Gallando fought with an ax. He was a large man and powerful. Watching his chance, he leaped to one side, just as Minos stumbled over the body of one of the slain men. For only an instant the broad blade faltered, and gave the smith opportunity. He swung his ax with both hands and brought it down on the winged helm of the king. Minos saw the smiting danger and stooped low to avoid the stroke. It fell on the helmet with the clang of an anvil blow. Down to his knees sank the king, his senses swaying. Had the stroke of the smith's ax been one jot more direct, his opponent had not risen again; but it lacked that jot. The rounded helm turned the flow aside. The ax crashed from it to the ground, and was buried to the haft. Recovering his balance, the smith poised himself for another stroke. Minos, his head still swimming, raised his sword as if to parry, then cast it from him suddenly, lunged forward and gripped Gallando about the knees. He put forth his strength in a mighty tug, causing the smith to let fall the ax. Before ever a man could move to his rescue, Gallando found the arms of the king clipped about his waist. Never but once in his life had a man bested Minos at the wrestling game. Now, fighting for his life, he crushed the burly smith to him. Twice he contracted the muscles of his great arms. The veins of his forehead stood out with the strain, and his helm fell from his head. Once more he exerted all the strength of his body, bending forward to bring his weight to bear. Something snapped like a breaking stick. Gallando's head fell back and his body went limp in the arms of Minos. His back was broken. With Gallando dead and Karnaon out of the battle, the Sardanians lacked a leader with sufficient heart to take up the tale. They stood for a moment with staring eyes as the corpse of the smith rolled at their feet. Then they gave way and ran. Catching his helmet and sword from the ground, Minos hastened on toward the cave. On the hillside above the palace he stopped, cupped his hands and shouted, "Alternes!"' A faint hail from below told that the lad had heard the call. "Loose the beasts," cried the king, "and then seek safety." He waited a few moments, and then sent down through the dusk a long, shrill whistle. A full-throated chorus was his answer. Before he reached the mouth of the cave, Pallas and her six gray children had shot up the hill and were leaping about their master. * * * * * Basin after basin, channel on channel, the roaring lyddite tore in the ice jam at the lower end of Ross Sea. Untiringly the miners of Captain Scoland plied their drills. The steel-clad _Minnetonka_, ever restless as a prisoner pacing his narrow cell, churned and smashed about in each new harbor which the blasters formed for her, thus preventing the ice forming again into a solid mass, and holding her fast. Always alert, she dashed through each new passageway.