At present it was alone. And he relayed that
information to the mermen.
If they could knock out the hound--his hand went to the tender scrape
on his own scalp where that box had left its glancing mark--if they
could knock out the hound--But how? As accurate marksmen as the mermen
were with their spears, he was not sure they could bring down the box.
Its sudden darts and dips were too erratic. Then what? Because as long
as it bobbed there, he and the stranger were imprisoned in this
pocket of the gorge wall.
Dalgard sat down, the bundle of the stranger's belongings beside him.
Then, he carefully unfastened the scorched cloth which formed that bag
and examined its contents. There was the belt with its pouches,
sheaths, and tool case. And the weapon which the stranger had used to
such good effect during their escape from the arena. Dalgard took up
the gun. It was light in weight, and it fitted into his hand almost as
if it had been molded to his measure.
He aimed at the hovering box, pressed the button as he had seen the
other do, with no results. The stun ray, which had acted upon living
creatures, could not govern the delicate mechanism in the hound's
interior.
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