ing inside the barrack room. Meanwhile, during the feeding and rest periods, see if you can locate Miss Andersen. She's a very beautiful blonde, with honey colored hair, blue eyes and a fair complexion."
"A very rare combination nowadays," was Albert's comment. "She ought to be easy to find."
"A. Z. When you find her, try to tell her about the impending revolt. Give her one of your needle guns and tell her to use it if necessary and to meet us at the west entrance of this building. Be there yourself of course. During the fighting and the resulting confusion it ought to be easy for us to make our way to our space ship and merrily start on our journey back to Ganymede. Do you intergrate with me?"
"I check," Hawkins wrung his comrade's hand and grinned: "Guess I'd better crawl back in my luxurious couch. Good hunting, Jimmy Boy!"
CHAPTER VII
Mayer's Rash Attack
THOUGH he searched with frantic haste, Mayer was not able to inspect more than one-tenth of the sleeping slaves before the raucous note of the workhorn forced him to hurry back to the corner where Sullivan had already buried himself beneath a heap of evil smelling straw. Dan lost no time in doing likewise.
From the sounds which filtered through the bedding, the two space marines inferred that the slaves were bestirring themselves and filing out of the barrack room. They could hear the muffled shouts of the Martian slave-drivers, accompanied by the cracking of their cruel whips which, even through the thick, mud walls of the building, sounded like rifle shots.
Presently the noise became louder, indicating that two or more of the slave-drivers had entered the barrack room. Closer and closer came their coarse laughter and ribald shouts. Though Dan did not understand a word of Martian, he sensed correctly that their conversation consisted principally of profanity and obscenity.
"What are they saying?" He whispered into the ear of Sullivan, who was lying beside him.
"They're counting the corpses." Sullivan replied softly. "Apparently they have placed bets on the number of slaves who will be dumped into the grave-canyon this morning. So far the score is seven to nothing."
Just then a whip cracked spitefully. It was followed by a pitiful scream. A woman's voice, speaking in the Earth language, began to whimper: "Please leave me alone. I'm ill, I tell you—so ill that I can't even stand on my feet. Please don't force me to work in those horrible stables today. I'd do it if I could—but I'm so weak and so sick that I just can't do it."
The only answer was another crack of the whip, followed by a vile Martian oath.
Mayer, his voice trembling with emotion, whispered, "That sounded like Ingeborg's voice." Oblivious of the risk he was taking, he sat up. Fortunately the pile of straw above him still concealed his head and the room was so dimly lighted that the movement was not noticed by the guards.
Catching one of his wrists, Sullivan cautioned: "Steady, Dan. One false move now may spoil everything."
But Mayer gave no heed to the warning.
