ed half over so that silty water leaked in
through the straining seams, and threatened at any moment to be
buffeted and urged away on the surface of the flood toward that
distant vast sea which covers nine-tenths of the area of Inra.

"Time to mush for the mountains," Forepaugh decided.

Gunga grinned. The Mountains of Perdition were, to his point of view,
the only part of Inra even remotely inhabitable. They were sometimes
fairly cool, and though perpetually pelted with rain, blazing with
lightning and reverberating with thunder, they had caves that were
fairly dry and too cool for the black mold. Sometimes, under favorable
circumstances on their rugged peaks, one could get the full benefit of
the enormous hot sun for whose actinic rays the Martian's starved
system yearned.

"Better pack a few cans of the food tablets," the white man ordered.
"Take a couple of waterproof sleeping bags for us, and a few hundred
fire pellets. You can have the flash pistol; it may have a few more
charges in it."

* * * * *

Forepaugh broke the glass case marked "Emergency Only" and removed two
more flash pistols. Well he knew that he would need them after passing
beyond the trading area--perhaps sooner. His eyes fell on his personal
chest, and he opened it for a brief examination. None of the contents
seemed of any value, and he was about to pass when he dragged out a
long, heavy, .45 caliber six-shooter in a holster, and a cartridge
belt filled with shells. The Martian stared.

"Know what it is?" his master asked, handing him the weapon.

"Gunga not know." He took it and examined it curiously. It was a fine
museum piece in an excellent state of preservation, the metal overlaid
with the patina of age, but free from rust and corrosion.

"It's a weapon of the Ancients," Forepaugh explained. "It was a sort
of family heirloom and is over 300 years old. One of my grandfathers
used it in the famous Northwest Mounted Police. Wonder if it'll still
shoot."

He leveled the weapon at a fat, sightless wriggler that came squirming
through a seam, squinting unaccustomed eyes along the barrel. There
was a violent explosion, and the wriggler disappeared in a smear of
dirty green. Gunga nearly fell over backward in fright, and even
Forepaugh was shaken. He was surprised that the ancient cartridge had
exploded at all, though he knew powder making had reached a high level
of perfection before explosive chemical weap