I believe, is doomed...."

He straightened his shoulders. "But we can die fighting," he added, and
pointed over the hill.

"Over there," he said, "in the valley beyond, is a charge of their
explosive and a little apparatus of mine. I intend to fire the charge
from a distance of three hundred yards. I expect to be safe, perfectly
safe. But accidents happen.

"In Washington a plane is being prepared. I have given instructions
through hours of phoning. They are working night and day. It will
contain a huge generator for producing my ray. Nothing new! Just the
product of our knowledge of radiant energy up to date. But the man who
flies that plane will die--horribly. No time to experiment with
protection. The rays will destroy him, though he may live a month.

"I am asking you," he told Cyrus Thurston, "to handle that plane. You
may be of service to the world--you may find you are utterly powerless.
You surely will die. But you know the machines and the monsters; your
knowledge may be of value in an attack." He waited. The silence lasted
for only a moment.

"Why, sure," said Cyrus Thurston.

* * * * *

He looked at the eucalyptus grove with earnest appraisal. The sun made
lovely shadows among their stripped trunks: the world was a beautiful
place. A lingering death, MacGregor had intimated--and horrible....
"Why, sure," he repeated steadily.

Slim Riley shoved him firmly aside to stand facing MacGregor.

"Sure, hell!" he said. "I'm your man, Mr. MacGregor.

"What do you know about flying?" he asked Cyrus Thurston. "You're
good--for a beginner. But men like you two have got brains, and I'm
thinkin' the world will be needin' them. Now me, all I'm good for is
holdin' a shtick"--his brogue had returned to his speech, and was
evidence of his earnestness.

"And, besides"--the smile faded from his lips, and his voice was
suddenly soft--"them boys we saw take their last flip was just pilots to
you, just a bunch of good fighters. Well, they're buddies of mine. I
fought beside some of them in France.... I belong!"

He grinned happily at Thurston. "Besides," he said, "what do you know
about dog-fights?"

MacGregor gripped him by the hand. "You win," he said. "Report to
Washington. The Secretary of War has all the dope."

* * * * *

He turned to Thurston. "Now for you! Get this! The enemy machines almost
attacked New York. One of them came low, then went b