minutes."

"Let's get going then." Hilary was pulling the big man along by main
force when he heard a movement in back of them. He stopped, whirled,
automatic thrusting its blue nose forward.

The little man who had gotten up before on the express was pushing
rapidly toward them.

"Stop." Hilary's voice was harsh with command.

But the little man did not heed. He literally stumbled in his haste,
crying: "You've killed a Mercutian."

"What of it, my bantam?" Hilary inquired softly, the muzzle of his gun
boring into a lean flat stomach. The little man was actually pressing
against the automatic in his excitement.

"What of it?" he shrilled excitedly. "God, all this time I've been
waiting to find someone with guts enough to smash one of them. Sir,
I'm proud to shake your hand."

He reached over the wicked-looking muzzle, gripped Hilary's fist,
still tight on the gun butt, and pumped vigorously. He dropped the
hand, swerved on Grim.

"And you too, sir." His little fingers were engulfed in a mighty paw.
"I saw it all, I tell you," he babbled. "We've got them on the run.
We'll sweep the filthy devils clean off the Earth. We'll annihilate
them."

"Whoa there, my little gamecock." Morgan grinned down at the excited
little man. "One Mercutian doesn't make a Roman holiday. They're
plenty more where he came from. You'd better clear out before they
come, or you'll be included in the party."

The little fellow--he was not much more than five feet no inches
tall--drew himself up to his full height. "What," he ejaculated, "me
desert my friends? Wat Tyler's never had that said of him yet. We
stick together, to hell and back again."

Hilary grinned as he slipped the weapon back into his blouse. He was
beginning to like this little firebrand. In truth, Grim had rather
fairly described him as a gamecock. His stature, the bristly red hair
that flamed above a freckled face, the lightest of blue eyes that
snapped with excitement, the peculiar strut of him.

"You'll do," he said briefly.

* * * * *

At a safe distance a crowd was gathering, a crowd of Earthmen. Grim
surveyed them carefully. They were milling back and forth, but no one
dared come closer. "Slaves," he grunted, "not a spark left in them."
His eyes swept the heavens. Two faint black specks appeared in the
blue distance, from the direction of Great New York.

"They're coming for us," he said quietly.

"Let them," crowed the fier