Whereat, the original speaker, nettled, spoke again: “It is in my tent there, you doubters,” indicating the one beside which Cabot crouched. Quick as a flash, Cabot wriggled beneath the back of the tent into its interior. The campfire light, penetrating through the slit opening in front, revealed nothing but rumpled blankets on the floor, and ordinary weapons slung to the tent pole; so the intruder commenced rummaging among the bedding. The conversation outside continued. “Prove, or be silent!” said a voice. “You saw the Vairking fall, did you not?” the original speaker replied. “True, but I did not see you sling any pebble.” Meanwhile, Cabot continued his frantic search. At last, it was rewarded. In one corner of the tent, his groping fingers closed upon a Formian rifle and a bandolier of cartridges. A thrill ran through him at the touch. “To prove it to you,” the voice outside was saying, angrily, “I will get it for you; and if you do not believe me, I shall slingshot you with it. _That_ ought to be proof enough even for a stupid one like you. I have said it!” “The signal for my exit,” Myles said to himself, as he hastened to crawl out through the back of the tent, but then he reflected: “No, I want more than this gun and ammunition; I want information.” So he remained. As the Roy entered the tent and felt for the rifle, the crouching earth-man flung himself upon him; and before the startled furry one could utter even a gasp, strong fingers closed upon his windpipe, throttling off all sound. The struggle was over in a few moments. When Myles Cabot finally crept out of the enemy tent, it was with a limp form under one arm, and a bandolier and a rifle slung across his shoulders. The conversation at the camp fire continued. One of the warriors was saying: “Our friend takes long to find his wonderful sling-shot. Methinks he was lying and does not dare to face us.” Said another voice: “Let us pull him from his tent and confront him with his perfidy.” At this, Myles sprang to his feet and ran to the cover which concealed his followers. “Rush in among them as we planned,” he urged, “while you two come with me.” Then on he sped down the hillside towards the lights of Sur with his captive and trophies and two previously-picked members of the band, while Crota and the remaining eighteen charged yelling into the midst of the Roy camp, upsetting tents, scattering camp fires, and laying about them with their swords. Straight through the camp they charged, shouting: “Make way for Att the Terrible!” Then they circled the hill under cover of the darkness and rejoined Myles.