re fell upon the
ground where he had stood, its vibratory rate not having been included
in the range imparted to the disintegrator.

His followers paused for a moment, amazed, stared about as if looking for
their leader, and then hurried back to their projectile and disappeared
within it.

"Now we've got business on our hands," said Mr. Edison. "Look out for
yourselves."

As he spoke, I saw the death-dealing knob of the war engine contained
in the car of the Martians moving around toward us. In another instant
it would have launched its destroying bolt.

Before that could occur, however, it had been dissipated into space by
a vibratory stream from a disintegrator.

But we were not to get the victory quite so easily. There was another
of the war engines in the car, and before we could concentrate our fire
upon it, its awful flash shot forth, and a dozen of our comrades perished
before our eyes.

"Quick! Quick!" shouted Mr. Edison to one of his electrical experts
standing near. "There is something the matter with this disintegrator,
and I cannot make it work. Aim at the knob, and don't miss it."

Martians and Terrestrians Fight a Terrible Battle.

But the aim was not well taken, and the vibratory force fell upon a
portion of the car at a considerable distance from the knob, making a
great breach, but leaving the engine uninjured.

A section of the side of the car had been destroyed, and the vibratory
energy had spread no further. To have attempted to sweep the car from
end to end would have been futile, because the period of action of the
disintegrators during each discharge did not exceed one second, and
distributing the energy over so great a space would have seriously
weakened its power to shatter apart the atoms of the resisting
substance. The disintegrators were like firearms, in that after each
discharge they must be readjusted before they could be used again.

The Martians Are Desperate.

Through the breach we saw the Martians inside making desperate efforts
to train their engine upon us, for after their first disastrous stroke
we had rapidly shifted our position. Swiftly the polished knob, which
gleamed like an evil eye, moved round to sweep over us. Instinctively,
though incautiously, we had collected in a group.

A single discharge would sweep us all into eternity.

A Ticklish Position.

"Will no one fire upon them?" exclaimed Mr. Edison, struggling with the
disintegrator in his hands, wh