o' Ku Sui's gang, maybe?"

"Perhaps. I haven't heard anything of Ku Sui for some time, and he's
never more dangerous than when he keeps silent," said the Hawk
thoughtfully. "But Crane might be sick. Or his radio might have broken
down temporarily. Still--"

It was then that the third man in the cabin, Harkness, the navigator,
straightened abruptly and put a sharp end to the trader's last word by
calling out:

"Radio, sir!"

* * * * *

A red dot of light was winking on a switchboard. Friday watched the
Hawk move in his quick, effortless way to it and pull a lever down,
all in the same motion, and then the negro's neck muscles corded as he
listened to the sounds that came, choking and barely intelligible,
from a loudspeaker:

"Carse--Hawk Carse--Crane speaking from the ranch. We're
besieged--pirate ship--outnumbered--can't hold out much longer. We got
most of the cargo inside here, but our generators--they're
weakening--and I'm fading, I guess, and the others that're left are
wounded. Carse--hurry--hurry...."

Five words went back into the microphone before the receiver went
dead.

"I'm coming, Crane! Hold on!"

Friday had seen the Hawk in such moments before, and he knew the
sight; but the navigator, Harkness, had not been with Carse very long,
and now he stood silent, motionless, while despite himself a shiver
ran down his spine as he stared at the tight-pressed bloodless lips
and the gray eyes, cold now as space. He started nervously when the
Hawk turned and looked him in the eye.

"I want speed," came his quiet, soft, deceptive voice. "I want that
hour's running time sliced by a third. Streak through that
atmosphere."

"Yes, suh!" answered Friday.

"And you"--to Harkness--"be very sure you get out every ounce she's
got. Tell the engineer personally."

"Full speed. Yes, sir," said the navigator, and felt relieved when
Carse turned his eyes away. For the Hawk, as always when he learned
that property had been ravaged and his friends shot down, seemed less
human than the Indrots at the far end of the frigid deeps of space he
roamed. His face was mask-like, graven, totally expressionless: blood
had been shed, and for each ounce another had to be spilled to balance
the scales. At a speaking tube that reached aft to the three other
members of the crew, he whispered: "Fighting posts. Arm and be ready
for action. Pirates are attacking ranch," and then went noiselessly to
the f