that they had crawled and crawled for eternity--a sort of dreadful
nightmare in which their limbs moved unwillingly while they remained in
the same spot. Both were exhausted when they slid stiffly into the
scanty haven of the little dip in the sand. For the moment they cared
not whether they were captured or not. They longed only to lie panting
till their parched throats had cooled.
When they dared peep at the picket he had started serenely back on his
walk away from them again. He had noticed neither them nor their tracks!
With revived courage and strength they resumed the grilling struggle
toward safety. Once more they reached a welcoming shadow without
discovery.
“Boy, howdy!” gasped Taggert. “When do we--quit this caterpillar glide?”
“If our luck--holds, we’ll--soon be beyond--the danger zone,” puffed
Robert, resting on the flat of his back.
* * * * *
Taggert’s escape and the fate of the _Sphere_ were still puzzling
Robert, as they had not yet had an opportunity to mention these things.
At Robert’s query now Taggert enlightened him briefly.
“When I saw them overpower you and lead you away,” he recounted, “I
realized that I could help most by holding the _Sphere_, and coming to
your assistance later if I succeeded. So I drew the manhole trap to and
waited for developments. Peeping cautiously, I was fortunate in being
able to spot the tent they took you to.
“Well, they howled round the outside for a while, but made no attempt to
break in. I suppose they feared to tamper with the _Sphere_ after its
exhibition of its destructive powers. Finally they withdrew at a command
from an officer. Still I was careful not to show myself. I tinkered with
the engine some more, quietly, but without results.
“Finally darkness came on. The Martians were camped about the _Sphere_
but all seemed anxious to give it a wide berth, for the nearest were a
hundred paces or more away. They were scattered pretty well, so I took a
long chance and slipped out into the darkness, snapping the trap-door
shut. Luck was with me. You know the rest.”
“But man, you were banking on a chance in a thousand of getting
through!”
“Oh, chances. Like kisses, they are to be taken.”
They both laughed a little at this, and it lightened their spirits. The
situation did not seem so hopeless after all.
“Then the _Sphere_ is still unharmed,” mused Robert.
“Not only unharmed but not far from us right now. Look over there.”
Robert looked off to their right as indicated by Taggert. A familiar
dark shape reared itself above the level of the desert, probably a
quarter of a mile distant. He breathed a sigh of relief. Though useless
to them just then it relieved him to know that the Martians had not
wrecked it.
The still glare of the stars piercing the narrow Martian belt of clear
atmosphere shone coldly upon them.
Robert wondered which of them was the good old Earth. Ah, to be safely
back there again!--the professor, Taggert--and Zola. Would they all see
each other again? Could he expect Zola to give up her father and other
kin, her friends--everything she had learned to love in her own world?
She had said she would go with him. Would her decision withstand the
final parting from pleading friends and kinsmen, even if her father
would let her go? Would she be happy on his Earth, if he succeeded in
rescuing her from her present peril? Could he honestly urge her to leave
with him?
These questions raced through his mind as his strength surged back to
him. There was but one answer: if they could get away he would take her
with him if he could possibly get her to go willingly. That he could
make her happy he felt certain, for he would devote his entire life to
doing so.
He became aware of Taggert’s prodding him vigorously in the ribs.
“‘Can’ the star-gazing, old dear. It’s time we were wriggling merrily on
our way,” he whispered.
They bestirred themselves reluctantly from the latent warmth of the
sand. Waiting until the picket was once more on his way from them, they
staggered to their feet and made a dash of it.
When they had traversed perhaps three quarters of a mile they slackened
their pace to a walk. About two miles ahead of them lay the city’s
outskirts.
Approaching the lines of the city’s defense they faced a danger similar
to that from which they had just escaped. They might be mistaken for
foes and fired upon when discovered.
Discovery came sooner than they expected. A Svergadian picket popped up
suddenly from a pit dug in the sand and challenged them sharply,
training his gun the while upon Robert, who was in the lead.
Robert explained who they were and asked permission to go to Hakon. The
sentry seemed dubious but finally summoned an officer, who heard their
story and promptly promised to have them escorted into Hakon’s presence.
21
Their escort was dismissed upon their arrival at Hakon’s quarters, by
his aid, who recognized Robert and Taggert at once.
“The governor will see you at once, I’m sure,” he told them. They waited
in a small, sumptuously furnished anteroom, while he went to summon
Hakon.
A few minutes later Hakon stepped into the room. He wore a long, loose
garment which he had thrown over his sleeping clothes. His face was
pitifully haggard. He seemed to have aged terribly since they had seen
him last. A faint, sad smile softened his features as his eyes fell upon
them.
“Ah, my young friends, I am glad to see you safely back and out of the
enemy’s clutches. First, I want to thank you with my whole heart for the
timely aid of the _Sphere_, which really turned the tide of the battle
in our favor at a most critical time. Now I am grieved to hear that,
through no fault of yours, it has fallen into the hands of the enemy.
But, I, too, have a sorrow. My beloved daughter has been tricked into
captivity.”
“A captive!” gasped Robert, clutching at his heart. His Zola a prisoner
of that ogre, Kharnov!
“Here is an ultimatum just received from the beast,” resumed Hakon,
dully, handing Robert a folded document.
Robert unfolded the paper.
“Your daughter will come to no harm provided you capitulate by noon
tomorrow,” it read in effect.
“The dog!” cried Robert. “How did he contrive to get her into his
possession?”
“This was found in her room,” said Hakon, handing him a small crumpled
piece of paper.
To his surprize it had his name at the bottom, although it was written
in Martian. Zola did not understand his own tongue. On the paper was
written: “I am a prisoner. Unless you come to intercede for me with the
emperor, I shall be put to death at dawn. Robert.”
Surely love is blind! Else she would have known that he could not have
written such a wantonly selfish plea.
“This is a false message, of course,” said Robert, wondering whether
Hakon believed him the author of such a note.
“I know it, my boy.”
“We must strike quickly,” said Robert. “Let me lead an attack at once.
Nothing short of a complete routing of their entire army will satisfy
me.”
Hakon smiled at his fierce enthusiasm.
“Even now an attack on a tremendous scale is organized,” he said. “It
will take place just before dawn at a signal to be given all divisions
simultaneously. You may direct the center.”
“Say, where do I come in?” broke in Taggert.
“Come along with me, old man. We’ll scrap together.”
“Fair enough. We’ll knock his Nib’s royal block off.”
Sleep that night was out of the question. As dawn approached, Robert
absorbed the details of the gigantic offensive at a conference with
several of the leaders. Everyone was on the alert. The governor’s
daughter was a great favorite and greatly admired for her character and
beauty. Every man knew of her danger and, with such an incentive to
success they would be all but invincible.
When finally the signal for the general advance came over the wires, ths
big army started forward in three giant columns, cautiously at first
until their attack should have been observed. The absence of
aircraft--because of the thin Martian atmosphere which made them
impracticable--made it possible for them to make considerable progress
before the enemy was aware of their supposed victims’ offensive.
It was agreed that upon the discovery of the advance of any column, that
column would at once fire a rocket as the signal for a general rush upon
the enemy from all points.
* * * * *
Robert’s column had advanced unobserved well over half-way to the
enemy’s lines. Suddenly a rocket flashed heavenward from the right
column. His men needed not Robert’s shouted command as they dashed madly
after him toward the startled enemy less than a mile ahead.
With the rapid pace made possible on Mars by the weak gravity, they
covered the intervening distance in about two minutes.
The dull drumming of the enemy’s awakened fire was punctuated by
occasional thuds near by as their bullets found marks in the onrushing
column.
The Svergadians met a brief check as they encountered the outpost. Then
onward they swept like a great wave upon the dismayed besiegers.
The growing flush in the east bathed the battlefield in pale rose,
touched here and there with purple dusk. Overhead the fading stars
twinkled faintly as if shrinking from this scene of wicked strife.
In spite of their surprize the enemy rallied to a stiff defense. They
had the advantage of greatly superior numbers, and knew it. And Robert’s
column had charged directly into the main body of their forces.
The morale of few armies, however, could have withstood the fanaticism
with which the Svergadians charged that morning. Their long, slender
bayonets flashed viciously as they plunged forward fearlessly again and
again. Every man was fighting to avenge his princess, whom the leader of
these men had abducted. The enemy was dismayed. They were given no time
to rally. Surely these were fiends who attacked them with no care for
their own lives! Dismay became consternation--rout!
In vain did the enemy’s officers struggle to stem the mad retreat. The
front ranks turned in panic from the vicious line of steel, and
stampeded over the troops supporting them.
Side by side fought Robert and Taggert. Long since, they had emptied
their automatics. Armed with bayonet guns picked up from fallen
Martians, they charged blindly with the rest. That they both continued
unwounded in the foremost ranks was a miracle.
But the goddess of chance is a capricious deity. She selected a moment
of comparative safety to strike. It came as Robert and Taggert were
vigorously following up the rout.
“Keep them on the run, men,” shouted Robert, turning and setting the
example.
As he sprang forward, a thud at his right caused him to turn sharply. He
was just in time to catch Taggert as he swayed and pitched forward!
“Where is it, Tag, old man?” he sobbed.
A crooked smile struggled to the reporter’s livid lips. He fumbled at
the right side of his breast. A fleck of bright-colored foam showed on
his lips as they moved feebly. Robert stooped close to listen.
“Running like--hell, ain’t they--Bob?”
“Like hell,” Robert assured him, choking.
Feverishly he ripped open Taggert’s shirt to reach the wound, but the
latter restrained him with his last remnant of strength.
“No use, Bob. I’m--done. Please listen--closer. That’s better. Take
papers--inside coat pocket--send them--_The Chronicle_--if you get back.
Let money go--to Mother. Picture here. Tell her--and Sarah--good-bye.”
His body went limp. The last word was barely audible. His gallant spirit
had flown.
Robert let Taggert’s body down reverently. Poor, happy-go-lucky fellow!
Three weeks ago he had been a stranger, a stowaway, an outsider prying
into their affairs. Now he seemed like a lifelong acquaintance--a
brother!
The swift tide of battle had swept on ahead. Near by a large, officers’
tent reared high its peak. Strangely it had survived the fierce
struggle, which, but a few minutes before, had raged round it. To this
tent Robert carried Taggert’s body, and placed it softly upon a cot
inside. Choking back a lump in his throat, he drew a cover up over the
cot and turned away. A bright blue sash caught his eye--one of the rare,
brilliant-hued bits of apparel which only the most well-to-do Martians
can afford because of the scarcity of minerals for dyes. This he tied
conspicuously on the outside of the tent to identify it.
With these precautions for later recovery of Taggert’s body, Robert
dashed on after the receding line of battle. So hot was the chase and so
overwhelming the enemy’s rout, that he had difficulty in gaining the
front again.
Once more in the front rank he fought furiously, for to his original
grievance was now added that of the death of a pal. The resistance of
the enemy’s center was completely broken. Its officers no longer had any
control over it. Whole companies surrendered rather than be slaughtered.
Suddenly, however, the headlong retreat of the enemy was checked. Those
in the rear still scattered in consternation, or abjectly surrendered,
but ahead there was a confusion and congestion--some obstacle against
which the retreat floundered, swirled--and finally rallied.
* * * * *
Once more Robert found himself in the thick of the fray. Somehow,
unaccountably, the enemy’s retreat had been halted. Those in contact
with what had been the rear of the retreat, were now actually on the
aggressive, fighting like rats, with their backs to a wall.
Goaded by the thought of Zola’s danger, Robert fought furiously. His gun
he had discarded in lieu of a saber, which he now wielded with terrible
destruction. His strength, superior to that of the slightly
smaller-statured Martians, was augmented by his passion to destroy, to
kill, until he should reach the very heart of this resistance which was
keeping him from _her_. His very fierceness was a protection, his
whirlwind attack striking terror into the hearts of the opposing
Martians near him. His followers, too, inspired by his example, fought
with great vigor. Like the head of a wedge they hewed their way steadily
into the enemy’s ranks.
Once more their opponents were routed. Like chaff they were swept back,
leaving but the core of their temporary resistance--a small knot of
picked men round whom they rallied briefly though bravely.
Against this group Robert charged with his followers.
A terrific struggle ensued. By their uniforms Robert knew the stubborn
group to be the emperor’s picked guardsmen. His heart leaped with fierce
exultation as he realized that he was probably about to face the crafty,
deceitful ruler.
It was at this juncture that Kharnov himself appeared suddenly from out
a sumptuous tent!
In a belated effort he attempted to rally his remaining guards in a
futile counter attack. By an almost superhuman effort Robert fought his
way through the ring of defenders to the false emperor. A blaze of
intense hatred leaped into the latter’s eyes as he recognized his former
captive. Eagerly he sprang forward to meet him.
Because of his unusual stature among his own people, Kharnov was an
equal match for Robert. In skill, with the saber, he was Robert’s
superior. Both men were fired by an intense passion, but Robert’s wrath
had the advantage of a righteous cause.
Warily they circled each other, the tempered blades clashing as they
parried each other’s vicious thrusts. In their furious aggressiveness,
both men were quickly wounded, though lightly, several times. Their
shuffling feet thrashed the loose sand into spume as they circled each
other swiftly. Their breath whistled hoarsely in their throats as they
lurched back and forth, each eager to cut the other down.
As their first fierce vigor became dulled somewhat by their terrific
exertions, both men settled down to deliberate, crafty fighting, each
keenly watching for an opening which might prove fatal to the other.
Robert was handicapped by his unfamiliarity with the saber. Fortunately
he was a skilled fencer. Only his skill with the foils enabled him to
parry the slashing attacks of his opponent.
His eluding of Kharnov’s furious attacks only enraged the latter the
more. He was overtaxing his endurance. It began to dawn upon Robert
that, if he could successfully withstand Kharnov’s attacks a little
longer, he would soon have a big advantage over the berserk ruler.
His opportunity came unexpectedly. Missing his footing, he all but lost
his balance. Quick to take advantage of his misfortune, Kharnov launched
a terrific blow at him. Had it struck home it must surely have rent
Robert in twain! Fortunately, however, it missed him--but narrowly. The
tip of the razorlike blade whined through the air but a fraction of an
inch from Robert’s throat.
The delivery of this terrific swing momentarily unbalanced Kharnov.
Recovering at this moment, Robert lunged swiftly. Precipitated upon the
blade partly by the unchecked force of his wild swing, Kharnov was
mortally wounded, the broad blade piercing his breast deeply. With a
dreadful oath he dropped to the sand.
Robert quickly knelt at the emperor’s side to render assistance. But it
was clear to him at the first glance that the unfortunate man was done.
With a supreme effort Kharnov raised himself upon his elbow. His lips
twitched as he tried to speak. Then suddenly he slumped back lifeless
upon the sand.
Having convinced himself that the hapless man was beyond need of aid,
Robert looked to his own wounds. The battle line had swept far ahead
during their private struggle. He found himself unmolested and unaided.
His cheek was bleeding profusely, but the wound proved to be
superficial. The cloth of his coat, too, was wet from a wound in his arm
which pained him cruelly. An attempt to remove this garment resulted in
a twinge of pain almost unbearable. He swayed faintly, gritting his
teeth in an effort to retain his senses.
Once more he tried to take off his coat. His head swam. Then everything
went black before his eyes.
22
How long he lay unconscious Robert could not know. When he opened his
eyes again, the din of battle had ceased.
He found himself extremely weak, and it was with difficulty that he got
to his feet. For several minutes he swayed uncertainly, his knees all
but refusing to hold him up. The rare Martian atmosphere seemed like a
vacuum. His senses reeled drunkenly.
An ornamented flask, hung at his late adversary’s belt, caught his eye.
Uncertainly he stooped and unfastened it. His parched throat seemed
afire as he twisted at the flask’s cap with clumsy fingers. As the cap
dropped to the sand, he raised the neck to his hot lips and drank.
The fluid in the flask all but choked him as he gulped it down. He
recognized it as _gao_, a vicious wine distilled from the peculiar
sea-weed growth of the marshy regions. Yet the craving to drink was so
strong that he absorbed a generous portion of it before putting down the
flask.
So potent was the wine that he instantly felt invigorated. His nausea
was gone. He seemed to have taken a new lease upon life.
Discovering that his arm was bleeding profusely, he once more attempted
the removal of his coat, this time with success. He ripped his left
shirt sleeve to the shoulder. There was a deep gash above his elbow.
Deftly he twisted a torn strip of the sleeve below the wound, thereby
checking the flow, and bandaged the cut as well as he could. This done,
he looked about him curiously.
He was apparently alone upon the battlefield, over which a deathlike
quiet, now prevailed. Here and there a tent stood, while the rest were
collapsed upon the ground where they had been knocked down during the
fierce hand-to-hand struggle that had surged round them. So precipitate
had been the retreat of the late emperor’s army that it had not had time
to strike its tents in the rear before being swept far back of its
original position.
Out on the tent-dotted plain ahead of him Robert suddenly observed
another living being. This person, who was perhaps a quarter of a mile
distant, was progressing in his direction by a series of curious dashes
from one standing tent to another. The sun shone in Robert’s eyes,
making it difficult for him to see plainly.
As he squinted painfully, he made out a second figure, beyond the first,
seemingly in pursuit and gaining. Determined upon solving this latest
riddle, Robert tottered off to intercept the fugitive. His strength
seemed to return to him with the use of his legs, for his knees soon
steadied.
As they neared each other the fugitive flitted suddenly behind a tent
and remained there. Evidently Robert’s presence had been discovered and
had startled him. The pursuer came on swiftly, running directly toward
the point where his quarry had hidden. He brandished some object
resembling a long whip. From time to time he shouted something
unintelligible, which Robert could hear but faintly.
His curiosity now thoroughly aroused, Robert himself moved behind a
near-by tent in order that he might observe without being observed.
The pursuer came on quickly, but finally stopped as if confused by his
quarry’s disappearance. It was plain that he did not know which tent the
other had taken refuge behind.
At this moment Robert saw the fugitive dart out into the open again and
make directly toward the tent behind which he himself stood.
Simultaneously he heard a shout from the other, who in another moment
appeared in pursuit. It was at this juncture that Robert suddenly
perceived that the fugitive was a woman!
Before he could think further the fugitive dashed round another tent and
past his. She halted uncertainly, then, unaware of his presence, darted
quickly to his side. Her hand, as she flattened herself quivering
against the wall of the tent, touched his. Quick as a flash she wheeled
upon him.
Even as her involuntary cry of fear rang out, she recognized him. It was
Zola!
The next instant her pursuer panted round the tent’s edge, his evil face
distorted with passion.
“You devil,” he hissed, raising a murderous-looking whip to strike her.
His hand dropped abruptly as he espied Robert.
Before the Martian could recover from his astonishment, Robert swung at
his jaw with every ounce of his remaining strength. His fist landed with
crushing force, driving the Martian’s suddenly inert body before it like
that of a stuffed dummy. Several yards away it plowed through the sand
and lay still. Weeping softly, Zola crept into his arms.
“Oh, my Ro-bert,” she faltered, “I thought--I should--never--see you
again.”
As for Robert, he could but hold her hungrily to him.
“You will never--never--let them keep me--from you again?”
“Never, dearest!”
She sighed contentedly. Her arms crept round his neck. She raised her
face to his. Her soft, tremulous lips met his tenderly. Then she caught
sight of the reddening bandage upon his arm. Instantly all her mothering
instinct was alive. She wriggled free from his embrace like a sinuous
kitten.
“You have been wounded!”
Robert chuckled.
“But not nearly so badly as our friend, the late emperor,” he said.
“He is----?”
“Dead. He had the misfortune to stop the sharp end of my blade during
the skirmish between us.”
He said nothing of poor Taggert’s death. She would be sadly grieved over
the jolly little reporter’s brave finish. Time enough when she
questioned him, or noticed Taggert’s continued absence.
“You fought him for me, my brave! Ah, I should have died had you
fallen!”
He took her in his arms again, while only the sun looked on.
“It was well that he died!” she broke out fiercely, without warning. “He
lured me from out of our lines with a forged message which I thought you
had written, Ro-bert. I was bound, taken to his tent, and a guard set
over me. He made love to me, and laughed when I slapped his face. Then
he left, but said he would soon tame me. When the battle turned against
him, and his army was finally put to rout, his two guards set upon me.
One, I stabbed to death, but _this_” (pointing to the Martian in the
sand) “wrested the blade from me. I fled and he pursued me here.”
She shuddered, but went on with her self-appointed task of improving
upon Robert’s indifferent bandaging.
“Little dove,” said Robert, irrelevantly--and was fittingly rewarded.
Hand in hand they turned toward the city. Before them lay several miles
of sand, much of which was strewn with the bodies of those unfortunates
who had fallen in battle. Wearily they picked their way, sadness in
their hearts over the thought of the many brave hearts stilled, but,
withal, a feeling of wonderful peace in having found each other safe.
* * * * *