Some of the boys were alarmed at first, but Phil told them quietly to widen their circle and make room for the strangers. They sat in decent silence for a while, the boys getting used to the presence of the animals. In time one of the boys timidly stroked the big cat, who responded by rolling over and presenting his soft belly. The boy looked up at the old man and asked,
"What is his name. Mister "
"Ephraim. His name is Freedom."
"My, but he's tame! How do you get him to be so tame?"
"He reads my thoughts and trusts me. Most things are friendly when they know you and most people."
The boy puzzled for moment. "How can he read your thoughts?"
"It's simple. You can read his, too. Would you like to leam how?"
"Jimmy!"
"Just look into my eyes for a moment. There! Now look into his."
"Why Why I really believe I can!"
"Of course you can. And mine too. I'm not talking out loud. Had you noticed?"
"Why, so you're not. I'm reading your thoughts!"
"And I'm reading yours. Easy, isn't it?" With Phil's help Howe had them all conversing by thought transference inside an hour. Then to calm them down he told them stories for another hour, stories that constituted an important part of their curriculum. He helped Phil get them to sleep, then left, the animals following after him.
The next morning Phil was confronted at once by a young sceptic, "Say, did I dream all that about an old man and a puma and a deer?"
"Did you?"
"You're doing it now!"
"Certainly I am. And so are you. Now go tell the other hoys the same thing."
Before they got back to camp, he advised them not to speak about it to any other of the boys who had not as yet had their overnight hike, but that they test their new powers by trying it on any boy who had had his first all-night hike.
All was well until one of the boys had to return home in answer to a message that his father was ill. The elders would not wipe his mind clean of his new knowledge; instead they kept careful track of him. In time he talked, and the word reached the antagonists almost at once. Howe ordered the precautions of the telepathic patrol redoubled,
The patrol was able to keep out malicious persons, but it was not numerous enough to keep everything out. Forest fire broke out on the windward side of the camp late one night. No human being had been close to the spot; telekinetics was the evident method.
But what control over matter from a distance can do, it can also undo. Moulton squeezed the flame out with his will, refused it permisson to bum, bade its vibrations to stop.
For the time being the enemy appeared to cease attempts to do the boys physical harm. But the enemy had not given up. Phil received a frantic call from one of the younger boys to come at once to the tent the boy lived in; his patrol leader was very sick. Phil found the lad in a state of hysteria, and being restrained from doing himself an injury by the other boys in the tent. He had tried to cut his throat with his jack knife and had gone berserk when one of the other boys had grabbed his hand.
Phil took in the situation quickly and put in a call to Ben.
"Ben! Come at once. I need you."
Ben did so, zipping through the air and flying in through the door of the tent almost before Phil had time to lay the boy on his cot and start forcing him into a trance. The lad's startled tent mates did not have time to decide that Dr. Ben had been flying before he was standing in a normal fashion alongside their councilor.
Ben greeted him with tight communication, shutting the boys out of the circuit. "What's up?"
"They've gotten to him ... and damn near wrecked him."
"How?"
"Preyed on his mind. Tried to make him suicide. But I tranced back the hookup. Who do you think tried to do him in? Brinckley!"
"No!"
"Definitely. You take over here; I'm going after Brinckley. Tell the Senior to have a watch put on aU the boys who have been trained to be sensitive to telepathy, I'm afraid that any of them may be gotten at before we can teach them how to defend themselves." With that he was gone, leaving the boys half convinced oflevitation.
He had not gone very far, was still gathering speed, when he heard a welcome voice in his head,
"Phil! Phil! Wait for me."
He slowed down for a few seconds. A smaller figure flashed alongside his and grasped his hand. "It's a good thing I stay hooked in with you two. You'd have gone off to tackle that dirty old so-and-so without me."
He tried to maintain his dignity. "If I had thought that you should be along on this job, I'd have called you, Joan."
"Nonsense! And also fiddlesticks! You might get hurt, tackling him all alone. Besides, I'm going to push him into the tar pits."
He sighed and gave up. "Joan. my dear, you are a bloodthirsty wench with ten thousand incarnations to go before you reach beatitude."
"I don't want to reach beatitude; I want to do old Brinckley in."
"Come along, then. Let's make some speed."
They were south of the Tehachapi by now and rapidly approaching Los Angeles. They flitted over the Sierra Madre range, shot across San Femando Valley, clipped the top of Mount Hollywood, and landed on the lawn of the President's Residence at Western University. Brincldey saw, or felt, them coming and tried to run for it, but Phil grappled with him.
He shot one thought to Joan. "You stay out of this, kid, unless 1 you for help."
Brinckley did not give up easily. His mind reached out and tried to engulf Phil's. Huxley felt himself slipping, giving way before the evil onslaught. It seemed as though he were being dragged down, drowned, in filthy quicksand.
But he steadied himself and fought back.
When Phil had finished that which was immediately necessary with Brincldey, he stood up and wiped his hands, as if to cleanse himself of the spiritual slime he had embraced"Let's get going," he said to Joan, "we're pushed for time."
"What did you do to him, Phil?" She stared with fascinated disgust at the thing on the ground.
"Little enough. I placed him in stasis. I've got to save him for use for a time. Up you go, girl. Out of here before we're noticed."
Up they shot, with Brinckley's body swept along behind by tight telekmetic bond. They stopped above the clouds. Brinckley floated beside them, starfished, eyes popping, mouth loose, his smooth pink face expressionless. "Ben!" Huxley was sending, "Ephraim Howe! Ambrose! To me! To me! Hurry!"
"Coming, Phil!" came Coburn's answer.
"I hear." The strong calm thought held the quality of the Senior. "What is it, son? Tell me."
"Not time!" snapped Phil. "Yourself, Senior, and all others that can. Rendezvous! Hurry!"
"We come" The thought was still calm, unhurried. But there were two ragged holes in the roof of Moulton's tent. Moulton and Howe were already out of sight of Camp Mark Twain,
Slashing, slicing through the air they came, the handful of adepts who guarded the fire. From five hundred miles to the north they came, racing pigeons hurrying home. Camp councilors, two-thirds of the small group of camp matrons, some few from scattered points on the continent, they came in response to Huxley's call for help and the Senior's unprecedented tocsin. A housewife turned out the fire in the oven and disappeared into the sky. A taxi driver stopped his car and left his fares without a word. Research groups on Shasta broke their tight rapport, abandoned their beloved work, and came fast!
"And now, Philip?" Howe spoke orally as he arrested his trajectory and hung beside Huxley.
Huxley flung a hand toward Brinckley. "He has what we need to know to strike nowl Where's Master Ling?"