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289
Astounding Stories of Super-Science, August 1930
·
Various
9
Gunga
grinned.
The
Mountains
of
Perdition
were,
to
his
point
of
view,
the
only
part
of
Inra
even
remotely
inhabitable.
They
were
sometimes
fairly
cool,
and
though
perpetually
pelted
with
rain,
blazing
with
lightning
and
reverberating
with
thunder,
they
had
caves
that
were
fairly
dry
and
too
cool
for
the
black
mold.
Sometimes,
under
favorable
circumstances
on
their
rugged
peaks,
one
could
get
the
full
benefit
of
the
enormous
hot
sun
for
whose
actinic
rays
the
Martian's
starved
system
yearned.
"Better
pack
a
few
cans
of
the
food
tablets,"
the
white
man
ordered.
"Take
a
couple
of
waterproof
sleeping
bags
for
us,
and
a
few
hundred
fire
pellets.
You
can
have
the
flash
pistol;
it
may
have
a
few
more
charges
in
it."
Forepaugh
broke
the
glass
case
marked
"Emergency
Only"
and
removed
two
more
flash
pistols.
Well
he
knew
that
he
would
need
them
after
passing
beyond
the
trading
area--perhaps
sooner.
His
eyes
fell
on
his
personal
chest,
and
he
opened
it
for
a
brief
examination.
None
of
the
contents
seemed
of
any
value,
and
he
was
about
to
pass
when
he
dragged
out
a
long,
heavy,
.45
caliber
six-shooter
in
a
holster,
and
a
cartridge
belt
filled
with
shells.
The
Martian
stared.
"Know
what
it
is?"
his
master
asked,
handing
him
the
weapon.
"Gunga
not
know."
He
took
it
and
examined
it
curiously.
It
was
a
fine
museum
piece
in
an
excellent
state
of
preservation,
the
metal
overlaid
with
the
patina
of
age,
but
free
from
rust
and
corrosion.
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