The lieutenants only dimly grasped the idea.  “What shall we do when we get them here?”

“Do?  Drive them against the invaders, of course!”

It was a daring thought.  None but a super bee could have conceived it.  Off flew the lieutenants, with Supreme’s inspired order humming after them: 

“Call out every bee!  And drive every last one of the inferiors to this spot!”

And thus it came about that, a minute later, the nine looked around to see the bees making off at top speed.  Sorplee raised a cheer.

“Hurrah!” he shouted, and the rest took it up.  Neither admitted that he was vastly relieved; it had been a little nerve-shaking to know that a single thickness of leather had been all that stood, for an hour, between him and certain death.  The buzzing, too, was demoralizing.

“Now, to release the two men!” reminded Deltos, and led the way to the torture-place.  They found Corrus and Dulnop exactly as the two women had left them six weeks before, except that their faces were drawn with the agony of what they had endured.  Below the surface of the ground their bodies had shriveled and whitened with their daily imprisonment.  Only their spirits remained unchanged; they, of all the natives, had known what it was to feel superior.

For the last time they were dug out and helped to their feet.  They could not stand by themselves, much less run; but it is not likely they would have fled.  Somehow they knew that the strange head-coverings had human faces be hind them.  And scarcely had they been freed before Sorplee, glancing about, gave an exclamation of delight as he saw a group of natives running toward them.

“Just what we want!” he exclaimed.  “They’ve seen the scrap, and realize that we’ve won!”

Looking around, the nine could see the other groups likewise hurrying their way.  All told, there were a couple of hundred of the villagers, and all were armed with tools they knew how to use very well.

“Who shall do the honors?” asked Sorplee.  “Wish Somat was here, to explain for us.”

“Don’t need him,” reminded Deltos.  “All we’ve got to do is to show these two fellows we dug up.”

And it was not until the first of the villagers was within twenty yards that the nine suspected anything.  Then they heard the buzzing.  Looking closer, they saw that it was—­an attack!

“Stop!” cried Deltos, in swift panic.  “We are friends, not enemies!”

It was like talking to the wind.  The villagers had their choice of two fears:  either fight the strangers with the magic flower, or—­be stung to death.  And no one can blame them for what they chose.

The nine had time enough to snatch knives or hatchets from their belts, or clubs from the ground.  Then, with wild cries of fear, the natives closed in.  They fought as only desperate people can fight, caught between two fires.  And they were two hundred to nine!