out of range. Hilary watched the flier grow
fainter and fainter in the starlit distance. Almost he could hear the
far-off hoarse chuckle of its pilot.

Then he turned to survey the damage. The Earthmen were up, growling
low heartfelt curses. That one blast had been catastrophic.

* * * * *

There on the ground lay the smoking ruins of the _Vagabond_, beloved
companion of his space wanderings. For a moment Hilary gave way to a
deep-seated despair. This was the end of all his plannings. He had
built high hopes on the _Vagabond_ in his carefully laid schemes for
overcoming the Mercutians. He stood as one stunned.

Someone cried: "A curse is upon us; let us scatter before it is too
late!"

It acted on Hilary like a cold shower, that cry of despair.

"No," his voice resounded strong and vibrant. "We did not need the
_Vagabond_. It never was part of my plans." A lie, of course, but most
necessary. "That Mercutian saved me the trouble of finding a hiding
place for it. Come, let us march. At dawn it rains, I _know_ it will."

"You've said that every day since the weather machine was smashed," a
voice cried out from the rear.

Hilary paused, thrown off his balance momentarily. Yet a second's
hesitation would be fatal. It was Joan who answered for him. She
sprang forward, lithe and exalted, her dark eyes flashing even in the
dark.

"I'll tell you how he knows. I myself had almost forgotten. Tomorrow
is exactly two weeks since the weather machine was destroyed. My
father, Martin Robbins, built it. He told me then that its effects
were so powerful that they lasted for two weeks, even with the machine
turned off. Only positive action could bring an immediate reversal, of
weather conditions. _That's_ how he knows."

Joan had turned the tide. The waverers turned as one man to Hilary.
"Lead on! We follow!"

"Very well," he stated quietly. "We can't remain here. The Mercutians
will be back soon in overwhelming force, burning for revenge. We
march."

To Joan, in barely audible tones: "Is that true, what you said?"

"I--I think so. I remember Dad mentioned a time limit. I think it was
two weeks."

"If it isn't, we're facing a damned unpleasant prospect to-morrow," he
said grimly.

CHAPTER XIII

_The Last Battle_

Dawn found the little band still struggling over the thick-forested
mountains in a desperate attempt to avoid detection. They were
footsore, weary, their clothes shre