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Long before noon, Rick and Scotty had moved Rick's four-passenger Sky Wagon off the grassy runway that ran along the seaward side of the island, then settled down to the rock-throwing session. Barby said, "I'm pretty good with a slingshot. Let me try." Scotty handed her the sling. She looked at it dubiously. "What's this? It isn't a slingshot." "It's a sling," Rick explained. "Not a slingshot.
We paddled with all our might till we were beyond their reach, but the most part of us were slain by the rock-throwing, and the winds and waves sported with us and carried us into the midst of the dashing sea, swollen with billows clashing.
A stampede it should be, a real stampede of fear-frenzied range cattle in the mad flight of terror; not a bunch of galloping tame cows urged to foreground by shouting and rock-throwing from beyond the side lines of the scene. It would be hard to get, and it could not be rehearsed before the camera was turned on it.
"Give us a song," said the rebel, and his comrades' heads began showing over the edge of the rock. "Now, no rock-throwing and no shootin' while he's singing'," said Shorty. "Give the boy a chance to git back to his tree after he's done." "All right. We'll play fair. But no politics," came back from the rock. "Go out there, Alf, on the gravel, and sing to 'em," said Shorty.
Eventually Vic toiled up the far side of the gully, which was deep and as hot as an oven, and followed it down within rock-throwing distance of the goats. A well-aimed pebble struck Billy on the curve of one horn and halted him, the band huddling vacant-eyed behind him.
Barbara Brant, a slim, pretty, blond girl a year Rick's junior, hailed them from the porch, then ran down and joined them. "Hi! What are you two doing?" "Scotty just won the rock-throwing championship of the East Coast," Rick told her. Barby looked surprised. "He did? I thought you were waiting for Dr. Gordon?" "We are, but we decided to try out Scotty's new sling while we were waiting."
In spite of their angry yells, they kept at a distance and sent flights of arrows against us. This put an end to the rock-throwing. By the time half a dozen of us had been killed and a score injured, the rest of us retreated inside our caves. I was not out of range in my lofty cave, but the distance was great enough to spoil effective shooting, and the Fire People did not waste many arrows on me.
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