The pilot was staring amazedly at him. Tommy's tone
had been irritated, certainly, but there was neither hatred nor
triumph in it. He waved his hand.

"Come on and I'll bandage you up and see if we can make you understand
a few things."

Evelyn came running through the muck.

"He didn't hurt you, Tommy?" she gasped. "I saw you shoot--"

The pilot fairly jumped. At first glance he had recognized her as a
woman. Tommy growled that he'd had to "shoot the damn fool through the
arm." The pilot spoke, curiously. Evelyn looked at his arm and
exclaimed. He was holding it above the wound to stop the bleeding.
Evelyn looked about helplessly for something with which to bandage it.

"Make pads with your handkerchief," grunted Tommy. "Take my tie to
hold them in place."

The prisoner looked curiously from one to the other. His color was
returning. As Evelyn worked on his arm he seemed to grow excited at
some inner thought. He spoke again, and looked at once puzzled and
confirmed in some conviction when they were unable to comprehend. When
Evelyn finished her first-aid task he smiled suddenly, flashing white
teeth at them. He even made a little speech which was humorously
apologetic, to judge by its tone. When they turned to go back to their
fortress he went with them without a trace of hesitation.

"Now what?" asked Evelyn.

"They'll be looking for him in a little while," said Tommy curtly. "If
we can convince him we're not enemies, he'll keep them from giving us
more gas."

* * * * *

The pilot was fumbling at a belt about the curious tunic he wore.
Tommy watched him warily. But a pad of what seemed to be black metal
came out, with a silvery-white stylus attached to it. The pilot sat
down the instant they stopped and began to draw in white lines on the
black surface. He drew a picture of a man and an angular flying
machine, and then a sketchy, impressionistic outline of a city's
towers. He drew a circle to enclose all three drawings and indicated
himself, the machine, and the distant city. Tommy nodded comprehension
as the pilot looked up. Then came a picture of a half-naked man
shaking his fists at the three encircled sketches. The half-naked man
stood beneath a roughly indicated tree-fern.

"Clever," said Tommy, as a larger circle enclosed that with the city
and the machine. "He's identifying himself, and saying the Ragged Men
are enemies of himself and his Golden City, too. That much