“You must attack at once!” Nan-nan asserted. The earth-man looked at the Cupian in surprise. “Why?” he asked. “Because,” the young cleric explained, “if you don’t some one of this village is going to get word to Prince Yuri of your return. Although no announcement has yet been made of your identity, this feat of yours of overcoming the scissor-beasts is as good as a verbal introduction. Runners will soon be notifying the usurper.” “Why runners?” Myles asked. “Why not radio?” “Because,” Nan-nan replied. “I took the precaution to throw an adjusting-tool into the local motor-generator set early this morning. One of the solenoids is hopelessly jammed, and it will take several days and nights of steady work to restore it.” “Great are the ramifications of the lost religion,” Cabot murmured approvingly. But the young cleric pouted, in spite of the tone of approval. Said he: “There were no ramifications to _this_ accomplishment. I did it all myself.” “Have it your own way,” Myles returned conciliatorily. “But to get back to what we were discussing, how am I to attack the usurper with no troops, and only one plane, and one rifle?” “But you _must_ attack!” Nan-nan objected. “As for planes, every plane in the kingdom, save only yours, is under lock and key at Wautoosa, the old naval air base, which now is the headquarters of the whistling bees. Every firearm, save two, your rifle and Prince Yuri’s automatic, is under heavy guard at the Kuana arsenal. Only the pretender himself and the arsenal guards—who are trusted henchmen of his—are permitted to be armed.” “And I suppose,” the earth-man interjected, with a shrug, “that you expect me, alone and single-handed, to seize the Kuana arsenal, and distribute arms to my people.” “Not exactly,” the priest replied. “You see—” At which point the conversation was interrupted by a body of troops, four abreast, which came marching toward them down the aisle which had been cut through the trees. Cabot stepped back aghast. Trapped! The soldiers swung along in the perfect cadence which had been taught them by generations spent in the marching clubs—or “hundreds”—of Cupia. True, they were unarmed, but what could one armed human do against such numbers? Cabot glanced down the path, and saw hundred after hundred turn into it at the farther end. There was only one possibility of escape, his plane. But the plane was still dripping from its submergence in the pond. Would its trophil-engine start while wet? Had enough water leaked into the alcohol tanks to damage the fuel? He would see. Shouting to Nan-nan and Emsul to follow, he started toward his craft; but the young cleric blocked his way. Treachery. No. For the young priest cried: “Fear not, defender of the faith. These be friends! They are the armies which you are to lead against Yuri. They are marching clubs of the loyal hill towns, which have been called together here, ostensibly for an athletic tournament.”