, "we thought you were dead. Apparently it was not
so. We welcome you to our land again. Ouglat, who once tried to kill you
and apparently failed, you have killed, which is right and proper. Come
and live with us again in peace. We welcome you."

Mal Shaff bowed.

Gone was all thought of the third dimension. Through Mal Shaff's mind
raced strange, haunting memories of a red desert scattered with scarlet
boulders, of silver cliffs of gleaming metallic stone, of huge seas
battering against towering headlands. There were other things, too.
Great palaces of shining jewels, and weird nights of inhuman joy where
hellish flames lit deep, black caverns.

He bowed again.

"I thank you, Bathazar," he said.

Without a backward look he shambled down the hill with the others.

* * * * *

"Yes?" said the editor. "What's that you say? Doctor White is dead! A
suicide! Yeah, I understand. Worry, hey! Here, Roberts, take this
story."

He handed over the phone.

"When you write it," he said, "play up the fact he was worried about not
being able to bring the men back to the third dimension. Give him plenty
of praise for ending the Black Horror. It's a big story."

"Sure," said Roberts, then spoke into the phone: "All right, Bill, shoot
the works."

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _Astounding Stories_ June 1932.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.

End of Project Gutenberg's Hellhounds of the Cosmos, by Clifford Donald Simak

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