I could see faces between the chinks. Malignant faces moving from peep-hole to peep-hole like scavenger birds hopping about in the desert. I was aiming at one of the peep-holes when Steve groaned and sagged against me. His gun arm sagged, and I could see that a bullet had pierced his shoulder high up. "I'm sorry, Tom," he whispered, hoarsely. "I was careless, damn it!" "Never mind, Steve," I said. "Now they'll close in and get you. Better take my gun. You can use two guns." "I won't need two guns, Steve," I said. "I'm walking into the open with my hands raised." "You're crazy!" he breathed, his eyes on my face. "We're outnumbered five to one. They'll drop you the instant you step out from behind this wall." My gun was hot and smoking. I smiled and tossed it to the sand. "I'll be back in a minute and fix up that shoulder," I said. "You'll be walking to your death," he said. "They've been trailing us for days, hoping we'd stumble on something. They must have seen me pick up that mirror." "They trailed us because they thought we looked experienced, rugged," I said. "They thought we were following a map. They just haven't got what it takes to go prospecting for themselves. They're hyenas of the desert, Steve." "All right--hyenas. That means they won't respect a white flag. If you walk out with your hands raised they'll burn you down before you've taken five steps." I steadied my helmet and unloosed my collar so that I wouldn't feel cramped. "Don't worry, Steve," I said. I knew they saw me the instant I stepped out from behind the wall. The silence was ominous, and I could feel their eyes upon me, hot and deadly. I didn't raise my hands. It didn't seem quite right to let them think I was seeking a truce. A man may be a fool to play fair with killers, but something made me change my mind about raising my hands. I'd give them their chance--ten seconds. I wouldn't try to bargain for those ten seconds by walking toward them under false colors. I'd just trust to luck and-- * * * * * Steve had never seen the weapon I held in my palm. It was a tiny electrostatic accelerator tube, capable of flexible, high precision control of ions with energies up to twelve million electron-volts. It was a simple thing--and unbelievably destructive. It made no sound at all. But ten seconds after I clicked it on, the desert directly in my path was glowing white hot. Just a glow, white, dazzling for an instant. Then a dull rumbling shook the ground and the wall opposite blackened and crumbled. The heat was like a blast of incandescent helium gas from a man-made sun. I turned and walked back to where Steve was lying. "I didn't want to do it that way," I said. "But I had no choice. It was them--or us." Steve seemed not to realize we were no longer in danger. There was fear in his eyes, and he was staring at me as if I'd just returned from the dead.