hed his ray-gun,
picked up the three others, stuck them in his belt, and glided to the
port-lock. There, he peered outside.

His face hardened.

Blobs of flame that flared from wood torches were clustered about the
nearest side of the phanti corral. A dark blur of figures were ringed
in a half-circle, and from it came yells of delight and almost
hysterical laughter. The Hawk's eyes were chilling to look at when he
saw, through gaps in the circle of black shapes, the figure of a huge
negro, standing with his back almost touching the wire fence of the
corral. The actions of Friday gave the clue to what was happening.

He was caught in a broad ray of orange light, and in it he shuddered
and hopped grotesquely from one leg to the other in an agony of pain,
his lips drawn back taut over the gleaming teeth, his face flexed and
the whites of his eyes showing as the eyeballs rolled. The glow that
in part hung around him streamed from a ray-gun that was held in the
right hand of Judd the Kite. Heat! Friday was being slowly crisped
alive; seared on his feet in a furnace of heat: and the men who ringed
him were yelling advice at him between their laughter. Carse strained
his ears. In a jumble, he caught:

"Jump over"--"Nah, he'd have to climb"--"Climb! The juice's
cut!"--"Into the corral!"--"Climb over, you black buzzard"--"Hoowee!"

* * * * *

About a foot behind Friday was the wire fence, behind which the
phantis, their snouts converged towards the pirates, their red-shot
eyes glaring, their powerful hind feet clawing at the ground, were
bellowing in wild and ferocious excitement. Sudden, awful death waited
on the other side of the fence; slow death by burning on this side.
Yet Friday still hoped, still had faith in his master, for he did not
put a quick end to his living death by rushing the devilish circle or
clambering over into the thick of the sharp stabbing spurs.

Carse's brain moved with the swiftness of light. He could not rush the
group: the odds were too great, and besides, Judd's gun was already
out. Nor could he dive at them with the _Star Devil_ itself, or ray
them from above: that would mean Friday's death too. It would have to
be something else--and in a moment he had it. Carefully he examined
all variations and checked the scheme back: it promised to be the
final move, engendering the final meeting, and there must be no slip.

First, the Hawk slipped shadow-like to the ent