“The great magician knows everything,” the Roy replied, with a sneer. “Why, then, should I presume to tell him anything?” But the earth-man remained unruffled. “You are correct,” he countered. “I ask, not because I do not already know, but because I wish to test whether it is possible for one of your degraded race to tell the truth.” “Why test that?” came back the brazen Roy, “for doubtless you, who know everything, know that, too.” Myles could not help admiring the insulting calm with which this furry man of inferior race confronted his relentless captors. “Who are you, rash one?” he asked. The prisoner drew himself up proudly, with folded arms, and answered: “I am Otto the Bold, son of Grod the Silent.” “Ah,” Myles said, “the son of a king. And I am the father of a king. Well, then, as one man to another, tell me where you got this gun.” “Gun?” Otto queried. “Is that the name of this weapon of bad omen? Know then that I got it from you yourself when I wounded you beneath the tree beside the brook at the foot of the mountains, before the Vairkings of Jud the Excuse-Maker drove me off. I have spoken!” “And spoken truly,” Cabot replied, concealing his surprise with difficulty. Of course. Why had he not guessed it before? But there were still some more points to clear up, so he continued: “Why did you shoot those two arrows at me in the house at the top of the mountains?” “Because we wished to explore the house. But you killed my companion, whereupon I resolved to kill you in revenge, and to capture the noisy ‘gun’—and is that the right word? So I trailed you. The rest you know.” “Remember, I know _everything_,” Myles said, grinning. “But did you ever see any one but me shoot the gun?” “You know I never did,” was the reply. “No one on Poros, save Cabot the Magician and Otto the Bold, has ever done this big magic. I saw the results, but not the means, when you killed my companion; so I experimented for myself after I had stolen your gun, and soon I learned how, after which I carefully conserved the magic stones until last night when I shot one of the Vairkings of Sur, so as to give visible proof of my magic powers to my doubting comrades.” The earth-man heaved a sigh of relief. There existed as yet no alliance between the Formians and the Roies. Pray Heaven that such a calamity would never suggest itself to the minds of either race; for if so, then woe to Vairkingia! “Son of a king,” he said, “return to your people and your father. Give him my greetings, and tell them that you are the friend of a great magician, who lent you his ‘gun’, who transported you through the air within the walls of Sur, where no Roy has ever stood or will ever stand, and who last night caused phantom warriors to attack your camp under the guise of followers of Att the Terrible. Go now. My men will give you safe conduct to the plain below.” “And what is the price of this freedom?” Otto disdainfully inquired.