some thousand of men
and women in the strength of their endless youth, who worked for the
love of the doing and lived contentedly and happily while they waited
for the day of their liberation. But of fighters there were none, and
for this Lieutenant McGuire grieved wholeheartedly.

He was striding swiftly along where a corridor ended in blackness
ahead. There was a gleaming machine on the floor beside him when a
hand clutched at his arm and a warning voice exclaimed: "No further,
Lieutenant McGuire; you must not go!"

"Why?" questioned the lieutenant. "I've got to walk--do something to
keep from this damnable futile thinking."

"But not there," said the other; "it is a place of death. Ten paces
more and you would have vanished in a flicker of flame. The
projector"--he touched the mechanism beside them--"is always on. Our
caves extend in an endless succession; they join with the labyrinth
where the red ones used to live. They could attack us but for this.
Nothing can live in its invisible ray; they are placed at all such
entrances."

"Yet Djorn," McGuire told himself slowly, "said they had no weapons.
He knows nothing of war. But, great heavens! what wouldn't I give for
a regiment of scrappers--good husky boys with their faces tanned and a
spark in their eyes and their gas masks on their chests. With a
regiment, and equipment like this--"

And again he realized the futility of armament with none to serve and
direct it.

* * * * *

It was a month or more before Althora consented to the tests. Djorn
advised against it and made his protest emphatic, but here, as in all
things, Althora was a free agent. It was her right to do as she saw
fit, and there was none to prevent in this small world where
individual liberty was unquestioned.

And it was still longer before she could get anything of importance.
The experiments were racking to her nerves, and McGuire, seeing the
terrible strain upon her, begged her to stop. But Althora had gained
the vision that was always before her loved one's eyes--a world of
death and disaster--and he, here where the bolt would be launched, and
powerless to prevent. She could not be dissuaded now.

It was a proud day for Althora when she sent for McGuire, and he found
her lying at rest, eyes closed in her young face that was lined and
tortured with the mental horror she was contacting. She silenced his
protests with a word.

"The gun," she whispered; "th