for. Your first job is to make us a better bow. Make it like a crossbow,
with a sliding action to draw and cock the string and with a magazine of
arrows mounted on top of it."

George studied the idea thoughtfully. "The general principle is simple,"
he said. "I'll see what I can do."

"How many of us will go over the Craig Mountains, Bill?" Dan Barber
asked.

"You and I," Humbolt answered. "A three-man party under Bob Craig will
go into the Western Hills and another party under Johnny Stevens will go
into the Eastern Hills."

He looked toward the adjoining cave where the guns had been stored for
so long, coated with unicorn tallow to protect them from rust.

"We could make gun powder if we could find a deposit of saltpeter. We
already know where there's a little sulphur. The guns would have to be
converted to flintlocks, though, since we don't have what we need for
cartridge priming material. Worse, we'd have to use ceramic bullets.
They would be inefficient--too light, and destructive to the bores. But
we would need powder for mining if we ever found any iron. And, if we
can't have metal bullets to shoot the Gerns, we can have bombs to blast
them with."

"Suppose," Johnny Stevens said, "that we never do find the metals to
make a ship. How will we ever leave Ragnarok if that happens?"

"There's another way--a possible way--of leaving here without a ship of
our own. If there are no metals we'll have to try it."

"Why wait?" Bob Craig demanded. "Why not try it now?"

"Because the odds would be about ten thousand to one in favor of the
Gerns. But we'll try it if everything else fails."

* * * * *

George made, altered, and rejected four different types of crossbows
before he perfected a reloading bow that met his critical approval. He
brought it to where Humbolt stood outside the caves early one spring day
when the grass was sending up the first green shoots on the southern
hillsides and the long winter was finally dying.

"Here it is," he said, handing Humbolt the bow. "Try it."

He took it, noting the fine balance of it. Projecting down from the
center of the bow, at right angles to it, was a stock shaped to fit the
grip of the left hand. Under the crossbar was a sliding stock for the
right hand, shaped like the butt of a pistol and fitted with a trigger.
Mounted slightly above and to one side of the crossbar was a magazine
containing ten short arrows.

The pistol grip was