ne fierce, big-nosed infantryman to another
and noted the splendid physical structure of the majority. Evidently
hardier, much less refined and luxury-loving than the Atlanteans,
these swart warriors disdained robes and other garments. Save for
helmet, armor and brief black kilts, they were quite naked. Like the
Atlantean hoplites the infantrymen carried spears, steam retortii and
quantities of grenades.

The country side through which the prisoner passed had a holiday air,
for garlands of flowers hung in every doorway, and naked, pot-bellied
children squatted by the roadside, industriously weaving crowns and
streamers of gay blossoms.

"Look, Atlantean dog!" commanded the black-bearded leader of the
escort. "Let thine infidel eyes gaze upon the mightiest city of the
world. Seest thou yonder Ziggurat which o'er towers all others?"

Nelson raised eyes red-rimmed from sleeplessness and deep anxiety--for
the crafty Jarmuthians had proved unexpectedly unwilling to credit him
as the Atlantean outcast and would-be renegade he had pretended to be.

"Yes," he said in reply to the English-speaking
_jehar's_--captain's--question. "What's it for?"

"'Tis the temple of the almighty Beelzebub, Steam God of Jarmuth.
Without his hot breath no wheel would turn, our armies would be
powerless and this land would perish under the ice of the outer
world." The dark eyed officer's eye fell speculatively upon his bound
and dust-covered prisoner. "Perchance, dog of a spy, thou wilt die
during to-day's fourth division[2] together with Altara, pale daughter
of the feeble, false god Poseidon."

[Footnote 2: The Atlantean day was divided into six divisions of four
hours each; due to the flame suns there was no sunrise or sunset.]

* * * * *

This afternoon?

Nelson could not realize that the time had flown so quickly. Four
short hours separated him from the crisis of his life. A thousand
doubts assailed him. What if Alden or Hero Giles failed in their share
of the great scheme for rescue? Narrowly, the aviator's eye searched
the great, rich plain, then swept the amber-hued sky where, far above
the plain, Jilboa, the nearest flame sun, beat off the Arctic chill
and darkness.

The great, black-bearded jehar eased the straps from which was
suspended the brass coil of his retortii. "Aye," he chuckled, his
thick lips parted in a crafty smile. "Ere long will the fair flesh of
Altara grace the ceremonial board