So now Olear, weaponless except for the service knife at his belt,
began the hazardous undertaking of climbing among the stalactites to a
position approximately above the Plutonian's head. The job required
judgment. Some of the stone masses were insecurely anchored and would
crash down at the lightest touch. Some were spaced so closely together
that he could not get between them. Others were so far apart that it
was difficult to get from one to another.

Yet he made it somehow, and unnoticed, for all eyes were turned on the
tense drama being enacted below. From almost directly overhead he saw
Morones being drawn upward.

"You saw," the Plutonian was saying triumphantly in Mercurian, "--you
saw me unmake your Old Fool. And now you will see that a Lord of the
Green Star is even softer, even weaker--"

Morones, in that pitiless grasp, turned his face to the hateful
grinning visage above him. In his last extremity he was still angry.

"You devil!" Morones shouted. "You may murder me, but they'll get you!
They'll get you!"

"Who'll get me?" the Plutonian purred silkily, deferring the pleasure
of the kill for another moment. Morones was having trouble with his
breathing. His red face lolled from side to side, his eyes rolled in
agony. Suddenly he saw Olear. Unbelieving, he relaxed.

"I'm seein' things!" he breathed.

"Who'll get me?" persisted the Plutonian, applying a little more
pressure.

"The I. F. P.!" Morones gasped.

"Well, you little son-of-a-gun!" Olear thought, and then he jumped.

He landed a-straddle the neck of the Plutonian, which was almost like
forking a horse. One brawny arm seized a horn. The other, with a
lightning-swift dart, brought the point of the long service-knife to
the pulsing black throat.

"Put him down!" Olear spoke into the great pointed ear. "Easy!"

Back on his feet, Morones began bellowing at the Mercurians. Utterly
demoralized, they fled pell-mell. Morones came back. He said:

"Nothing to tie him up with."

"That's all right," Olear replied, studiously keeping the knife point
at exactly the right place, "I'll ride him in. Get going, you, and be
tactful when you go through the door, or this sticker of mine might
slip!" With extreme care the Plutonian did exactly as Olear ordered
him to.

* * * * *

It was necessary to radio for one of the larger patrol ships to take
Olear's enormous prisoner back to Earth for his trial. The officer
testif