away from the others who had tried
to smile cheerfully, had nothing to do with the pain of his body. It
was his mind that was torturing him.

But he muttered broken words as he lay there, words that had reference
to one Schwartzmann. "I'll get him, damn him! I'll get him!" he was
promising himself.

And Herr Schwartzmann who was clever, would have proved his cleverness
still more by listening. For a Master Pilot of the World does not get
his rating on vain boasts. He must know first his flying, his ships
and his air--but he is apt to make good in other ways as well.

CHAPTER III

_Out of Control_

Walter Harkness had built this ship with Chet's help. They had
designed it for space-travel. It was the first ship to leave the Earth
under its own power, reach another heavenly body, and come back for a
safe landing. But they had not installed any luxuries for the
passengers.

In the room where the three were confined, there were no
self-compensating chairs such as the high-liners used. But the
acceleration of the speeding ship was constant, and the rear wall
became their floor where they sat or paced back and forth. Their bonds
had been removed, and one of Harkness' hands was gripping Diane's
where they sat side by side. Chet was briskly limbering his cramped
muscles.

He glanced at the two who sat silent nearby, and he knew what was in
their minds--knew that each was thinking of the other, forgetting
their own danger: and it was these two who had saved his life on their
first adventure out in space.

Walt--one man who was never spoiled by his millions; and
Diane--straight and true as they make 'em! Some way, somehow, they
must be saved--thus ran his thoughts--but it looked bad for them all.
Schwartzmann?--no use kidding themselves about that lad; he was one
bad hombre. The best they could hope for was to be marooned on the
Dark Moon--left there to live or to die amid those savage
surroundings; and the worst that might happen--! But Chet refused to
think of what alternatives might occur to the ugly, distorted mind of
the man who had them at his mercy.

There was no echo of these thoughts when he spoke; the smile that
flashed across his lean face brought a brief response from the
despondent countenances of his companions.

"Well," Chet observed, and ran his hand through a tangle of blond
hair, "I have heard that the Schwartzmann lines give service, and I
reckon I heard right. Here we were wanting to go back t