that lay motionless upon the ground.

The tattered, wind-blown clothing--the curling hair, blond in the
fire's light--it was Chet.... And now Harkness could fire.

His pistol held twenty rounds. He emptied it into the shrieking group,
then jammed in more of the shells and fired again. He fired until no
target remained, and every savage figure was either vanished among the
trees or inert and lifeless upon the ground, their only motion the
stirring of their hairy coverings in the breeze.

* * * * *

Harkness was beside the prostrate figure. He raised Chet's head within
his arms; Diane's brown head leaned close, her gasping breath broken
by dry sobs. The firelight flickered upon the closed lids to give them
semblance of life.

"Chet," said Walter Harkness softly. "Chet, old man--can't you speak?
We'll save you, Chet; you're not done for yet." But he felt as he
spoke that the words were a horrible lie; the blood that ran slowly
now from a wound in Chet's side seemed to speak more truly than did
he.

Yet Chet Bullard opened his eyes. His breath was the merest flutter;
the listeners bent their heads close to hear.

"Made it, did you?" asked Chet in a ghastly whisper. "And you've saved
Diane?... Good!... Well, it's been a great trip.... It's been worth
the price...."

Harkness seized at the girl's name. Here was something that might
strike home to the sinking man; might rouse him.

"Yes, Diane is saved," he told Chet: "saved for you, old fellow. You
must live--for Diane's sake. You love her, and she needs you."

Again the tired eyes opened. Once more the fluttering breath formed
words; lips moved to bring a pale ghost of Chet's ready smile like a
passing light across his face.

"Needs me? Diane?" It was a question and a denial. He was looking
straight at Harkness as he added: "It's you she needs.... You're one
square old sport, Walt, but dumb--awfully dumb...."

* * * * *

Glorious adventure!--and the price is so often death. "A great trip,"
Chet Bullard had said; "it's been worth the price." Chet was prepared
to pay in full.

But--there was the ship! Walt Harkness, as she finished bandaging the
body of the unconscious man, stared first at the metal cylinder,
gleaming, brilliant in the Earthlight; then his gaze went to the Earth
that had risen over distant peaks with the glory of a thousand moons.
And he dared to hope.

He brought the ship softly