added hastily, "I would be the last to blame you."

Grim Morgan and Wat Tyler looked at each other, a great giant of a man
and an undersized bantam. Yet some electric spark of sympathy seemed
to dart between them, these so dissimilar beings.

Wat elected to be the spokesman. His voice rose shrilly, as it always
did when he was laboring under stress of excitement or emotion.

"_You_ won't blame us," he almost squeaked. "Who asked you? Damn it,
haven't we consciences of our own? Are we quitters, yellow-bellied
Mercutians to quit a pal? Are we, Grim Morgan? Speak, you big ox."

He wheeled abruptly and shook a small fist high in the air. It barely
reached under Grim's nose. The big man looked down at the little
gamecock unsmilingly.

"No, Wat Tyler, we are not," he said gravely.

Wat turned to Hilary triumphantly.

"There, you see," he crowed, "we stick together. We'll lick those
Mercutian monsters; we'll sweep them into the ocean, into space. And
what's more, we'll rescue your girl too." He stopped to catch his
breath. Grim was nodding slowly. He had not the little man's
exuberance. _His_ girl could not be rescued any more, but he could
remember.

Hilary's frozen heart warmed into life again. With loyal comrades such
as these, even the impossible might be accomplished. Very quietly,
without heroics, the three men shook hands. Nothing more, yet they
knew that they were bound indissolubly together, as long as there was
a gasp of breath in any of them.

* * * * *

Hilary's brain functioned with racing smoothness. In minutes the
Mercutians would be back.

"We must find a secure hiding place at once," he said. "Know of any?"

Grim shook his head negatively. "There is none," he spoke slowly.
"Their search beams penetrate everything."

"Except lead," Hilary interposed.

"Except lead," he conceded.

"Very well then. We shall have to find a place we can line with lead.
In the meantime. I have my space flier up in the Ramapos. If it hasn't
been discovered yet, it will be essential to our task. We'll have to
get there quickly."

"How?" Wat asked,

"By the conveyors, of course."

"No good," the little man declared. "Mercutian guards will be
patrolling them. You have no identification tag. You would be caught."

Hilary considered that. "Suppose you two go on along," he suggested.
"Find it and wait for me. I'll manage somehow."

"No," they answered unanimously; "we go together or