When it was over, the cats collected in a group on the road-bed. They sat licking their forepaws while a dozen shabbily dressed guerrillas moved out of the jungle in a disorderly band. "Joe, have your bunch unload the dynamite!" bawled a burly leader. "We'll take the tank-car. Emmert, get the packs on those carts." "I wonder," said a voice to a comrade, "who's controlling those animals. You'd think they were Oren. Why don't they sting?" "Stingers ripped out, chum. Why ask questions? They're on our side. And we'll win, eventually--if this keeps up." * * * * * As a group, the panthers looked at the two men as they passed. One of them shuddered. "Lordy! I'd swear those cats were grinning!" * * * * *