*

His head, was ringing with the shrieks of the shrill-voiced mob. He was
still struggling, still fighting blindly, as the clamor ceased. Then he
stood erect and motionless as he heard the voice of Anita Haldgren.

"It's Frithjof!" she cried. "Oh, my dear--my dear! It's Frithjof! I
heard him! But he can't reach us--he can't help us! I will try to
reason with these beasts--bargain with them--make them afraid! I will
tell them it is magic."

And, as her voice, high-pitched in the language of this race, rose in
protest against them, Chet heard what the girl had detected first: a
sharp, metallic rapping within the wall, a rapping that was dulled by
distance but whose separate blows were distinct; and he knew, with a
knowledge that came from somewhere else than his bewildered brain, that
the raps were forming dots and dashes. They were talking Morse!

The girl's frenzied appeal ended in a din of shrieks; a horde of
man-beasts swept into the air and launched themselves in a solid mass
upon the two. Chet saw Anita for one instant as he felt himself lifted
in air. About him was a pandemonium of flailing wings; ahead and below
was the red of hidden fires. They were being lifted out and over the
pits.

One instant only, while tortured eyes smiled bravely into his; then a
great pit-mouth that gaped a horrible welcome up ahead. So plainly Chet
saw it! He could not tear his eyes away. He saw the red, smoking breath
of it; he saw a rocky lip that shone like one great ruby.

* * * * *

It was impossible! Even the blast of air that tore at him meant nothing
at first! But it was happening! Before his eyes it was happening! Chet
watched dumbly, uncomprehendingly, as that great overhanging rock tore
itself into fragments that rose screamingly into the air or fell to the
depths beneath.

Another section of solid floor erupted a hundred feet across the room!
The destruction was being kept away, Chet knew. And then, while a roar
like all the thunders of Earth reverberated deafeningly through the rock
room, the claws that gripped him relaxed their hold.

He fell, nor felt the impact of his fall. He came to his feet, ran
stumblingly to the edge of the nearest pit where he threw his arms about
the body of a girl and dragged her to safety. And while he did it he
was babbling in broken sentences:

"It's detonite! Your brother!... Where did he get it?... Detonite!...
Oh, my dear--my dear!"

And his