e ether. He did not hesitate. He lofted to the
ground with one quick heave, steadied on his swaying feet as the
automatic flashed into his hand.

"Throw up your hands, Mercutian," he shouted at the dimly-perceived
bulk. "I have you covered." He tensed, straining his ears for any
movement that might locate the hidden foe.

The tiny humming ceased abruptly. There was painful silence.

"Don't try--" Hilary commenced. He stopped, swerved his body suddenly
to one side. A red glow had warned him. The hurtling ray scorched past
him with a crackling blaze. Hilary was off balance, teetered, and went
down with a crash into the thorny underbrush, his automatic exploding
into sharp flame.

* * * * *

A hoarse guttural laugh came from the flier. "Got you that time, Earth
dog," the invisible Mercutian taunted. There was silence. Another belt
crashed from the ship, heaved the ground under its impact. Another and
another. Still no break in the silence, no cry.

The Mercutian muttered to himself: "The dog is dead, all right." He
peered out cautiously. The underbrush was black, sullenly quiet. Great
swaths showed where the rays had swept the Earth. With a hoarse
chuckle the grotesque giant climbed over the side of his ship. A
search beam swung in his hand. He was in deep shadow. He swung the
beam in a short arc. There was nothing, only matted vegetation. There
was one thick thorny bush he noted, however, extending its bulk behind
the bow of the ship. He stepped out a bit, away from the flier's
shadow, and swung his beam directly at it. The invisible ray pierced
through the interlacing twigs with ease. It picked out a prone figure,
lying with arm extended.

The Mercutian chuckled again, but the chuckle changed almost
immediately to a throaty cry of alarm. With a swiftness that went
incongruously with his awkward bulk, his free arm dropped for his hand
ray. There was a sharp burst of flame, a staccato bark. The Mercutian
staggered, swayed with sullen pain-widened eyes, and pitched headlong
forward.

* * * * *

The prone figure in the bush leaped up, ran for him. The Mercutian was
dead, drilled through the heart. Hilary sheathed his weapon grimly.
His task was done. One thing, though. How much of the message had been
transmitted? He must know. He vaulted over the side of the flier,
fumbled around until he found the receiving apparatus. Then he waited,
dreading to hear