"
"Don't need him," reminded Deltos. "All we've got to do is to show these
two fellows we dug up."
And it was not until the first of the villagers was within twenty yards
that the nine suspected anything. Then they heard the buzzing. Looking
closer, they saw that it was--an attack!
"Stop!" cried Deltos, in swift panic. "We are friends, not enemies!"
It was like talking to the wind. The villagers had their choice of two
fears: either fight the strangers with the magic flower, or--be stung to
death. And no one can blame them for what they chose.
The nine had time enough to snatch knives or hatchets from their belts,
or clubs from the ground. Then, with wild cries of fear, the natives
closed in. They fought as only desperate people can fight, caught
between two fires. And they were two hundred to nine!
In half a minute the first of the invaders was down, his head crushed by
a mattock in the hands of a bee-tormented native. In a single minute all
were gone but two; and a moment later, Deltos alone, because he had
chanced to secure a long club, was alive of all that crew.
For a minute he kept them off by sheer strength. He swung the stick with
such vigor that he fairly cleared a circle for himself.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161