tioned Judd, the brigand crew
in the cabin had stood silent, their breath bated, their eyes watching
fascinated. But now they started, and shifted uneasily. They suspected
what was coming. The inexorable, seemingly inhuman adventurer went on
emotionlessly:

"Six of my men were killed on Iapetus, treacherously, without a
chance. Four more were slaughtered by the fungus. That's ten. Back up
to your men, Judd."

Judd knew all too well what that order portended. He could not move.
His cunning eyes protruded with fear as they shifted down and riveted
on the shabby holster that hung on Carse's left side. His breath came
unevenly, in short, ragged gasps through parted lips.

"Back, Judd!"

The stinging, icy force of the voice jolted him back despite his will.
One short retreating step after another he took, until at length he
was standing with his three men against the side wall of the cabin,
the dividing line between it and the engine room. Friday's guns were
still covering the pirates.

"You goin' to shoot us down in cold blood?" one of them asked
hoarsely.

The Hawk surveyed the speaker until the man shivered. Beneath their
coldness, his gray eyes were faintly contemptuous.

"No--I leave that for yellow-streaked hi-jacking rats such as you. I'm
going to give you a chance: more than a chance. Friday," he called.

"Yes, suh?"

"Do you want to come in on this?"

Without the slightest hesitation the negro answered, grinning:

"Yes, suh!"

"I thought you would. Come here alongside me, then sheathe your guns."

Friday did so. He stood in position beside his master, just in front
of the opening that led below. The four brigands were some fifteen
feet away. The two groups faced each other squarely.

"Good," whispered Carse.

* * * * *

They stood there, four men to two, deadly enemies; yet not one hand
moved toward a ray-gun. Again, an outsider would have marveled why
Judd, the numbers on his side did not draw and fire; why he waited;
why his face was pale, his eyes nervous. But he knew too well what the
least sign of a draw on his part would entail; he preferred to wait,
to receive the advantage of the cold vanity in Carse which demanded,
in gun-play, that the odds of numbers be against him. Perhaps this
time that vanity would lead the Hawk a little too far. Perhaps even
yet a loop-hole for strategy might appear.

So the Kite waited, but fear was strong within him.

"A little