The Centaurians
"The damned thing'll cut capers and it's all over with us!" muttered Sheldon. Even as he spoke the ship, like a meteor, shot through the red-black funnel cloud gathering and deepening in front of us and swayed in a swimming darkness of thunderous detonation whose sulphurous denseness suddenly dissolved before vivid streaks of blinding green eruption—the next instant the sun streamed upon us with furnace rays and land was beneath, a gloriously beautiful country, seemingly smiling wide in welcome. Buoyantly we feasted our eyes upon the wondrous panorama, as with lightning speed we flew over city after city, gleaming white, glistening in the brilliant sunlight. Rivers, lakes rippled and sparkled in wavy lines like gleaming streaks of ore. Snow-capped peaks cut the pale, distant azure, and beyond stretched miles of prairie land. Our attention was directed to a vast plain, and through powerful glasses we viewed the encampment of a mighty army. Soldiers in shining armor marched into the open, filing rank upon rank into glittering divisions.
"The camp of the Potolilis," we were informed. "A formidable tribe of savages at present warring upon the Octrogonas, who, though they outnumber yonder tribe three to one, are routed continually by the insidious Potolilis."
The speaker delivered an oration upon the ruinous policy of war while the ship veered easterly, sailing swiftly from the martial scene, over extensive forests, rich valleys, and in the heat of the mid-day sun slackened speed, floating gently over
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