ay
without tiring.

This man, if man it was, came no higher than Jan's heart. He obviously
wouldn't be able to run faster than the exceedingly rare, short-legged
pig that became so fat when it grew up.

The man turned his fat face back toward Jan. The look in the small eyes
made Jan's hand steal toward his sheathed knife. The eyes saw that
movement. They narrowed cruelly. A sneer appeared on the bloated lips.

Suddenly a fat hand darted down to a lumpy object on the man's hip and
drew out a squat blue object. It came up. Jan could see a dark hole in
it. He stared curiously.

Unconsciously he had drawn his knife as the man drew the strange object.
His keen nostrils brought him the smell of sweat that has the odor of a
tense body. His hunting instinct told him this creature was going to
charge.

* * * * *

Jan felt something hot touch his left shoulder. With it came the sound
of a sharp report. The strange thing in the man's hand buckled queerly.

Jan looked at his shoulder. There was a gaping, angry wound in it. In
some way this man had hurt him. He didn't stop to analyze how or why.
The fact was there. He could either turn to run or advance to
fight,--and he had never yet turned to run.

He had learned the trick of weaving in and slashing, and withdrawing
quickly. This stood him in good stead. The queer thing in the man's hand
barked at him, but missed hurting him each time.

Jan's knife reached in unerringly and slashed the wrist of the hand
holding the spitting thing. The blood gushed out in a pulsating stream.

The man dropped the gun and tried to stem the flow. Jan took this
opportunity to dart in again and slide his blade across the fat neck.

A look of horrible realization appeared in the man's eyes. He turned,
stumbled forward, and fell headlong into the space above the
mysteriously glistening square slab. The soles of his shoes seemed to
hang in the air briefly before they followed the rest of him into
nothingness.

Jan touched his hand gingerly to the raw wound in his shoulder. It was a
day's journey to the healing spring where he could bathe the wound and
plaster it with healing mud.

His eyes surveyed the scene for a last time, taking in the strange slab
flush with the ground, the skeleton of girders that jutted out from each
side of the gorge, and the strange heaps of steel and masonry on the
other side. Then he turned and started back the way he had come. By th