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Updated: May 23, 2025
The soldiers came plunging out into the street, swords in their hands, but they stopped to watch. Sime, Murray and Tuman, used to instant and automatic battle, watched. A struggle so titanic, by tacit, by unconsidered consent, must be left to decide its own course. Tolto seemed to be slowly gaining an advantage.
Tuman had been a steward of his, and had received his freedom already in the count's lifetime. He was a man of about seventy, with a regular and pleasant face.
Murray, with a gallantry that sat ill on the scarecrow figure he was, cleared matters up a trifle. "Princess Sira? As I thought. Princess, or Your Highness, to be formal, I am your humble and disreputable servant, Lige Murray, of the Interplanetary Flying Police. Likewise this gentleman behind the brush Sime Hemingway. You know Tuman? You've missed something, Your Highness! And Tolto! Lucky man!"
I looked round, and saw a peasant of about fifty, covered with dust, in a smock, and wearing bast slippers; he carried a wickerwork pannier and a cloak on his shoulders. He went down to the spring, drank thirstily, and got up. 'Ah, Vlass! cried Tuman, staring at him; 'good health to you, friend! Where has God sent you from?
"Something queer!" Murray said, as they halted for breath after routing what little opposition they had encountered. "Maybe it's a trap. But what an expensive trap for somebody! Where's this broadcasting plant?" "This way!" Tuman called eagerly. "Maybe we can still save the poor fellow who turned the trick. Broadcast the secret sessions! Don't tell me that little girl isn't fit to rule!"
"It's drifting," Tuman observed. "The driving tail seems to be missing." "Well, anyway, it's coming down, and where an army ship comes down is no place for us." They heard the scrape of her keel as she settled down. Murray gave a gasp of surprise. "Tuman," he muttered, "that fellow wearing the Martian uniform is an I. F. P. agent named Hemingway.
But as she crossed a small open space, a stentorian voice shouted: "There she is! That's her! The princess!" Out of the corner of her eye she saw him, running toward her lumberingly, his great arms outspread. Tuman had been wrong in saying that on all of Mars there was no man as big as Tolto. This one was, and he looked more formidable.
'Good health to you, Mihal Savelitch! said the peasant, coming nearer to us; 'from a long way off. 'Where have you been? Tuman asked him. 'I have been to Moscow, to my master. 'What for? 'I went to ask him a favour. 'What about? 'Oh, to lessen my rent, or to let me work it out in labour, or to put me on another piece of land, or something.... My son is dead so I can't manage it now alone.
'Well yes, yes your honour. The poor fellow turned away. 'But there are not many bites, remarked Tuman; 'it's so fearfully hot; the fish are all tired out under the bushes; they're asleep. 'As you see. 'Ah and is your dog there English or German? The old man liked to show off on occasion, as though he would say, 'I, too, have lived in the world!
As for Tolto, we could hide a house as easy as him." "But we must go on," said Tuman, the Martian. "Yonder lights seem too bright, too numerous for an ordinary day. There's some kind of celebration." They trudged on for several hours more. Although weariness made their feet leaden and pressed on their eyelids, they dared not halt. Each one nursed some secret dread.
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