luckily flashed a reassuring smile
at Dixon.

* * * * *

Directly in front of Dixon and some forty yards away there was a large
pen-like enclosure, with vari-colored shafts of radiance from banks of
projectors constantly sweeping through it. Dixon drew in his breath
sharply as he saw the frightful life lying dormant in that pen. It was
a solid mass of hybrids--great loathesome figures fashioned from a
score of different worms, insects, and spiders. The globes upon the
gruesome mammalian half-heads were still dark and unfired with
opalescence.

The invaders had apparently raided most of the surrounding country in
obtaining those grafted half-heads. Near where Dixon stood there was a
tragic little pile of articles taken from the Centaurians'
victims--prospectors' picks, shovels, axes, and other tools.

Over to the left of the dormant hybrids stood the second Alpha
Centaurian, curiously examining Dixon's projectile. The creature
apparently suspected the deadly nature of the gleaming cylinder for it
soon laid it carefully down and packed cushions of soft fabric around
it to shield it from any possible shock.

Then at an unspoken command from the first Centaurian the great hybrid
whirled Dixon around to face a small enclosure just behind him in
which were located banks of control panels and other apparatus. One of
the pieces of mechanism, with a regularly spaced stream of sparks
snapping between two terminals, was apparently a radio receiver
automatically recording the broadcast from the space ship. Dixon was
unable to even guess the nature of the remaining apparatus.

"Bruce, be careful!" Ruth called in despairing warning. "He is going
to put the thought-reading machine on your brain. Then he'll learn
what the projectile is for, and everything will be lost!"

* * * * *

Dixon's mind raced with lightning speed in the face of this new
danger. He stealthily slipped a hand over the revolver in his pocket.
There was one vulnerable spot in the great hybrid holding him, and
that was the opalescent globe on the creature's head. If he could only
smash that globe with one well-directed shot, he might be able to
elude the Centaurians for the precious minute necessary to send the
projectile on its deadly journey.

The hybrid began maneuvering Dixon toward the instrument enclosure.
For a fleeting second the grip of the tentacles upon his shoulders
loosened slightl