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light off. I couldn't see anything when we got down close."



He waved his hand toward the wrecked plane.



"It's done for," he added; "but I'm not hurt much. Are you?"



"No," I said. "I'm all right."



I climbed to my feet unsteadily; my head seemed about to split open.



"Garland's burning," he added.



Over the desert, some two or three miles away, the burning town could be

seen plainly.



"What are we going to do?" Mercer asked after a moment.



I was pretty weak and badly bruised all over. Mercer seemed to have fared

better than I. We talked over our situation at length. Finally we decided

to rest where we were until daybreak. I would feel better then, and we

could start back on foot for Mantua and Frannie.



I lay down again--my head was going round like a top--and Mercer sat

beside me. It was pretty cold, but we were warmly dressed and not

uncomfortable. The fact that we were so close to the Mercutians--not much

over seven or eight miles--worried us a little. But we reasoned that we

were in no great danger. We could still see their light-ray standing

vertically in the air.



Occasionally it would swing slowly to one side or the other. Once it swung

toward us, but as its base was in a hollow, it was cut off by the higher

ground between as it swung down, and we knew it could not reach us from

that position.



After a while I fell asleep. When Mercer woke me up it was dawn.



"Let's get started," he said. "I'm hungry as the devil."



I felt much better now. I was hungry myself, and stiff, and chilled.



"You'll feel better walking," he added. "Come on. It'll take us a deuce of

a while over this sand."



We decided to strike for the railroad at its closest point to us. The

State automobile road to Cody ran along near the railroad, and we planned

to follow that up to Mantua.



After a last look at our plane, which was hopelessly demolished, we

started off, heading north of Garland. We had been walking along a few

minutes when Mercer suddenly gripped me by the arm. I followed the

direction of his glance. Another rocket was rising from the Mercutian

base. It was still dark enough for us to see its flare as it rose and

curved in a long, graceful arc. We stopped stock still and stood watching.

The rocket arched over to the north. As it came down we lost sight of it.



"That went into Mantua," said Mercer in a horrified whisper.



A moment later we saw, in the direction of Mantua, that brief, silent,

smokeless red and green flash. Then the sky lighted up a lurid red, and we

knew Mantua was burning.



We stood looking at each other for a time, too frightened and horrified

for words. The thing was not like modern warfare. It was uncanny in its

silent deadliness, and there seemed a surety about it that was appalling.



"We're cut off," said Mercer finally.



His face was white and his voice trembled.



We were both pretty much unnerved, but after a moment we got ourselves

together and talked calmly about what was best for us to do.



We concluded finally to go ahead to the road. We calculated we were not

over two miles from the nearest part of it. We would strike it about

halfway between Garland and Mantua, and we thought it just possible we

would find passing along it some refugees from the two towns. I couldn't

quite see how meeting them could help us any, unless we encountered some

vehicle that would give us a lift. However, the walking would be easier,

and when we got to the road we could decide which way to go--north to

Frannie, or south around Garland to Powell.



The sun was just rising when we started again. It took us nearly an hour

to reach the road. As far as we could see it was deserted. We stopped here

and held another consultation.



"It's easily twelve miles up to Frannie," I said, "and I don't believe

more than eight to Powell. Let's go that way. We can get down to Cody from

there. I guess there are still people left in Powell."



We started down the road toward Garland. It seemed the sensible thing to

do. We were both famished by now and thirsty also. I had an idea that,

since the fires in Garland were about burned out, there might be an

isolated house unharmed, where we could find food and water.



I sometimes wonder now at our temerity in venturing so calmly to face this

unknown danger. We were in the enemy's country--an enemy whose methods of

attacking us might at any moment prove a hundred times more efficacious

than they had so far. But we did not consider that then.



There was, indeed, nothing else we could have done advantageously. This

road we were on was the only one within twenty or thirty miles. To have

struck west from our wrecked plane--away from the Mercutians--would have

brought us to face a hundred miles or more of desert over to the

Yellowstone.



It was now broad daylight--and almost cloudless, as is usual in this

locality. Half an hour of walking brought us nearly to the outskirts of

Garland. There was less smoke all the time. We judged the fire must be

pretty well burned out by now. Behind us the smoke of Mantua, a much

larger town than Garland, rose in a great rolling cloud.



We were walking along, wondering what we should find ahead, when suddenly

behind Garland and off to the right we saw another huge cloud of smoke

rising.



"Powell!" ejaculated Mercer, coming to a dead stop in the road. "Good God,

they've got Powell, too!"



There was no doubt about it--the town of Powell was also in flames. We sat

down together then at the side of the road. We didn't quite know what else

to do. We were both faint. Our situation seemed every moment to be getting

worse; we appeared further from even comparative safety now than when we

left our plane at dawn.



There seemed nothing else to do now but go ahead into Garland, a distance

of only half a mile. There we might find food and water; and, thus

refreshed, we could start back north to cover the fifteen miles to

Frannie.



Garland, a few days before, was a town of about five hundred inhabitants;

but I do not suppose that, at the time of its destruction, there were more

than a score or two of people remaining in it.



We started off again, and within twenty minutes were among the smoldering

houses of the town. It consisted practically of only one street--the road

we were on--with the houses strung along it. The houses had been, most of

them, small frame structures. They were nothing now but smoldering heaps

of ashes with the chimneys left standing, like gaunt, silent sentinels. As

we passed on down the road we saw several twisted forms that we took for

the remains of human beings. It is unnecessary for me to describe them. We

hurried on, shuddering.



Our objective was the lower end of the town, for there, perhaps a quarter

of a mile off to one side with a branch road leading to it, we saw a

single house and out-buildings left standing. We turned down this road and

approached the house. It was a rather good-looking building of the

bungalow type with a wide-spreading porch. Beside it stood a long, low,

rectangular building we took to be a garage. There was an automobile

standing in the doorway, and behind it we caught the white gleam of an

airplane wing.



"We're all right now," cried Mercer. "There's a car, and there's a plane

inside. One of them ought to run."



At this unexpected good fortune we were jubilant. We could get back to

Billings now in short order.



We climbed up the porch steps and entered the house. We did not call out,

for it seemed obvious that no one would be there after what had occurred

in Garland so near by.



"There must be something to eat here," I said. "Let's find out--and then

get back to Billings."



The big living room was empty, but there was no sign of disorder. A closed

door stood near at hand.



"That might be the way to the kitchen," I suggested. "Come on."



I pushed open the door and entered, with Mercer close behind me. It was a

bedroom. The bed stood over by a window. I stopped in horror, for on the

bed, hunched forward in a sitting position, was the body of a man!



With the first sudden shock of surprise over, we stopped to note details.

The man's hand, lying on the blanket, clutched a revolver. A mirror

directly across from him was shattered as though by a bullet. A small

bedroom chair was overturned near the center of the room.



"He--he isn't burned." Mercer spoke the words hardly above a whisper.

"Something else killed him--there's been a fight. They--"



He stopped.



A sudden panic seized me. I wanted to run--to do something--anything--that

would get me away from the nameless, silent terror that seemed all about.



"Come on," I whispered back. "God! Let's get out of here."



As we got out into the living room we heard slow, dragging footsteps on

the porch outside. We stopped again, shrinking back against the wall.



"They--they--it's--" Mercer's whispered words died away. We were both

terrified beyond the power of reasoning. The dragging footsteps came

closer--a sound that had in it nothing of human tread. Then we heard soft

voices--words that were unintelligible.



"It's the Mercutians," I found voice to whisper. "They--"



A figure appeared in the porch doorway, outlined against the light

behind--the figure of a short, squat man. He seemed to have on some sort

of white, furry garment. He was bareheaded, with hair falling to his

shoulders.



At the sight of him my terror suddenly left me. Here was an enemy I could

cope with. The dread fear of supernatural beings that had possessed me

evaporated.



With a shout to Mercer I dashed forward directly at the doorway. I think

the Mercutian had not yet seen us; he stood quite still, his body blocking

the full width of the doorway.



I let fly with my fist as I came up and hit him full in the face. At the

same instant my body struck his. He toppled backward and I went through

the doorway. I tripped over him on the porch outside and fell sprawling.

Before I could rise three other Mercutians fell upon me and pinned me

down.



Mercer was right behind me in the doorway. I saw him pause an instant to

see what was happening. There seemed to be five Mercutians altogether. The

one I had hit lay quite still. Three others were holding me.



The fifth stood to one side, watching Mercer, but apparently inactive.



I saw Mercer hesitate. An expression of surprise came over his face. His

body swayed; he took a single step forward, half turned, and then fell in

a crumpled heap.