wide treads rolling flat first the low wall, and then the carefully tended plants that it guarded.
The globe things hidden from their enemy, scuttling on a course which paralleled that of the vehicle. Their stones were still tightly grasped and they moved with a lightning speed. By all the signs the man on the crawler was heading into an ambush.
It was when the machine ploughed into the third field that the infuriated owners struck. A rain of stones, accurately hurled, fell on both crawler and driver. One crashed on the man’s helmet. He gave a choked cry and half arose before he slumped forward limply over the controls. The machine ground on for a moment then stopped, one tread tilted up against a boulder at an angle which threatened the stability of the whole vehicle.
Dane and Mura climbed down the side of the cliff. The driver might have deserved just what he had received. But he was human and they could not leave him to some alien vengeance. They could see nothing of the globes. But they took the precaution, when they had reached the valley floor, of spraying the bushes around the crawler with their sleep rays. Mura remained on guard, ready to supply a second dose of the harmless radiation while Dane ran forward to pull free the driver.
He lugged him back in a shoulder carry to the edge of the cliff where they could stand off an attack of the globes if necessary.
But either the sleep ray or the appearance on the scene of two more Terrans discouraged a second sortie. And the valley might well have been completely deserted as the two from the Queen stood ready, the limp body of the rescued at their feet.
“Shall we try it—” Dane nodded at the wall behind them. Mura contrived to look amused.
“Unless you are a crax seed chewer, I do not see how you are going to climb with our friend draped across your broad shoulders—”
Dane, now that it was called to his attention, could share that doubt. The cliff climbing act was one which required both hands and feet, and one could never do it with a dead weight to support.
The unconscious man groaned and moved feebly. Mura went down on one knee and studied the face framed by the dented helmet. First he unhooked the fellow’s blaster belt and added it to his own armament. Then he loosened the chin strap, took off the battered headcovering and proceeded to slap the stubbled face dispassionately.
The crude resuscitation worked. Eyes blinked up at them and then the man tried to lever himself up, an operation Mura assisted with a jerk at his collar.
“It is time to go,” the steward said. “This way—”
Together they got the man on his feet, and urged him along the wall, rounding the spur on which they had been perched all night, so coming to the hidden point where the other two of their party were camped.
The driver showed little interest in them, he was apparently concentrating on his uncertain balance. But Mura’s grip was about his wrist and Dane guessed that that grasp was but the preliminary of one of the tricks of wrestling in which the steward was so well versed that no other of the Queen’s crew could defeat him.
As for Dane, he kept an eye behind, expecting any moment to be the target of a hail of those expertly thrown rocks. In a way this move they had just made would lead the Limbians to believe them one with the outlaws, and might well ruin any hopes they had cherished of establishing Trade relations with the queer creatures. And yet to leave a human at the mercy of the aliens was more than either of the Terrans could do.
Their charge spit a glob of blood and then spoke to Mura: “You one of the Omber crowd? I didn’t know they’d been called in—”
Mura’s expression did not change. “But this a mission of importance, is it not? They have called many of us in—”
“Who beamed me back there? Those damned bogies?”
“The natives, yes. They threw stones—”
The man snarled. “We ought to roast ’em all! They hang around and try to crack our skulls every time we have to come through these hills. We’ll have to use the blasters again—if we can catch up with ’em. Trouble is they move too fast—”
“Yes, they provide a problem,” Mura returned soothingly. “Around here now—” He urged their captive around the point of the cliff into the other valley. But for the first time the man seemed to sense that something was wrong.
“Why go in here?” he asked, his pale eyes moving from one to the other of the Traders. “This isn’t a through valley.”
“We have our crawler here. It would be better for you to ride—in your shaken condition, would it not?” Mura continued persuasively.
“Huh? Yes, it might! I’ve a bad head, that’s sure.” His hand arose to his head and he winced as it touched a point above his right ear.
Dane let out his breath. Mura was running this perfectly. They were going to be able to get the fellow back where they wanted him without any trouble at all.
Mura had kept his clasp on their charge’s arm, and now he steered him around a screen of boulders to face the crawler, Kosti and Wilcox. It was the machine that gave the truth away.
The captive stiffened and halted so suddenly that Dane bumped into him. His eyes shifted from the machine to the men by it. His hands went to his belt, only to tell him that he was unarmed.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“That works two ways, fella,” Kosti fronted him. “Suppose you tell us who you are—”
The man made as if to turn and looked over his shoulder down the valley as if hoping to see a rescue party there. Then Mura’s grip screwed him back to his former position.
“Yes,” the steward’s soft voice added, “we greatly wish to know who you are.”
The fact that he was fronted by only four must have triggered the prisoner’s courage. “You’re from the ship —” he announced triumphantly.
“We are from a ship,” corrected Mura, “there are many ships on this world, many, many ships.”
He might have slapped the fellow with his open hand, for the effect that speech had. And Dane was inspired to add:
“There is a Survey ship—”
The prisoner swayed, his bloodstained face pale under space tan, his lower lip pinched between his teeth as if by that painful gesture he could forego speech.
Wilcox had seated himself on the crawler. Now he calmly drew his blaster, balancing the ugly weapon on his knee pointing in the general direction of the prisoner’s middle.
“Yes, there are quite a few ships here,” he said. They might have been speaking of the weather, but for the set of the astrogator’s jaw. “Which one do you think we hail from?”
But their captive was not yet beaten. “You’re from the one out there—the Solar Queen.”
“Why? Because no one survived in the others?” Mura asked quietly. “You had better tell us what you know, my friend.”
“That’s right.” Kosti moved forward a pace until his many inches loomed over the battered driver. “Save us time and you trouble, if you speak up now, flyboy. And the more time it takes, the more impatient we’re going to get—understand?”
It was plain that the prisoner did. The threat which underlay Mura’s voice was underlined by Kosti’s reaching hands.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Wilcox began the interrogation for the second time.
The knockout delivered by the bogies had undoubtedly softened up the driver to begin with. But Dane was inclined to believe that it was Mura and Kosti who finished the process.
“I’m Lav Snall,” he said sullenly. “And if you’re from the Solar Queen, you know what I’m doing here. This isn’t going to get you anywhere. We’ve got your ship grounded for just as long as we want.”
“This is most interesting,” Wilcox drawled. “So that ship out on the plain is grounded for as long as you want, it it? Where’s your maul—invisible?”
The prisoner showed his teeth in a grin which was three-quarters sneer. “We don’t need a maul—not here on Limbo. This whole world’s a trap—when we want to use it.”
Wilcox spoke to Mura. “Was his head badly injured?”
The steward nodded. “It must have been—to addle his wits so. I can not judge truly, I am no medic.”
