presently seemed no hotter than molten steel, and later still it was
no more than a dull-red heat, and later yet....

Tommy shot savagely. Some of the Ragged Men died. More did not.

"I'm afraid," he said coolly, "they're going to get us. It seems
rather purposeless, but I'm afraid they're going to win."

Evelyn thrust a shaking hand skyward. "There, Tommy!"

* * * * *

A strange, angular flying thing was moving steadily across the marsh,
barely above the steamlike haze that hung in thinning layers about its
foulness. The flying thing moved with a machinelike steadiness, and
the sun twinkled upon something bright and shining before it.

"A flying machine," said Tommy shortly. His mind leaped ahead and his
lips parted in a mirthless smile. "Get your gas mask ready, Evelyn.
The explosion of that thermit-thrower made them curious in the City.
They sent a ship to see."

The flying thing grew closer, grew distinct. A wail arose from the
Ragged Men. Some of them leaped to their feet and fled. A man came out
into the open and shook his fists at the angular thing in the air. He
screamed at it, and such ghastly hatred was in the sound that Evelyn
shuddered.

Tommy could see it plainly, now. Its single wing was thick and queerly
unlike the air-foils of Earth. A framework hung below it, but it had
no balancing tail. And there was a glittering something before it that
obviously was its propelling mechanism, but as obviously was not a
screw propeller. It swept overhead, with a man in it looking downward.
Tommy watched coolly. It was past him, sweeping toward the jungle. It
swung sharply to the right, banking steeply. Smoking things dropped
from it, which expanded into columns of swiftly-descending vapor. They
reached the jungle and blotted it out. The flying machine swung again
and swept back to the left. More smoking things dropped. Ragged Men
erupted from the jungle's edge in screaming groups, only to writhe and
fall and lie still. But a group of five of them sped toward Tommy,
shrieking their rage upon him as the cause of disaster. Tommy held his
fire, looking upward. A hundred yards, fifty yards, twenty-five....

* * * * *

The flying machine soared in easy, effortless circles. The man in it
was watching, making no effort to interfere.

Tommy shot down the five men, one after the other, with a curiously
detached feeling that their vice-brutalized faces w