ire in the central clearing of the village now
ruled by Varina Pemberton. The skipper was being insistent, but not
particularly deadly.

"We rrecognize that fourr dead among you will ssettle forr one dead
Marrtian," he told the gathered exiles. "The morre sso ass you assurre
me that the man rressponssible hass been drriven frrom among you. But we
make one demand--the arrmorr taken frrom the body of the dead Marrtian."

"I am sorry about that," the chieftainess replied from her side. "We
didn't know that you valued it. If we get it back for you--"

"Ssuch action would rreflect favorrably upon you," nodded the Martian
skipper. "Get the arrmorr again, and we will rrefrrain frrom punitive
meassurress."

"Why do you want that armor so much?" inquired Shanklin boldly. He
himself had never thought of it as worth much. He was more satisfied to
have the knife, which he now hid behind him lest the Martians see and
claim. But the skipper only shook his petalled skull.

"It iss no prroblem of yourrss," he snubbed Shanklin. And, to Varina
Pemberton: "What time sshall we grrant you? A day? Two dayss?... Come
before the end of that time and rreporrt to me at the patrrol vessel."

He turned and led his followers back toward the plain where the ship was
parked.

Night had well fallen, and silence hung about the vessel. Only a
rectangle of soft light showed the open hatchway. The Martian officer
led the way thither, ducked his head, entered--

Powerful hairy hands caught and overpowered him. Before he could collect
himself for resistance, other hands had disarmed him and were dragging
him away. His three companions, narrowly escaping the same fate, fell
back and drew their guns and ray throwers. A voice warned them sharply:

"Don't fire, any of you. We've got your friends in here, and we've taken
their electro-automatics. Give us the slightest reason, and we'll wipe
them out first--you second."

"Who arre you?" shrilled one of the Martians, lowering his weapon.

"My name's Fitzhugh Parr," came back the grim reply. "You framed me into
this exile--it's going to prove the worst day's work you Martian
flower-faces ever did. Not a move, any of you! The ship's mine, and I'm
going to take off at dawn."

The three discomfited hands tramped away again. Inside the control room,
Parr spoke to his shaggy followers, who grinned and twinkled like so
many gnomes doing mischief.

"They won't dare rush us," he said, "but two of you--Ling a