rear, and was used to store tools and spare technical apparatus. It
had one little window, set high up, and connected with the larger room
by a door set in the middle of the partition.

Judd placed one of his pirates at each of the windows of the large
room, taking himself the center one.

Around the house milled dozens of animal bodies, snorting, bellowing
and roaring, their little red eyes flashing, claws tearing the soil in
futile rage at the men they knew to be safely within. A babel of
brutish sounds rose from them. Two of the bulls fell foul of each
other and fought in fury, to suddenly turn and hurl their weight
against a ground floor door, quivering it. But their rashness was
answered by a streak of light from an attic window, and as one toppled
back, its body burnt through, the sights of the destroying ray-gun
were already on its fellow.

The huge fire the brigands had laid was dying, and night was seeping
ever thickening darkness over the scene. Glinting very slightly in the
starlight were the black shapes of the two silent space ships.

Then Judd the Kite, as he aimed and shot and aimed and shot again, was
suddenly struck by a disturbing idea. From where had Carse fired at
the corral fence? What was the logical vantage point for him?

A shiver trembled down his spine. He saw suddenly with terrible
clearness where that vantage point was--and it had not been searched.
The roof!

He turned swiftly, his lips opening to give orders.

And there, standing on the threshold of the door to the smaller
adjoining room, stood the figure of a man whose eyes were cold with
the absolute cold of space, and whose left hand held a steady-leveled
ray-gun that pointed as straight as his eyes at Judd!

"Hawk--Carse!"

"Judd," said the quiet, icy voice.

* * * * *

The Kite went white as a sheet. His men turned slowly as one. One of
them gasped at what he saw; another cursed; the other two simply
stared with fear-flooded eyes; only one thing flamed in every
mind--the never-failing vengeance of the Hawk.

"Carse!" repeated Judd stupidly. "You--again!"

"Yes," whispered the trader. "And for the last time. We settle now.
There are a few debts--a few lives--a few blows and kicks--and a
matter of some torture to be paid for. The accounts must be squared,
Judd."

And slowly he raised his right hand to the queer bangs of flaxen hair
which hung down over his forehead. He stroked them gently.