Hell! He didn't owe these savages anything, though they tried their best to give him that impression. Maybe their plaint of injustice done them was just an act to cover up some insidious activity going on in the great cave! Shaking with excitement, he wriggled through his secret tunnel and dropped cat-like to the floor of the adjacent cave. A quick look about assured him Mree-na had already left for the big doings. He hurried to the mouth of the chamber and stealthily peered outside. A few yards away, the two guards squatted on boulders in front of the cave he had just vacated, talking in low voices about the night's activities. They expressed disappointment at not being able to attend the nightly meetings, but Old One had cautioned them never to go so far from their post as to allow their charge a chance to escape. Gene took a deep breath and darted out of the cavern, running silently over the rough ledge to the next chamber. He crouched in its maw and looked back at the guards. They sat unmoving, except to reach up now and then to adjust their fur robes in an effort to shut out the biting cold. He moved away, satisfied they had not seen him. As he neared the Cave of Talkers he became aware of a steady vibration of the rock underfoot. He had never before been this close to the worshipping place of the Wronged Ones, if worshipping place it was. No guards were here; they, too, had gone inside to participate in the proceedings. Gene eased into the vast cavern, staying close to the wall so as not to be seen. A rumbling as of giant sobbing beat against his ears, accompanied by the droning undertone of a rhythmic chant. He stood at the head of the broad stairs leading down to the cave proper; and from there he looked upon that which brought a gasp of stark incredulity to his lips. Below, the Wronged Ones knelt on the floor of the cavern, heads bowed in veneration as they offered up the monotonous prayer. All were there: women, children, battle-scarred warriors, and aged folk who could but scarcely assume a kneeling position. All this, he had more or less expected; for after all, these people were but superstitious savages who looked to their gods for guidance. But the thing that astounded him was the two colossal objects upon which the Wronged Ones bestowed their homage. In the center of the ring of kneeling tribesmen stood twin machines, throbbing with power and sending off a weird effulgence. From one, a long, tapering tube thrust up through the ceiling of the cavern, vibrating violently under some great stress. Gene pressed nearer the wall, unconsciously fearful of the tremendous energy surging through that giant machine. The other object of worship vaguely resembled an outsized dynamo, though such as Gene had never before seen. In truth, the resemblance was so little as to be all but non-existent.