of the day that saw you racing
across a near dead world to unlock the secret of that awful portal
behind which lay the mighty power of life for countless millions a
great festival is held in your honour; but there are tears mingled with
the thanksgiving--tears of real regret that the author of the happiness
is not with them to share the joy of living he died to give them. Upon
all Barsoom there is no greater name than John Carter."

"And by what name has your mother called you, my boy?" I asked.

"The people of Helium asked that I be named with my father's name, but
my mother said no, that you and she had chosen a name for me together,
and that your wish must be honoured before all others, so the name that
she called me is the one that you desired, a combination of hers and
yours--Carthoris."

Xodar had been at the wheel as I talked with my son, and now he called
me.

"She is dropping badly by the head, John Carter," he said. "So long as
we were rising at a stiff angle it was not noticeable, but now that I
am trying to keep a horizontal course it is different. The wound in
her bow has opened one of her forward ray tanks."

It was true, and after I had examined the damage I found it a much
graver matter than I had anticipated. Not only was the forced angle at
which we were compelled to maintain the bow in order to keep a
horizontal course greatly impeding our speed, but at the rate that we
were losing our repulsive rays from the forward tanks it was but a
question of an hour or more when we would be floating stern up and
helpless.

We had slightly reduced our speed with the dawning of a sense of
security, but now I took the helm once more and pulled the noble little
engine wide open, so that again we raced north at terrific velocity.
In the meantime Carthoris and Xodar with tools in hand were puttering
with the great rent in the bow in a hopeless endeavour to stem the tide
of escaping rays.

It was still dark when we passed the northern boundary of the ice cap
and the area of clouds. Below us lay a typical Martian landscape.
Rolling ochre sea bottom of long dead seas, low surrounding hills, with
here and there the grim and silent cities of the dead past; great piles
of mighty architecture tenanted only by age-old memories of a once
powerful race, and by the great white apes of Barsoom.

It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain our little vessel
in a horizontal position. Lower and lower sagged