emed as if it would
perforce come to rest upon serrated tree tops, a faint glimmer showed
amid the darker green. There was an opening, just barely room for the
_Vagabond_.

* * * * *

Hilary jockeyed skilfully through, kept on descending into a narrow
cleft in the slope. The walls rose almost perpendicularly on either
side. About fifty feet down there was a sharp turn and the gorge
angled downward for another fifty feet. When the flier came to rest at
the bottom, it was securely hidden in a slanting cleft, some forty
feet wide and several hundred long. A mountain brook brawled at one
side, assuring plentiful water. The outside world was absolutely
invisible. Perpetual twilight reigned; only a pale dim religious light
filtered through.

"Just the thing," Wat exulted. "We'll never be found here, no matter
how much they search, unless someone actually stumbles into the
opening. There's almost eighty feet of solid rock above us, and their
search beams only penetrate about ten to fifteen."

"Splendid." Hilary said. "Now we've got to get to work."

For two days they toiled incessantly. A rope ladder was fabricated to
insure ease of entrance and exit without recourse to the ship. Wat, as
the least conspicuous, was delegated to scour the countryside and
bring in stores of provisions. The bottom of the gorge was leveled off
with infinite labor. Rough wood shelters were erected. Spares and
electrical equipment to replace worn parts in the _Vagabond_ were also
purchased by Wat, in cautious small purchases. It necessitated long
trekking through mountain trails, but there was no murmur from him.
The search, he reported, seemed to be slackening. Only the routine
guards whizzed by on the conveyors, and the usual Mercutian fliers
that kept to the regular air lanes.

At last even Hilary was satisfied. He was ready now for the plan that
had been slowly forming in his mind during the days of their flight
and of work. He was going to attempt a rescue of Joan. She had never
left his thoughts once; he was burning with inward anxiety, though his
face was a mask to cover his true feelings.

* * * * *

The last evening he sat with the others within one of the wooden
shelters. A huge fire of fragrant pine knots blazed up a crude boulder
chimney.

"I am going out now to find Joan," he told them quietly.

"When do we start?" asked Wat.

"I am going alone." There was a mov