Maril had cried out that she came from Dara and had word for them, but they did not answer.  There were three men with heavy-duty blast-rifles.  One was the one Calhoun had burned out of his hiding place.  That man’s rifle exploded when the flames hit it.  Two remained.

One, so Calhoun presently discovered—­was working his way behind underbrush to a shelf from which he could shoot down at Calhoun.  Calhoun had dropped into a hollow and pulled Maril to cover at the first shot.  The second man happily planned to get to a point where he could shoot him like a fish in a barrel.

The third man had fired half a dozen times and then disappeared.  Calhoun estimated that he intended to get around to the rear, hoping there was no protection from that direction for Calhoun.  It would take some time for him to manage it.

So Calhoun industriously concentrated his fire on the man trying to get above him.  He was behind a boulder, not too dissimilar to Calhoun’s breastwork.  Calhoun set fire to the brush at the point at which the other man aimed.  That, then, made his effort useless.

Then Calhoun sent a dozen bolts at the other man’s rocky shield.  It heated up.  Steam rose in a whitish mass and blew directly away from Calhoun.  He saw that antagonist flee.  He saw him so clearly that he was positive that there was a patch of blue pigment on the right-hand side of the back of his neck.

He grunted and swung to find the third.  That man moved through thick undergrowth, and Calhoun set it on fire in a neat pattern of spreading flames.  Evidently, these men had had no training in battle tactics with blast-rifles.  The third man also had to get away.  He did.  But something from him arched through the smoke.  It fell to the ground directly upwind from Calhoun.  White smoke puffed up violently.

It was instinct that made Calhoun react as he did.  He jerked the girl Maril to her feet and rushed her toward the Med Ship.  Smoke from the flung bomb upwind barely swirled around him and missed Maril altogether.  Calhoun, though, got a whiff of something strange, not scorched or burning vegetation at all.  He ceased to breathe and plunged onward.  In clear air he emptied his lungs and refilled them.  They were then halfway to the ship, with Murgatroyd prancing on ahead.

But then Calhoun’s heart began to pound furiously.  His muscles twitched and tensed.  He felt extraordinary symptoms like an extreme of agitation.  He swore, but a Med Ship man would not react to such symptoms as a non-medically-trained man would have done.  Calhoun was familiar enough with tear gas, used by police on some planets.

But this was different and worse.  Even as he helped and urged Maril onward, he automatically considered his sensations, and had it—­panic gas.  Police did not use it because panic is worse than rioting.  Calhoun felt all the physical symptoms of fear and of gibbering terror.

A man whose mind yields to terror experiences certain physical sensations:  wildly beating heart, tensed and twitching muscles, and a frantic impulse to convulsive action.  A man in whom those physical sensations are induced by other means will, ordinarily, find his mind yielding to terror.