ust still be done.

The projectile, cushioned as it was, had escaped detonation in the
blast. He had only to stagger across the twenty yards separating him
from it, then release the stud that would send it flashing out into
space.

But his last shred of reserve strength had nearly been sapped now by
the insidious rays of that malevolent green moon. Even as he started
toward the projectile, he staggered and fell. Unable to drag himself
to his feet again, he began grimly crawling with arms and legs as
stiff and dead as that much stone.

Only ten more yards to go now. And now only five. Grimly, doggedly,
with senses reeling and muscles nearly dead, the last survivor of a
dying planet fought desperately on under the malignant rays of the
vivid green moon!

One last sprawling convulsive effort--and Dixon had the projectile in
his hands. His stiff fingers fumbled agonizingly with the activating
stud. Then abruptly the stud snapped home. With a crescendo whistle of
sundered air the projectile flashed upward into the western sky.

Dixon collapsed upon his back, his dimming eyes fixed upon the grim
green moon. Minutes that seemed eternities dragged slowly by. Then his
heart leaped in sudden hope. Had there really glowed a small blue
spark up there beside the green moon--a spark marking the mighty
explosion of the radium bomb against the Centaurians' space ship?

A fraction of a second later, and doubt became glorious certainty. The
vivid green of the moonlight vanished. The silvery white sheen of a
normal moon again shone serenely up there in the western sky!

With the extinguishing of the dread green rays, new strength surged
swiftly through Dixon's tired body. He arose and hurried over to where
Ruth lay limp and still near the wreckage of the great globe. He
worked over her for many anxious minutes before the normal flush of
health returned to her white cheeks and her eyes slowly opened.

Then he took Ruth into his arms and for a long minute the two silently
drank in the beauty of that radiant silver moon above them, while
their hearts thrilled with a realization of the glorious miracle of
awakening life that they knew must already be beginning to rejuvenate
a stricken world.

The Death-Cloud

_By Nat Schachner and Arthur L. Zagat_

[Illustration: _Someone at a huge switchboard turned toward me. I
pressed the trigger._]

[Sidenote: The epic exploit of one who worked in the dark and alone,
behind the enemy