g on. And a
little later I'm going to take X-ray photographs of you and all these
men." She smiled at the grinning gunners. "That's the new fad, you
know, and we're going to offer prizes for the best developed skeletons
in the American Province, and pick a King and Queen of Beauty!"

* * * * *

"A radio, Sir!"

Nat, who had snatched a brief interval of sleep, started up as the man
on duty handed him the message. The vessel had been constantly in
communication with Earth during her voyage, now nearing completion,
but the dreaded A-A-A that prefaced this message told Nat that it came
from Axelson.

"Congratulations on your attempt," the message ran, "I have watched
your career with the greatest interest, Lee, through the medium of
such scraps of information as I have been able to pick up on the
Moon. When you are my guest to-morrow I shall hope to be able to offer
you a high post in the new World Government that I am planning to
establish. I need good men. Fraternally, the Black Caesar."

Nat whirled about. Madge Dawes was standing behind him, trying to read
the message over his shoulder.

"Spying, eh?" said Nat bitterly.

"My dear man, isn't that my business?"

"Well, read this, then," said Nat, handing her the message. "You're
likely to repent this crazy trick of yours before we get much
farther."

And he pointed to the cosmic-ray skiagraph of the Moon on the curved
glass dome overhead. They were approaching the satellite rapidly. It
filled the whole dome, the craters great black hollows, the mountains
standing out clearly. Beneath the dome were the radium apparatus that
emitted the rays by which the satellite was photographed
cinematographically, and the gyroscope steering apparatus by which the
ship's course was directed.

Suddenly a buzzer sounded a warning. Nat sprang to the tube.

"Gravitational interference X40, gyroscopic aberrancy one minute 29,"
he called. "Discharge static electricity from hull. Mr. Benson, stand
by."

"What does that mean?" asked Madge.

"It means I shall be obliged if you'll abstain from speaking to the
man at the controls," snapped Nat.

"And what's that?" cried Madge in a shriller voice, pointing upward.

* * * * *

Across the patterned surface of the Moon, shown on the skiagraph, a
black, cigar-shaped form was passing. It looked like one of the
old-fashioned dirigibles, and the speed with which it moved wa