“But, Gordon!” gasped Stedman. “Albert! You don’t understand. Why, man, this isn’t a street fight or a cane rush. They’ll stick you full of spears, dance on your body, and eat you, maybe. A flag of truce!--you’re talking nonsense. What do they know of a flag of truce?” “You’re talking nonsense, too,” said Albert, “and you’re talking to your superior officer. If you are not with me in this, go back to your cable, and tell the man in Octavia that it’s a warm day, and that the sun is shining; but if you’ve any spirit in you,--and I think you have,--run to the office and get my Winchester rifles, and the two shot-guns, and my revolvers, and my uniform, and a lot of brass things for presents, and run all the way there and back. And make time. Play you’re riding a bicycle at the Agricultural Fair.” Stedman did not hear this last; for he was already off and away, pushing through the crowd, and calling on Bradley, Sr., to follow him. Bradley, Jr., looked at Gordon with eyes that snapped like a dog that is waiting for his master to throw a stone. “I can fire a Winchester, sir,” he said. “Old Tom can’t. He’s no good at long range ’cept with a big gun, sir. Don’t give him the Winchester. Give it to me, please, sir.” Albert met Stedman in the plaza, and pulled off his blazer, and put on Captain Travis’s--now his--uniform coat, and his white pith helmet. “Now, Jack,” he said, “get up there and tell these people that we are going out to make peace with these Hillmen, or bring them back prisoners-of-war. Tell them we are the preservers of their homes and wives and children; and you, Bradley, take these presents, and young Bradley, keep close to me, and carry this rifle.” Stedman’s speech was hot and wild enough to suit a critical and feverish audience before a barricade in Paris. And when he was through, Gordon and Bradley punctuated his oration by firing off the two Winchester rifles in the air, at which the people jumped and fell on their knees, and prayed to their several gods. The fighting men of the village followed the four white men to the outskirts, and took up their stand there as Stedman told them to, and the four walked on over the roughly hewn road, to meet the enemy. Gordon walked with Bradley, Jr., in advance. Stedman and old Tom Bradley followed close behind, with the two shot-guns, and the presents in a basket. “Are these Hillmen used to guns?” asked Gordon. Stedman said no, they were not. “This shot-gun of mine is the only one on the island,” he explained, “and we never came near enough them, before, to do anything with it. It only carries a hundred yards. The Opekians never make any show of resistance. They are quite content if the Hillmen satisfy themselves with the outlying huts, as long as they leave them and the town alone; so they seldom come to close quarters.”