ly carried it smiles broke on their lips.

"Bly! We have you with us again," Mark exclaimed.

"But of course," Bly said. "It must have been the knock on the head I
got in the fight with the Himlos. But now it's clear. And I have news
for you. We can get rid of our enemies in one fell swoop. They are as
foolish as we. They too sleep in the daytime. Does that mean anything to
you?"

"Are you sure?" Mark asked.

"Certain. I have seen them."

"Then let us wait no longer. By the time they come to their senses, it
will be too late."

And it was. Only not as Mark had thought. For the immortal Stanton had
become battle-crazed, and whether loyal comrade or enemy, he knew only
to kill violently. It was Stanton himself who delivered the death blow
to his good friend. The rest of his group fell easy prey to the women,
who were even more savage than Stanton. It wasn't until it was all over
that Bly noticed what his women companions had done. Each and every one
of them carried a trophy hung in her belt, a horrible thing which leaked
blood. They had cut the heads from those they killed.

All that day and the next and until the last of the Mongoloids had been
eliminated, they hunted. They were no longer five hundred women when
they were finished. But there were no more men, either. Each of the
women carried a single head on her belt when they went back to the ships
which had brought them. And Bly, also, carried one.

Bly Stanton was no longer the same man as the one whom they had
discovered. The blood bath he had been in had done something to him. His
nose had become pinched, and his whole face had changed, so that his
eyes were narrowed now and his forehead, for some reason, lower. He no
longer walked erect, but stooped and shambled oddly as he moved. His jaw
jutted forward, and his teeth showed because of it. Little by little, he
had found it more comfortable to be without clothes, until by the time
they returned to the ships, the only article of clothing he wore was the
belt on which hung his sword and knife.

Naila had taken Mary's place in the scheme of things. Still, she found
she had to call Bly her superior. During the long days of slaughter,
there had been little need of talk. Muttered directions had done for
them.

But as they stood at the edge of the gangplank leading aboard, she said:
"Come immortal! There is nothing left for you here."

"Nothing?" he asked, somewhat blankly. "Nothing...?"

"Of course not," s