hed them on. The blast roared over the
heaped fuel and poured downward from the crest. The noise of the
retreat went silent in the distance.

* * * * *

Spent and exhausted, Jerry Foster lay panting upon the stone floor.
The breath of cold and life came down the long shaft from the crater.
Had Winslow gained the top? Was he equal to the climb? Jerry hardly
felt the jerking of the rope about his shoulders, but he knew as, in
frantic haste, it drew him scraping up the long side of the shaft.

The biting cold above revived him, and again a scene of desolation was
spread before his eyes. Winslow fumbled with the knots and released
him from the rope.

"Come on!" he shouted, and extended a helping hand as they leaped and
raced across the rocky floor.

Jerry again was vividly, strongly alive as the cold winds swept him.
He leaped hugely through the whirling wisps of dried out
vegetation--the sun had stripped the surface of every living thing.
Again the rocky slopes rose naked in the rosy light of evening. The
sun was hidden below a distant range of jagged hills. The long night
was begun.

"You're going the wrong way," Jerry shouted. "We left it over there."
He stopped to point where the sun had set. "See, that's where we
fought the beasts--"

"Come on!" repeated Winslow. "Hurry! We mustn't lose out now. I flew
the ship over this way while I was up here before."

A ridge of rock cut off the view where Winslow pointed. "Bully for
you!" Jerry shouted and turned to follow. They stopped as the slope
ahead, from its multitude of honeycomb caverns, erupted men.

* * * * *

The priests were ahead, and behind them swarmed their men. Vindictive
and revengeful, the wily enemy was fighting to the end. The two
stopped in consternation.

"What's the use!" demanded Jerry. His voice was tired, utterly
hopeless. "And the ship's right over there...."

"A million miles away," said Winslow slowly, "as far as we're
concerned." The army was sweeping down the long slope: they had found
their quarry. There were other figures, too, pouring from the throat
of the volcano--white, naked figures that swarmed in growing numbers
and rushed across upon them from the rear.

"Trapped," said Jerry Foster savagely, "and we almost made it." He
rose wearily to his feet. "We'll take it standing."

The armored warriors were approaching; in leaping triumph they raced
to be the first ones