootah let them
through.
“You improve,” Prince Yuri remarked, as they threaded the ravine and
emerged onto the plain beyond.
* * * * *
It was a gruesome scene. Dead bodies of both Cupians and Formians lay
strewn about, covered with swarms of little hopping brinks, while among
the corpses ambled large orange-colored beetles about three feet in
length. Some of these beetles were busily engaged in digging holes,
while here and there others of them in large numbers were pulling a body
toward a hole which they had dug. These were the burying beetles of
Poros.
Cabot carefully steered the kerkool in and out among all these
obstructions. His last chance to turn his captor over to the authorities
had come and gone. Soon Yuri would be able to take the seat beside him
and ride in triumph among his friends.
And then the car began to wobble a bit.
“Hold her steady!” ordered the prince peremptorily. “No fooling! No
pretended gyroscope trouble!”
“Don’t you realize,” Myles replied mildly, “that this is a pretty poor
place for me to _pretend_ to have gyro troubles? If I were going to
fake, I would have done so back there in the ravine.”
“That’s true,” Yuri admitted. “Well, stop her and we’ll get out and
walk.”
Cabot accordingly brought the kerkool to a standstill. Yuri cautiously
backed to the rear of the car and dismounted, keeping his prisoner
covered with the revolver.
“Come along now,” he called. “Get out and unhitch the cross, so that we
can carry it as a protection.”
For reply the earthman suddenly threw the control into full speed
reverse. Down went the astonished prince, his revolver flying from his
hand as the kerkool backed onto him. Cabot saw the weapon as it sailed
by him; and instantly he stopped the car and reached for his own
revolver. But it was not at his side. Quite evidently he had left it at
Wautoosa when he had gathered up his accouterments after his sightseeing
tour there.
So he jumped from the car and ran over to where the prince’s weapon lay.
With it in his hand, he turned and faced his late captor, who was just
picking himself up out of the dust and staggering to his feet.
“Halt,” the earthman commanded, “or I fire!”
Yuri halted. Then, to Cabot’s surprise, he grinned.
“What was it that you quoted from Poblath a while ago?” he said, with
seeming irrelevance. “Oh, I know. ‘The saddest thing about a fool, is
that he doesn’t realize he is one.’ That revolver which you now hold,
and which terrorized you into bearing me in safety through your lines,
is empty, wholly empty! Better throw it away, you poor fool.”
And he gave a mocking laugh. Myles flushed with shame and humiliation.
Bluffed again by the arch-trickster of Poros! So he started to throw the
weapon to one side. Then suddenly he realized what a fool he would be to
accept any statement from this liar. Perhaps the prince was bluffing
_now_, rather than before. Perhaps the revolver was loaded, after all.
So Myles fired square in that sneering face. But the sneer continued. No
explosion followed the pull on the trigger. Merely a little click.
Cabot pulled the trigger five more times, so as to be certain; then
flung the revolver square at the still sneering face.
Whereupon Prince Yuri ducked and charged him, and down went the two in a
strangle-hold embrace. Ordinarily they would have been a very even
match, but the Cupian had recently been drenched in a rainstorm and had
just been knocked down and run over by a kerkool; so the earthman easily
triumphed. The proud pretender to the throne of Cupia was soon flat on
his back, with Cabot’s hands about his throat.
But he uttered no appeal. He gamely succumbed. Fiery hate glowed in his
eyes, as his adversary slowly cut off his wind; but that was all.
Finally his body became limp and his eyes glazed. This was no kind of a
way to kill a man! So Myles withdrew his strangle grasp and listened at
his victim’s right breast. The heart was still beating.
Cabot arose, seized Prince Yuri’s body and started dragging it to the
Cupian lines. The prince should be revived and given a fair trial for
treason.
But the two never reached the northern edge of no-man’s-land, for a
Formian bullet brought Myles Cabot to the ground.
A terrible crashing noise in his ears, and then all was over!
* * * * *
After a seemingly interminable time the earthman became vaguely
conscious again. It was twilight. Shadowy forms were dragging him along
the ground.
Then he rolled over and over down a steep decline, and shovelfuls of
dirt began to land on him from above. One of the shadowy forms descended
and pressed upon his abdomen with a blunt instrument of some sort.
Was he dead? Was this hell? Or where was it?
A sharp pain in his abdomen brought him to his senses. He sprang to his
feet, throwing off his tormentor, who thereupon let forth a vile smell.
Then Cabot realized his situation.
He was standing in a shallow pit in the midst of the battlefield,
surrounded by beetles, one of which had just sought to impale him with
its ovipositor. These beasts now scattered and left him alone. A live
man was no concern of theirs.
Myles felt of his head. His left earphone was smashed and there was a
welt on his left temple. He had been merely stunned, rather than killed,
or even seriously wounded.
By the aid of the rapidly fading pink glow in the western sky, the weary
man picked his way across the battlefield to the little ravine through
which he had entered it. There the Cupian bar-pootah took him in charge
and dispatched him by kerkool to the nearest army hospital. In a few
days he was himself again.
Then Myles Cabot took the field in person, with Poblath as his aide.
Bthuh’s illness had merely been a bluff, and both men were thoroughly
disgusted. They had remained behind the lines too long. Now they
intended to press the war to a successful conclusion.
Nothing further was seen or heard of the renegade prince, although the
ground was dug up all around the wrecked kerkool, in the hope of finding
his body.
So, through many weary sangths, the Formians were driven to the southern
tip of the continent and totally exterminated. Even their numerous
pets—some fifteen hundred varieties—were killed off, too. For, with
all the sport loving proclivities of the Cupians, they do not waste very
much time and affection on pets.
The only ants spared were the royal husbands. They, poor stupid drones,
were not to blame for the tyranny and treachery of their race. So they
were shut up in cages in the gr-ool—i.e. zoo—of Kuana, for the
edification of the children of Cupia.
The serial numbers of all slain Formians were recorded, even those
buried by the beetles being exhumed for this purpose.
The battle for the extreme southern tip of the continent was the
fiercest of the entire war; and when finally the last ramparts of the
enemy were stormed, there arose from this fortress a considerable fleet
of planes. It had not been known that the Formians still had any of
these left; but nevertheless the Cupian fliers and their bee allies were
ready for them, and instantly rose into the air to meet them. And at the
head of the Cupian fleet rode Myles Cabot on the back of Portheris, king
of the bees.
But to his surprise and horror, the enemy flew southeast, instead of
north, bent on escape rather than on battle. And there was no possible
escape in that direction, for the way was barred by the steam clouds
which overhung the boiling seas. Probably, therefore, this squadron was
due soon to execute some feint. But no, they kept straight on; and
before the forces of the earthman could catch up with them, they
disappeared within the clouds. Cabot’s fleet wheeled and returned,
driven back by the intense heat.
Thus perished—presumably—the last of the ant men, for when the Cupian
army stormed the fortress from which these had flown, it was devoid of
defenders.
No trace of Doggo or of Prince Yuri was ever found. As to Doggo, perhaps
he had been slain and his serial number had been incorrectly reported by
those who had found his body. Or perhaps he had been among those who had
braved the steam in a heroic attempt to cheat Cabot of his final
victory, by a flight to unknown lands beyond the boiling seas.
It was just as well, for Cabot’s hands were not drenched with the blood
of a friend. His conscience was clear, and yet he was relieved of the
embarrassing alternative of having to choose between putting to death
one who had saved his life, or permitting to live a member of the
proscribed race.
As for Yuri, undoubtedly he, too, had been among these fliers; for never
could one of his spirit brook to remain, even in hiding, in a land
completely dominated by his enemy and rival, Myles Cabot.
Thus passed from the continent the race of black insects which had long
exercised dominion over it. Poros was safe at last.
The stadium was repaired, and an appropriate celebration was held
therein. The lands and other property of the Formians were distributed
among the war widows and the leading heroes of the Cupian soldiery.
Under the regency of Myles Cabot, Cupia prospered. Luno Castle was
rebuilt. Myles and his fellow scientists perfected many devices for the
welfare of the people.
Among these devices was a new source of power, namely, a compound engine
devised by Cabot himself. Mercury was boiled and its vapor used as
steam. The exhaust vapor was condensed, in a water-tube boiler, at such
a high temperature that the water turned to steam, which was used to
drive a second set of pistons. Thus very little energy was lost. These
novel steam engines were located at the coal mines in the northern
mountains, thus obviating the transportation of fuel. Huge generators
converted the energy into electricity which was conveyed to the
southward over wireless power lines, made up of the Toron ray. Thus
Kuana and the other large cities were supplied with power.
But in the course of his experiments, Cabot found many gaps which he
could not fill by his meager recollection of earth devices. And so he
finally persuaded the Princess Lilla to permit him to return to the
earth for a brief visit. A perfecting of his instrument for the wireless
transmission of matter, and several trips between Luno and Kuana, showed
that this was entirely feasible.
And so one day he turned the reins of government over to Prince Toron,
kissed his wife and baby good-by and stepped between the co-ordinate
axes of the huge radio set at Luno Castle, with Toron and Oya Buh at the
levers. The next thing that he knew, he was lying on the floor of the
laboratory of the General Electric Company in Lynn, Massachusetts, as
already recounted.
How he was there attacked by the night operator, how he reached Boston,
and how the newspapers thought that he was an escaped inmate of an
insane asylum, has been told in the first chapter of this story.
He put up for the night in a cheap Boston lodging house, and early the
next morning took the elevated out to Dudley Street, where he had kept a
small bank account during college days, under an assumed name, as a
provision for possible escapades, which somehow he had never found time
to commit. In after years he had maintained this account, largely as a
matter of sentiment, and had even, with strange foresight, transferred
quite a block of his securities to their safe deposit vault.
It all certainly came in handy that morning. In spite of his absence of
five years and his workman clothes, the bank clerk instantly recognized
him as the “Mr. M. S. Camp,” who had kept an account there, and so
cashed a check for him and obligingly arranged for the sale of some of
his securities.
Then he returned to town, bought a complete outfit, took a hotel room,
and bathed, shaved and changed. Once more he was Myles Standish Cabot,
the Bostonian.
His next need was to buy newspapers and magazines, to learn what had
happened in the world since he left it. And it was in the course of
making these purchases that he ran across an installment of “The Radio
Man,” edited by me, and thus was led to make the trip down to my farm.