seemed unmoving; only the unending thunder of the
generator told of the frantic efforts to escape. They seemed hung in
space; their own terrific speed seemed gone--added to and fused with the
orbital motion of the Dark Moon to bring swiftly closer that messenger
of death. The circle expanded silently; became menacingly huge.

Chet was whispering softly to himself: "If I'd got hold of her an hour
sooner--thirty minutes--or even ten.... We're doing over twenty thousand
an hour combined speed, and we'll never really hit it.... We'll never
reach the ground."

He turned this over in his mind, and he nodded gravely in confirmation
of his own conclusions. It seemed somehow of tremendous importance that
he get this clearly thought out--this experience that was close ahead.

"Skin friction!" he added. "It will burn us up!"

He has a sudden vision of a flaming star blazing a hot trail through the
atmosphere of this globe; there would be only savage eyes to follow
it--to see the line of fire curving swiftly across the heavens.... He,
himself, was seeing that blazing meteor so plainly....

His eyes found the lookout; the globe was gone. They were close--close!
Only for the enveloping gas that made of this a dark moon, they would be
seeing the surface, the outlines of continents.

Chet strained his eyes--to see nothing! It was horrible. It had been
fearful enough to watch that expanding globe.... He was abruptly aware
that the outer rim of the lookout was red!

For Chet Bullard, time ceased to have meaning; what were seconds--or
centuries--as he stared at that glowing rim? He could not have told. The
outer shell of their ship--it was radiant--shining red-hot in the night.
And above the roar of the generator came a nerve-ripping shriek. A wind
like a blast from hell was battering and tearing at their ship.

"Good-by!" He has tried to call; the demoniac shrieking from without
smothered his voice. One arm was across his eyes in an unconscious
motion. The air of the little room was stifling. He forced his arm down;
he would meet death face to face.

* * * * *

The lookout was ringed with fire; it was white with the terrible white
of burning steel!--it was golden!--then cherry red! It was dying, as the
fire dies from glowing metal plunged in its tempering bath--or thrown
into the cold reaches of space!

In Chet's ears was the roar of a detonite motor. He tried to realize
that the lookouts were r