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This, coupled with rumors that the Soviets were frantically developing the German ideas, caused no small degree of alarm. As more UFO's were observed near the Air Force's Muroc Test Center, the Army's White Sands Proving Ground, and atomic bomb plants, ATIC's efforts became more concentrated.

Lagroin then put five gold pieces each into the hands of Muroc and Duclosse, and said: "I take you into the service of Prince Valmond Napoleon, and you do hereby swear to serve him loyally, even to the shedding of your blood, for his honour and the honour of France; and you do also vow to require a like loyalty and obedience of all men under your command. Swear."

Exactly four hours later the pilot of an F-51 was flying at 20,000 feet about 40 miles south of Muroc Air Base when he sighted a "flat object of a light-reflecting nature." He reported that it had no vertical fin or wings. When he first saw it, the object was above him and he tried to climb up to it, but his F-51 would not climb high enough.

"Wait a minute, porridge-pot," cried Muroc. "The best man here should raise the glass first and say the votre sante. 'Tis M'sieu' Medallion should speak and sip now." Medallion was half-sitting on the window-sill, abstractedly listening.

"I went against the English; I held abridge for two hours. I have my musket yet." "I am a patriot now," urged Duclosse. "Why the devil not the English first, then go to France, and lick the Orleans!" "They're a skittish lot, the Orleans; they might take it in their heads to fight," suggested Muroc, with a little grin.

"Mark you, I was born a man of fame, walking bloody paths to glory; but, by the grace of Heaven and my baptism, I became a forgeron. Let others ride to glory, I'll shoe their horses for the gallop." "You'll be in Parliament yet, Lajeunesse," said Duclosse the mealman, who had been dozing on a pile of untired cart-wheels. "I'll be hanged first, comrade." "One in the family at a time," said Muroc.

There was a slight pause, for the old man's voice had the ring of a fatal earnestness. It was no farce, but a real thing. "Swear," he said again. "Raise your right hand." "Done!" said Muroc. "To the devil with the charcoal! I'll go wash my face." "There's my hand on it," added Duclosse; "but that rascal Petrie will get my trade, and I'd rather be strung by the Orleans than that."

"We've to pay tribute to the Seigneur every year, as they did in the days of Vaudreuil and Louis the Saint," said Duclosse. "I've got my notice a bag of meal under the big tree at the Manor door." "I've to bring a pullet and a bag of charcoal," said Muroc. "'Tis the rights of the Seigneur as of old."

Accept my humble gift." "The devil dead?" cried Muroc; "then I'll go marry his daughter." Parpon climbed up on a pile of untired wheels, and with an elfish grin began singing. Instantly the three humorists became silent and listened, the blacksmith pumping his bellows mechanically the while. "O mealman white, give me your daughter, Oh, give her to me, your sweet Suzon!

"Done!" said the charcoalman. "We'll see the way our great man puts their noses out of joint." "Here's Lajeunesse," broke in the mealman, as the blacksmith came near to their fire. He was dressed in complete regimentals, made by the parish tailor. "Is that so, monsieur le capitaine?" said Muroc to Lajeunesse. "Is the Gover'ment to be fighting us? Why should it?