o pass
over a bitter salt lake, occasionally found in the Martian desert. He
looked up into the muzzle of the menacing neuro-pistol.

"Balta, you're a dog!" he stated coldly.

"A live dog, anyway," the other remarked with a twisted grin. "You
know the saying about dead lions."

Murray's fingers clenched on the edge of the rug. It was thin and
strong, woven of fine metal threads. They were just over the edge of
the salt lake.

Murray dropped through, but retained his death-like grip on the rug.
It followed jerkily, as the men above tripped, fell, and rolled
desperately clear.

* * * * *

Murray's heart nearly stopped as he fell the first thousand feet. The
rug, sheer as the finest silk, failed to catch the wind. It ran out
like a thin rivulet of metal, following Murray in his unchecked drop.

But he had a number of seconds more to fall, and he occupied the time
left to him. He fumbled for corners, found two, lost precious time
looking for the others. He had three corners wrapped around one hand
when the wind finally caught the sheer fabric, bellied it out with a
sharp crack. The sudden deceleration nearly jerked his arm out.

Even so, he was still falling at a fearful rate. The free corner was
trailing and snapping spitefully, and the greasy white waters of the
lake were rushing up!

At any rate, the rug held him upright, so that he did not strike the
water flat. His toes clove the water like an arrow, and the rug was
torn from his grasp. The water crashed together over his head with
stunning force. After that it seemed to Murray that he didn't care. It
didn't matter that his eyes stung--that his throat was filled with
bitter alkali. All of his sensations merged in an all-pervading,
comfortable warmth. There was a feeling of flowing blackness, of time
standing still.

Murray's return to consciousness was far less pleasant. His entire
body was a crying pain: every internal organ that he knew of harbored
an ache of its own. He groaned, and by that token knew that he was
breathing.

As unwillingly he struggled back to consciousness he realized that he
was inside a rock cave, lying on a thin, folded fabric that might well
be the rug that had served as an emergency parachute. He could see the
irregular arch of the cave opening, could catch hints of rough stone
on the interior.

* * * * *

He sat up with an effort. There was a vile taste in his mou