And Moa was gone! They had not been dead. Had dragged themselves out of here, fighting desperately for life. We would find them somewhere around here. But we did not. Nor Coniston. I recalled what Anita had said: other suits and helmets had been here in the nearby chart-room. The brigands had taken them, and food and water doubtless, and escaped from the ship, following us through the lower admission ports only a few minutes after we had gone out. * * * * * We made careful search of the entire ship. Eight of the bodies which should have been here were missing: Miko, Moa, Coniston, and five of the steward-crew. We did not find them outside. They were hiding near here, no doubt, more willing to take their chances than to yield now to us. But how, in all this Lunar desolation, could we hope to locate them? "No use," said Grantline. "Let them go. If they want death--well, they deserve it." But we were saved. Then, as I stood there, realization leaped at me. Saved? Were we not indeed fatuous fools? In all these emotion-swept moments since we had encountered Grantline, memory of that brigand ship coming from Mars had never once occurred to Snap or me! I told Grantline now. His eyes through the visor stared at me blankly. "What!" I told him again. It would be here in eight days. Fully manned and armed. "But Haljan, we have almost no weapons! All my _Comet's_ space was taken with mining equipment and the mechanisms for my camp. I can't signal Earth! I was depending on the _Planetara_!" It surged upon us. The brigand menace past? We were blindly congratulating ourselves on our safety! But it would be eight days or more before in distant Ferrok-Shahn the non-arrival of the _Planetara_ would cause any real comment. No one was searching for us--no one was worried over us. No wonder the crafty Miko was willing to take his chances out here in the Lunar wilds! His ship, his reinforcements, his weapons were coming rapidly! And we were helpless. Almost unarmed. Marooned here on the Moon with our treasure! (_To be continued._) +-------------------------------------+ | ASTOUNDING STORIES | | _Appears on Newsstands_ | | THE FIRST THURSDAY IN EACH MONTH. | +-------------------------------------+ The Soul-Snatcher _By Tom Curry_ [Illustration: _He began to twist and turn, as though torn by some invisible force._] From twenty miles away stabbed the "atom-filtering" rays to Allen Baker in his cell in the death house. The shrill voice of a woman stabbed the steady hum of the many machines in the great, semi-darkened laboratory. It was the onslaught of weak femininity against the ebony shadow of Jared, the silent negro servant of Professor Ramsey Burr. Not many people were able to get to the famous man against his wishes; Jared obeyed orders implicitly and was generally an efficient barrier.