"What luck to find him this way!"
Lamoureux had run for his own gun. He fired ten shots into the air and
waited. But there was no reply.
Lamoureux spat out his orders with machine-gun speed. "McCracken, you,
Carvalho, and Haggard set out to the right. The shots seemed to be
coming from that direction. But we'll take no chances. Gronski, Terrill
and Cannoni, go straight ahead. Marsden and Blaine, to the left;
Robinson and Sprott, to the rear. Spread out fast and keep your eyes
peeled. Don't go any further away than the sound of a bullet. Uncover
every damned white-bush, and tear up every desert-cat hill, but don't
come back without Kalinoff. Now get going!"
* * * * *
The men started on a run. Lamoureux, waiting impatiently, walked up and
down in growing excitement. He had come prepared for a three months'
search, expected it. He had pictured himself and his men, exhausted
by a long trek across the planet, coming upon the startled Kalinoff,
striking a magnificent attitude, and saying, with characteristic
Tellurian modesty, "Dr. Livingston, I presume." And, instead, he was
going to find Kalinoff in less than a day. He ran into the ship, got
out the printed contract, and read it hastily.
All was in order. He'd have Kalinoff's signature that day.
A half hour passed, and Lamoureux fired ten more shots. Haskell, the
cook, was looking at the sky with a troubled expression on his face. He
approached Lamoureux apologetically. "Say, Captain--"
"What is it, Haskell?"
"Does it ever rain on Mercury?"
"Never. No rain, no snow, no hail. No man who has ever set foot on the
planet has come across any sort of bad weather. Kalinoff emphasizes
that fact."
"Well, that's what I seemed to remember. But just now I thought I felt
a drop of rain."
"Impossible, Haskell. Some bird--"
Lamoureux stopped abruptly. He, too, had thought he felt a drop of rain.
Haskell held out a hairy paw. "I thought I felt another one." His eyes
fell on the brown rocks. "Say, here's a big drop that splashed."
The brown rocks were being slowly spotted with black. And, as Lamoureux
stared, he felt his head grow wet. There was no doubt about it. It was
raining.