tion.

"I don't think it fires a solid projectile," Travis replied. "We'll have
to test them outside to find out just what we do have."

The Apaches took only three of the weapons, closing the box before they
left. And as they wriggled back through the crack door, Travis was
visited again by that odd flash of compelling, almost possessive power
he had experienced when they had lain in ambush for the Red hunting
party. He took a step or two forward until he was able to catch the edge
of the reading table and steady himself against it.

"What is the matter?" Both Buck and Jil-Lee were watching him;
apparently neither had felt that sensation. Travis did not reply for a
second. He was free of it now. But he was sure of its source; it had not
been any backlash of the Red caller! It was rooted here--a compulsion
triggered to make the original intentions of the outpost obeyed, a last
drag from the sleepers. This place had been set up with a single
purpose: to protect and preserve the ancient rulers of Topaz. And
perhaps the very presence here of the intruding Terrans had released a
force, started an unseen installation.

Now Travis answered simply: "They want out...."

Jil-Lee glanced back at the slit door, but Buck still watched Travis.

"They call?" he asked.

"In a way," Travis admitted. But the compulsion had already ebbed; he
was free. "It is gone now."

"This is not a good place," Buck observed somberly. "We touch that which
should not be held by men of our earth." He held out the weapon.

"Did not the People take up the rifles of the Pinda-lick-o-yi for their
defense when it was necessary?" Jil-Lee demanded. "We do what we must.
After seeing that," his chin indicated the slit and what lay behind
it--"do you wish the Reds to forage here?"

"Still," Buck's words came slowly, "this is a choice between two evils,
rather than between an evil and a good--"

"Then let us see how powerful this evil is!" Jil-Lee headed for the
corridor leading to the pillar.

* * * * *

It was late afternoon when they made their way through the swirling
mists of the valley under the archway giving on the former site of the
outlaw Tatar camp. Travis sighted the long barrel of the weapon at a
small bush backed by a boulder, and he pressed the firing button. There
was no way of knowing whether the weapon was loaded except to try it.

The result of his action was quick--quick and terrifying. There was n