hem
in a musette bag which he snapped to the D-rings of the pack.

One of the metal plates on his moccasin was hanging by a thread,
probably he had torn it loose in the scuffle at the door. They weren't
going to take too much kicking and banging around, he could see, and
once he was on his way, it wouldn't be a very good idea to be caught
bending over with his bare hands at ground level to fix them. On the
other hand, he couldn't be using all his cartridges on the stingers,
either, he had to save them for the carriers. He thought about this some
while mending the moccasin, and decided to take the bug gun. It might
not kill the stingers, but it ought to discourage them enough so they
wouldn't keep pestering him.

With his bad left arm, he had trouble getting the pack on his back. He
finally managed by swinging it up on the table first. It was not too
much of a load, forty or fifty pounds he guessed. Still, shaky as he
was, it was about as much as he could manage. He had intended to just
try it on for size, but after he got it up he thought: well, why not
now? He picked up the .450, stowed the extra cartridges in his pocket,
checked to make sure he had matches, hung the bug gun on his belt, and
opened the door.

* * * * *

It was just getting dusk, but the other world was in broad daylight, the
days and nights were almost completely reversed again. As he stepped
through the hole, the first stinger struck. He gave it a good squirt of
tobacco juice. It went bucking and twisting off and he went on, stepping
carefully and solidly.

Luckily, most of the Harn was foraging in the new world. Two more
stingers ambushed him, but the tobacco juice got rid of them, and he had
no serious trouble till he got close to the den. Two carriers came out
and rushed him there. He shot them both and then killed the stinger that
was pecking at his shins. He moved quickly now, he had an idea that in
about a minute all hell would break loose. He swung the pack down on the
uphill side of the den, wet the musette bag with a quick spray of gas,
tossed it over his shoulder, jammed the free end of the hose into the
den mouth and stabbed the can with his knife to vent it. As the gas
poured into the den he lit one of his oil and gas soaked bombs and ran
around in front, lighting one after another from the one in his hand and
tossing them into the den. The musette bag caught fire and he snatched
it from his shoulder an