Weird figures suddenly burst the walls of flaming death. They were outlaws attired in strange accoutrements. A series of metal rings surrounded them, connected to their bodies with spokes. The electrical discharges darted all over the rings. As they came closer, we discovered that they were not surrounded by separate rings but with a continuous spiral which narrowed together at the top of the head. The other end dragged on the ground.

"Electric resistors of some kind!" muttered Cragley whose face wore a hopeless expression. "They walked right through those lightning bolts!"

Quentin aimed his pistol and fired at one of the slowly advancing figures. The spiral glowed faintly. The outlaw continued his approach.

"There goes our last chance!" I cried. "We might just as well toss up the sponge!"

Cragley was thinking fast. It was unlike him to give up without a fight. But what was he to do when his weapons had been shorn of their force, leaving him utterly helpless before the superior strength of the brigands.

Several figures rushed from the bushes. They were panic-stricken passengers. In alarm, despite the warning cry the captain hurled at them, they rushed straight past the advancing figures with their encumbering spirals. Frightened, bewildered, and hemmed in by the play of lightning, they ran directly in the path of the electric fence. The crackling bolts enfolded three of them before the fourth became startled out of his madness, retreating from the flashing death.

One of the spiral clad figures turned and regarded the frightened man for a moment. Raising his electric pistol, he fired, and the passenger from the ill-fated C-49 joined his companions who had futilely rushed the electric barrier.

A voice from the space ship of the brigands suddenly gave out an order. The voice came from a speaker and was many times amplified.

"Crew and passengers of the C-49—come out in the open. Bring the platinum with you. Keep away from the electric fence unless you wish to die. Come out—or we shall come in and hunt you down."

The spiralled figures inside the fence had stopped at sound of the voice and were waiting for us to comply with the order from the space ship. More of the brigands in their electric resistors were advancing through the lightning bolts which crackled noisily. The powerful voltage danced and played upon the spirals, disappearing into the ground.

Cragley paused, undecided. Lines of broken resolve creased his face. Previously, he had remained strong and stubborn in the face of overwhelming adversity when chances were slim. There now remained not even the slimmest of chances, and stubborn courage yielded to reason.

"I guess the game's up, Quentin." He turned to regard his under officer in speculation.

Quentin waited for his captain's orders. Again came the voice from the outlaw craft in its strident tones. They were tinged with a touch of impatience.

"Show yourselves inside of one minute, or else be executed at once! Unless——"

"Hold out!" cried a new voice from the speaker, breaking in upon the first voice. "You have friends on——"

Then came sounds of scuffling. To our ears came imprecations and curses.

"Don't go out there!" warned the second voice in laboring gasps. "Stay——"

With a sudden snap, the speaker was cut off. Nothing more was heard. For a moment the lightning bolts comprising the electric fence flashed out—then reappeared. A few seconds later they disappeared once more, returning shortly to flicker in a peculiar manner.

It was evident that some sort of a struggle was taking place inside the outlaw ship. The electric display crackled and sputtered louder than ever. With a sudden, explosive thunder clap, the four terminal posts blew to pieces.

The spiralled figures turned in alarm back toward their craft. One of them, hovering close to our haven of retreat, did not follow his comrades. Instead, he drew forth from a long side pocket a black object. At first glance, it seemed shaped like a pistol. But it was much longer and was proportioned differently.

He waited patiently until several more of the brigands had returned to the ship. Raising the black weapon, he aimed carefully at his fellow outlaws. The man's strange actions amazed me. He was turning upon his own comrades. Several of the brigands fell backward off the deck of the outlaw craft.

Cragley, beside me, was speechless in surprise at the rapid succession of events. The outlaw's strange weapon which emitted no flash had us all wondering. Later, we discovered that it was a radium gun, a new instrument of destruction still in the experimental stage.

"Who is he?" voiced Cragley.

"Can't be the fellow we heard over the speaker," observed Quentin. "This man came through the electric fence with the first ones."

"Somebody over there is pulling for us," insisted Cragley, "and the man with the black gun must be a friend, too."

A flash darted out from the ship, hitting the spiralled figure operating his mystifying weapon. The spiral glowed brilliantly. The man inside the spiral remained unaffected, continuing to manipulate the knob of his weapon. Something went wrong with it, for the outlaw who had so suddenly turned against his friends tinkered with it a moment, then threw it from him in disgust. Meanwhile, the brigands had massed inside the ship.

With a loud crackling, the speaker's volume was thrown on again. An alarmed voice vibrated in our ears. Above the words came a rattling and banging—also the muffled sound of shouting men.

"Jasper! Come t' the control room! I'm locked in! They're bustin' down the door! Bring that gun o' yours! Hurry, lad!"

Jasper looked upon his broken weapon, hesitated a moment, then picked it up—butt foremost. Seizing it in cudgel fashion, he made for the ship.

"Come on!" roared Cragley exultantly. "Now's our chance!"

We found our numbers reduced to ten, but every one of us leaped forward at Cragley's order, ready to stake everything on the one desperate, fighting chance which had come so unexpectedly. We had nearly overtaken the man we had heard addressed as Jasper when a crackling flame of lightning leaped out at us. A hissing roar smote our ear drums and we were temporarily dazzled by an intense light. The aim had been too high. The electric charge had gone over our heads. The man in the control room had frustrated the attempt to electrocute us.

Several of the brigands jumped out of the ship to meet us. They still wore the encumbering spirals. A powerful gas of paralyzing effect was shot into our faces. We became as immobile as statues. Jasper, too, was overcome. Instantly, we were divested of our weapons.

The man locked in the control room of the ship had been taken. Whoever these two men were who had championed our cause, their desperate efforts had failed, and now we were all in the same boat. The one who had addressed us over the speaker was led out of the ship and shoved into our group beside his fellow traitor, Jasper. The latter's spiral was promptly torn off.

As the outlaws passed among us, searching for concealed weapons, I felt a cold object thrust cautiously into my hand. My heart thrilled to the contact of a pistol. I held my hand close to my side that none might see. The effects of the gas wore off quickly.

The chief of the brigands, his brutal face set in anger, strode up to the pair who had turned against him during the stress of combat. His dark eyes blazed, and he raised his clutching hands menacingly above the two. Jasper and his friend stared back unabashed, a reckless glitter in their eyes, ready for what might happen.

"I don't know who you are, but I've got suspicions!" snapped the outlaw. "You'll both die horribly—the kind of death we reserve for such as you!"

He turned upon Cragley. "Where's the platinum?" he demanded. "Is it over there?" He pointed to the clump of bushes from which we had lately emerged. "Or have you hidden it?"

"See for yourself!" snapped Cragley.

"When we find it, all tongues will be silenced," he remarked significantly. "If it's hidden, we'll find it just the same. We know how to make tongues wag."

It was a desperate situation. Cragley knew that the time of reckoning had come. The platinum lay in an open space among the bushes where we had taken our stand on seeing the approach of the outlaw ship. I fondled the gun I held out of sight.

Leaving a large force of his men to guard us, the leader of the brigands took the balance of his men and headed for the spot where Captain Cragley had left the boxes of platinum.

"Well, Ben," observed Jasper, philosophically scratching his head, "we did the best we could."

"Which weren't quite enough, Jasper, m'lad."

"Who are you two?" queried Cragley.

Each one looked at the other questioningly. For a moment neither spoke. Then through a rough, unkempt beard, Ben grinned at his companion.

"Might as well tell 'im, Jasper. The game's up."

"We ain't outlaws, that's sure, though we might have made believe so," said Jasper. "He's Ben Cartley, the best pal a man ever had. I'm Jasper Jezzan. We're from the Hayko Unit."

My mouth fell open in surprise. I nearly dropped the gun I had kept concealed in a fold of my clothing. Everyone, at some time or another, had heard of the famous Hayko Unit. The order, established since the perfection of space flying, was comprised of men pledged to keep the space lanes and colonies safe from the lawless element.

"We'll be in the death unit when Ledageree and his men come back," cracked Ben, chuckling at his own grim joke. "Did you plant the platinum, or is it back there?"

"Back there," echoed Cragley dejectedly. "We haven't a chance. I thought maybe we could make Deliphon with the stuff before these outlaws got wise."

"We followed the trail easily from the air," remarked Cartley. "First, we found the space ship and the cylinder. After that, we just watched for the green campfire markers is all."

"Campfire markers?" questioned Cragley in excitement. "What do——"

"There comes Ledageree!" interrupted Jasper.

The brigand chieftain and his men were emerging from the bushes with the little boxes stacked in their arms.

"We're sunk now!" exclaimed Quentin.

Impulsively, the captain took a step in the direction of the space ship. One of the outlaws guarding us stepped forward before the captain, bringing up his pistol. An evil light shone in his eyes, the fanatical gleam of the confirmed killer. It was the man's intention to kill Cragley where he stood.

But the act was never consummated. A blank look overspread the outlaw's face. His face held that strange expression which is so characteristic of the electrocuted man. He tottered and fell face downward. Uttering a cry of agony, another of the brigands fell, seizing frantically at a shaft which protruded from his body, a shaft of crude hammered metal.

While we all stared in surprise at the fallen men, Jasper Jezzan, quick to take stock of the situation, looked out over the high grass.

"Troglodytes!" he cried. "That's one o' their metal darts, Ben!"

Substantiating Jasper's discovery, there came a chorus of yells from all sides. Heads came into sight above the tall grass. Darts flew thick and fast, yet every one found its mark. The cave men of Venus brandished their weapons preparatory to rushing in upon us in overwhelming numbers.

The outlaws blazed away at the savages, but the latter proved to be difficult targets at which to aim. They were always on the move, running, hiding, reappearing to launch their deadly darts from another direction. Ledageree dropped his armful of the precious metal and screamed an order.

"Into the ship!"

It was then that I noticed the curious fact that none of the passengers or crew of the C-49 had been hit. The remaining outlaws attempted to herd us into the ship. Their numbers rapidly diminished under the hail of darts cast at them so accurately by the troglodytes. Many of the cave men toppled over in death as the outlaws made a hit, but more came to take the places of those fallen.

"There's the white man—the renegade!" shouted Quentin.

Indeed, it was so. The troglodytes were led by the man who had broken into our camp on the previous night. Seizing a pistol from one of the fallen brigands, Ben hastily pointed it at the yelling cave dwellers who were running full force in our direction, the renegade at their head.

"No. Ben, no!" cried Jasper. "They're friends!"

"It's Brady!" shouted one of the passengers of the C-49. "Chris Brady!"

"Impossible!" exclaimed Cragley. "He's dead!"

"You're wrong, Cragley!" said I, also recognizing the renegade. "That is Brady!"

I heard a noise behind me. I turned and looked. Ledageree and two of his surviving brigands were clambering aboard the space ship. The horde of troglodytes were nearly upon us. In trepidation, I moved backward. Ledageree had gained the deck and was running in the direction of the air lock when Brady saw him, raising his pistol to fire.

From its concealment, I brought my gun into action. With hasty aim, I pulled the trigger, cursing myself for a wide miss. I was a bundle of nerves at the moment. Again I tried, this time drawing a fine bead. Chris Brady was clearly outlined beyond the sights of my pistol.

A split second before I squeezed the trigger, Jasper Jezzan seized my arm. The flash of power shot harmlessly into the sky. Fiercely, I battled with the Hayko man, raising my pistol to brain him. But Cartley was upon me, and I went down under their combined weight. Something hit my head. Blackness engulfed me.

When I regained consciousness, I was aware of the babble of voices. My head throbbed and swam dizzily. A ring of troglodytes encircled me. I heard Chris Brady talking. Had he come back to life in some miraculous manner? I had seen him shot and buried. His words penetrated my dazed senses.

"When I saw that everything was stacked against me with no chances of proving my innocence, I tried an old trick, Cragley. I was afraid you'd get wise to me, but you didn't. I fell a split second before your men fired. I watched your lips for my signal. None of the shots touched me. I played dead and was buried in the shallow grave. When you went, I dug myself out. I came pretty near smothering."

"We buried you alive!"

"You did, and I'm thankful I was alive—and still am."

"But the troglodytes?"

"My friends," replied Brady. "I've been among them a great deal during my life upon Venus. I know their language and customs. They look up to me and obey my orders. We've been following you. The other night, we broke into your camp and stole food and this pistol."

"Then you're not the outlaw we supposed you to be?" Cragley was amazed beyond words. Apologies flooded to his lips and remained unspoken. What apology could there be to this Innocent man he had all but sent to his death?

"No—I'm not, but I knew there was no way of proving it to you," replied Brady, "at least not until Deliphon was reached. With my friends, here, I followed your trail. We heard the sounds of fighting far ahead. When we found you attacked by outlaws, I knew it was my chance to save you and prove myself."

"You have proved yourself!" exclaimed Cragley warmly. "But what about Raynor and Davy?"

"They thought Brady was their leader they'd been told t' watch for!" interrupted Jezzan spiritedly. "Plain as day, ain't it, Ben?" He turned to his comrade for a confirmative nod. "There's your man!"

Jasper Jezzan pointed at me where I sat on the ground, collecting my wits. I knew that I had been caught red handed. Denials were useless.

"Ern Hantel!" exclaimed Cragley in surprise. "He's the last man I'd suspect!"

"Just the same, he's the man you thought Brady was," persisted my prosecutor relentlessly. "He put green flares in your campfire ashes, so's we could follow you."

"How did you men come to be with the outlaws?" asked Brady, a bit confused by the surprising revelations he had heard.

"The authorities at Deliphon have suspected this gang for quite a spell," replied Cartley. "Jasper and I joined 'em t' find out. We're much obliged t' you and your cave men, Brady. You got us out of a tight pinch."

Cragley confronted me. "What have you to say for yourself, Hantel?" he asked grimly.

"They've got my number right," I grumbled, rubbing an aching head. "No use bucking a Hayko man in a place like this." I nodded in the direction of Jezzan and Cartley. "Ledageree was warned against strangers."

"Then you admit Brady is innocent?" queried the captain, seeking the confession which would irrevocably clear the accused man.

"Yes. He's innocent. Davy and Raynor never knew me. I sent my instructions to them through Brady, leaving messages where they believed he'd left them. When we left the earth, I recognized Davy and Raynor right off. For secrecy's sake, they weren't supposed to talk with the man they took orders from. I took advantage of this fact by placing my article of identification in the possession of Brady."

"The brown collars you loaned me!" exclaimed Brady, realizing the mode of his undoing.

"After I'd first stolen your collars and destroyed them," I added. "I was afraid of something going wrong before Ledageree and his men picked us up. I blew out the radium repellors of the C-49 and planted the evidence in Brady's room. I knew if anything happened Raynor and Davy would identify him as the man from whom they took instructions. That left me a loophole."

"The case against you is completed, Hantel!" Cragley's face was stern and set. "You're the one who's going to be shot this time, and there won't be any chance of falling before my men fire, either!"

"Just a minute," interposed Jezzan, thrusting back the angry captain. "We've got a say here. Headquarters wants this man. He's got more information than he's given. There's some other affairs he can talk about. He's going back with us."

Cragley didn't argue the matter. It was beyond his authority. Besides, if I received my just dues, he cared little where I was executed.

They placed me under strong guard on the outlaw ship, and we flew back to Deliphon. Knowing me for the clever, resourceful criminal which I pride myself on being, Jezzan and Cartley personally conducted me to the earth. There, I was given a brief examination.

At present, I find myself in the interplanetary penal colony of Phobos where I am being held for reasons peculiar to the Hayko Unit. I expect death most any day. In the meantime, I spend much of my numbered hours gazing out of my prison into the realms of space. The rotating sphere of Mars stands prominent against starlit skies. Occasionally, I see Phobos' companion moon, Deimos. Beyond the transparent facing of my prison cell stretches an airless void. There is but one escape. I await it, absorbed in fatalistic reflection.

THE END