uneasily, thinking that he was being attacked. One of its pincers slid through the hole in the partition, ready to help him.
Another Martian wrote on a piece of paper:
"Be careful. Any word spoken in here is liable to be overheard. At least a hundred of us are with you, ready to fight to the last drop of our blood. Only show us the way."
Don wrote in answer: "Then one of you come forward, out of range of the listener."
A giant of giants came forward, an immense Martian who stood nearly a head taller than the others and whose enormous chest and massive bowed legs spoke of tremendous strength.
"I am your man," he wrote, forming the Martian words so clumsily that Don had difficulty in reading them. "Me, Vans Holors. I live by fighting. I'm wrestling champion of my country, rightful champion of all Mars."
Don looked at him. Van Holors did not look exceptionally intelligent, but he appeared to be good-natured enough. His strength was obviously terrific, and Don felt certain that his courage equalled his strength.
"Vans is your man," others were writing. "Trust Vans."
The zekolo pulled out more rivets. Presently it was possible for the Martian wrestler to push his great bulk through into the storage hold. Making a way through the tightly packed cargo was more difficult, but zekolo and Martian, working together, accomplished this also.
"What have you got to fight with?" Vans asked. "A little sword, a raybox and a zekolo. Not much between a hundred men. Is your nerve-stopping ray any good?"
He took the box from Don and fiddled with it.
"You've got it wet," he observed. "Power supply exhausted too. Same as ours went in Selketh when the monkey-men came."
"They've got a blanketing ray," Don said. "I heard them speak of it. It short-circuits every nerve-stopping deathray within miles."
"Um," said Vans. "Then the monkey-men get busy with those iron clubs of theirs. If I could recharge your box it would be all right. Wonder what's in all these cases? Some of them hold recharging apparatus, I'll bet. Zeko! Break! Open!"
The creature looked at Don, wondering if it was all right to obey the orders of the stranger.
"Break! Open!" Don repeated.
THE throbbing of the engines of the sub died down as the Martian and the zekolo opened cases. The submarine was gliding into some port. Hurriedly they worked. Many cases they opened before they found what they wanted.
One case contained dozens of ray boxes, but to their great disappointment they were not charged. At last they found charging apparatus, nearly run down. Van was working now with sweat on his brow and a gleam of triumph in his eye.
"A few more hours to get all these boxes charged, and then when the monkeys and the men in charge of them come to take us, what a shock they'll get!"
From the noises outside it seemed that the sub had stopped, and that the hold was being opened. Time was short. There were bootings and whistles and the clanging of metal. Light from outside shone down between the cases.
Van growled and put out the light he had been working by. They must not be seen too soon. Only a dozen or so
