The moment the words "blunt arrows" were spoken Rick's mind went into high gear. The arrows in the quiver wouldn't do; at that range, with so powerful a bow, even a blunt arrow in the head would kill. But if he could somehow give the arrow a broader and blunter head, so the impact would be spread over a greater area, it could stun without killing. "Professor, get the details on when the lookout is changed and anything else that might be useful," Rick said quickly. "I think I've got an idea that will work, thanks to Scotty's comment." He hurried below, went forward, and rummaged around in the rope locker. He moved to the paint locker and examined everything within reach. There was nothing suitable. Disappointed, he went on deck and examined the superstructure. A wooden barrel plug would be ideal, but they didn't have a barrel aboard. There was only a fifty-gallon steel drum used as a spare fuel supply. If worst came to worst, he could fashion a head from a piece of the fender board. Then his eyes suddenly fell on the flagstaff astern and he let out a yell of delight. Scotty and Zircon watched as he unshipped the staff from its holder and pulled it down. It had a gilded sphere about the size of a baseball on top. Rick tested it anxiously. It was glued tightly. "Scotty!" Zircon bellowed. "There's a saw in the tool chest, and I believe I saw a brace and bits." Both Scotty and Zircon had seen instantly what Rick was after. The large, smooth ball would spread the arrow's impact over a greater area. Scotty returned in a moment with the tools, and sawed the ball off. Then Rick got a blunt arrow from the quiver and cut the metal tip off with his knife. He bored a hole of the proper size in the base of the ball. The arrow fitted perfectly. Rick tested the balance of the now-ungainly arrow and shook his head. "I'm not sure I can hit anything with it." "Get the bow!" Zircon commanded. "Scotty, put a screw through the base of the ball to hold it on the shaft. I'm going to rig a backstop so Rick can practice." The scientist found a tarpaulin and strung it up like a curtain across the stern. At the center of the tarpaulin he pinned a work glove. Rick studied the setup. The canvas would give, absorbing the shock of the arrow and allowing it to fall on deck. It would be all right. He didn't want to chance losing the ball. He consulted with Scotty, and they paced off the approximate distance he would have to shoot, then he climbed on the pilothouse roof to get the proper elevation. Spreading the bow a few times to loosen his muscles, he began to practice. The arrow was terribly nose heavy, and its whole response to the bow was changed. At first he missed by two or three feet. Then, as he continued to practice, his accuracy began to improve. He stopped after a while and had a coke. "I'll never be able to shoot a normal arrow again," he complained. Scotty grinned. "Make this shot and you'll never have to shoot again."