ished. At first Pete thought it was a statue of
a Dustie, but when he moved forward and squinted in the dim light, he
suddenly realized that it was something else indeed. And in that moment
he realized why they were there and why the Dusties had done this
incredible thing to protect them.

The statue was weirdly beautiful, the work of a dedicated master
sculptor. It was a figure, standing with five-fingered hands on hips,
head raised high. Not a portrait, but an image seen through other eyes
than human, standing high in the room with the lights burning reverently
at its feet.

Unmistakably it was the statue of a man.

* * * * *

They heard the bombs, much later. The granite roof and floor of the
cavern trembled, and the men and women stared at each other, helpless
and sick as they huddled in that great hall. But presently the bombing
stopped. Later, when they stumbled out of that grotto into the late
afternoon light, the ship was gone.

They knew it would be back. Possibly it would bring back search parties
to hunt down the rebels in the hills; perhaps it would just wait and
again bomb out the new village when it rose. But searching parties would
never find their quarry, and the village would rise again and again, if
necessary.

And in the end, somehow, Pete knew that the colonists would find a way
to survive here and live free as they had always lived. It might be a
bitter struggle, but no matter how hard the fight, there would be one
strange and wonderful thing they could count on.

No matter what they had to do, he knew the Dusties would help them.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Image of the Gods, by Alan Edward Nourse

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