"Well, they'll never take us--now! Not while we're alive!" He tugged from his waistband that which until now he had avoided using; his automatic. Leveled it uncertainly toward the fear-inspiring sound. Waited.... And a cold voice gritted on his eardrums. "You there in the other boat! Who are you, and what are you doing?" CHAPTER XV Land-bridge to Lanka It is in moments of great stress that man's emotions play the strangest pranks. When he heard that voice, Ramey Winters had been on the verge of firing into the pale heart of mist that engulfed him. Now suddenly his fingers were nerveless, the automatic tumbled unheeded from his hand, and his voice cracked with a cry of almost hysterical laughter. "Red! Red, it's me--Ramey! And Sheng-ti." Now wood scraped wood, another boat loomed dark beside them, and Red Barrett's hard, familiar features stared across at Ramey. The redhead's eyes were wide with gladness; with joyous abandon he brandished his own pistol in delighted circles. "Ramey, you old son-of-a-gun! Am I ever glad to see you! We'd just about given you up for--" He stopped, hesitant, apologetic. Ramey grinned. "Dead? Nothing like it, guy. I take a lot of killing. But I wouldn't like to check out on the friendly accident list. You'd better put that pea-shooter away before you hurt somebody." Barrett said, "Hold the boat, chum, I'm coming over." To a dim figure in his own craft, "Take this crate home again, James. I won't be needing it no more tonight." "Who was that with you?" asked Ramey curiously when his friend had safely trans-shipped. "One of the O'Briens?" "Syd and Lake? No, they're in a huddle with Sugriva and Doc Aiken and Kohrisan. My chauffeur was one of them ape-soldiers. You know what, Ramey? We had them all wrong. You get to know those hairy little guys and they're okay." "I've been meeting some people like that," Ramey nodded, "myself. How strong a force have you gathered?" Red said, "Gimme them oars, Sheng-ti. You look like you're pooped. Me and Ramey can take her in from here. You said 'force', keed? Well, now, that all depends. If we was back in the good old Twentieth A. D. I'd say it wasn't worth a hoot in hell. Hitler's blitzers would make hash out of it in something like ten seconds of the first round. But for this day and age, it ain't bad. About six divisions of talking apes, and maybe twice that many natives. But the hell with that. How about you? What have you been doing? And did you get the Bow? And where's Sheila?" "I'll explain everything," said Ramey, "when we meet the others. Let's dock this jaloppy first." * * * * *