As it was, Hah and Kamel held the road, beat a masterly retreat and joined the main army as it was entrenching itself just after the battle of Lake Luno. So much for Hah’s account, which I have greatly boiled down, as its details would have but little bearing on the main events which I am endeavoring to cover. Now that Myles had heard this latest narrative, he was able to piece together a very complete history of the war to date, compiled from the events in Kuana before all the parties separated at the mangool, and from his own adventures, and the stories told by the priests of Kar, by Prince Toron, and by Hah Babbuh. During the reconnaissance which now was in progress, Cabot’s attention was chiefly devoted to recalling to memory and checking up these various accounts. Save for the cheers of the loyal troops, the trip along the front was uneventful until there was heard in the southern skies the familiar purr of a nearing motor. An enemy plane on scout duty. Instantly Hah and Myles and their party got under cover. On came the plane; but presently another sound was borne to the antennae of the watchers, namely a shrill whistling from the woods on their right. “Now we’ll see some fun,” Hah softly radiated, “for here comes a whistling bee to do battle with the plane controlled by the ant-men.” And sure enough, even as he spoke, a huge orange and black insect winged its way into the silver sky. The fight took place almost directly overhead, and was a repetition of the two battles in which Cabot himself had taken part near Saltona, while still a guest of the ant-men at Wautoosa during the early part of his stay on the planet. Both parties appeared to be adepts in the art of aerial warfare; but, of course, the bee had only his sting and legs with which to defend himself, whereas the plane had its fighting tail, its grapple hooks, and at least one rifle. Given a fair deal, with only side-slips, spirals, loop-the-loops and tailjabs, the bee would have had the advantage; but what chance had he against explosive bullets? And so in due course of time the bee was shot down, and fell screaming to the ground; while the plane, evidently injured to some extent itself, retired again to the southward. The bee fell quite close to where the observers were stationed; and, impelled by curiosity to see how badly it was damaged—for every whistling bee remaining alive meant just one more obstacle to the air fleet of the enemy—Hah and Cabot and their suits drew near to the disabled creature, keeping their revolvers ready, however, lest it should attack them. Cabot’s radio headset had been working badly that morning, and now apparently it began playing tricks upon him, for as he walked along he thought he heard a very faint voice calling. “Cabot, Cabot, O Myles Cabot!”