"That goes for me, too, Jonesy," added Brown from an upper bough.
"But I'm afraid you just delayed matters. This tree's O.Q. as long
as it lasts, but--" He stared down upon the gathering knot of
Grannies unhappily--"it's not going to last long with that bunch of
superdreadnaughts working out on it! Hold tight, fellows! Here they
come!"
For the Grannies, who had huddled for a moment as if in telepathic
consultation, now joined forces, turned, and as one body charged
headlong toward the tree. The unified force of their attack was like
the shattering impact of a battering ram. Bark rasped and gritted
beneath the besieged men's hands, dry leaves and twigs pelted about
them in a tiny rain, tormented fibrous sinews groaned as the aged
forest monarch shuddered in agony.
Desperately they clung to their perches. Though the great tree bent, it
did not break. But when it stopped trembling, it was canted drunkenly
to one side, and the erstwhile solid earth about its base was broken
and cracked--revealing fleshy tentacles uprooted from ancient moorings!
* * * * *
Brown stared at this evidence of the Grannies' power with
terror-fascinated eyes. His voice was none too firm.
"Lord! Piledrivers! A couple more like that--"
Isobar nodded. He knew what falling into the clutch of the Grannies
meant. He had once seen the grisly aftermath of a Graniteback feast.
Even now their adversaries had drawn back for a second attack. A sudden
idea struck him. A straw of hope at which he grasped feverishly.
"You telecast a message to the Dome? Help should be on the way by now.
If we can just hold out--"
But Roberts shook his head.
"We sent a message, Jonesy, but I don't think it got through. I've just
been looking at my portable. It seems to be busted. Happened when they
first attacked us, I guess. I tripped and fell on it."
Isobar's last hope flickered out.
"Then I--I guess it won't be long now," he mourned. "If we could have
only got a message through, they would have sent out an armored car to
pick us up. But as it is--"
Brown's shrug displayed a bravado he did not feel.
"Well, that's the way it goes. We knew what we were risking when we
volunteered to come Outside. This damn moon! It'll never be worth
a plugged credit until men find some way to fight those murderous
stones-on-legs!"
Roberts said, "That's right. But what are _you_ doing out here, Isobar?
And why, for Pete's sake, the bagpipes?"
"Oh--the pipes?" Isobar flushed painfully. He had almost forgotten
his original reason for adventuring Outside, had quite forgotten
his instrument, and was now rather amazed to discover that somehow
throughout all the excitement he had held onto it. "Why, I just
happened to--Oh! _the pipes!_"
"Hold on!" roared Roberts. His warning came just in time. Once more,
the three tree-sitters shook like dried peas in a pod as their leafy
refuge trembled before the locomotive onslaught of the lunar beasts.
This time the already-exposed roots strained and lifted, several
snapped; when the Grannies again withdrew, complacently unaware that
the "lethal ray" of Brown's Haemholtz was wasting itself upon their
adamant hides in futile fury, the tree was bent at a precarious angle.
Brown sobbed, not with fear but with impotent anger, and in a gesture
of enraged desperation, hurled his now-empty weapon at the retreating
Grannies.
"No good! Not a damn bit of good! Oh, if there was only some way of
fighting those filthy things--"
But Isobar Jones had a one-track mind. "The pipes!" he cried again,
excitedly. "That's the answer!" And he drew the instrument into playing
position, bag cuddled beneath one arm-pit, drones stiffly erect over
his shoulder, blow-pipe at his lips. His cheeks puffed, his breath
expelled. The giant lung swelled, the chaunter emitted its distinctive,
fearsome, "_Kaa-aa-o-o-o-oro-oong!_"
Roberts moaned.
"Oh, Lord! A guy can't even die in peace!"
And Brown stared at him hopelessly.
"It's no use, Isobar. You trying to scare them off? They have no sense
of hearing. That's been proven--"
Isobar took his lips from the reed to explain.
"It's not that. I'm trying to rouse the boys in the Dome. We're right
opposite the atmosphere-conditioning-unit. See that grilled duct over
there? That's an inhalation-vent. The portable transmitter's out of
order, and our voices ain't strong enough to carry into the Dome--but
the sound of these pipes is! And Commander Eagan told me just a short
while ago that the sound of the pipes carries all over the building!
"If they hear this, they'll get mad because I'm disobeyin' orders.
They'll start lookin' for me. If they can't find me inside, maybe
they'll look Outside. See that window? That's Sparks' turret. If we can
make him look out here--"
"_Stop talking!_" roared Roberts. "Stop talking, guy, and start
blowing! I think you've got something there. Anyhow, it's our last
hope. _Blow!_"
"And quick!" appended Brown. "For here they come!"
[Illustration: _Isobar played, blew with all his might, while the
Grannies raged below._]
He meant the Grannies. Again they were huddling for attack, once more,
a solid phalanx of indestructible, granite flesh, they were smashing
down upon the tree.
"_Haa-a-roong!_" blew Isobar Jones.