He gripped the ray gun tighter. The strange white blanket touched his skin now--seemed to press against him with a great weight. He raised the gun grimly, then a picture flashed into his mind. One of the bodies that had come out of the desert had been shown him. The dead fingers still gripped a ray gun. They had crushed against the trigger for a long time--until the badly overheated weapon had at last burned out, charring the unfeeling hand that had held it. But the power that had brought oblivion had stood up against the ray. With a grim smile, Barry replaced his weapon. The blanket was tight around him now. He could see nothing. His limbs grew numb under overpowering lethargy. His lungs labored, sucking in the mist. Consciousness wavered. He reeled, stiffly. His muscles hardened, his braced feet sinking deep into the sand. Before his glazing eyes, a strange picture formed in the mist. A beautiful Martian maiden, tall, slim, majestic--veiled in silver mesh. On her lovely features was a look of stern judgment. * * * * * Was it fancy, or did the chanting of voices ring in his ears, muffled weirdly by the shroud about him? "Day--ees--a--nocta----Day--ees--a--nocta." [Illustration: _Williams waited, seeing her come through the mists._] The picture, the sounds faded. At last his knees sagged. He pitched face downward into the red sand. For what seemed a long time, Barry Williams floated in darkness. Then, to a tiny corner of his mind, consciousness returned. He fought to retain it. The mist, he realized dimly, did not harm the body--it paralyzed. While he could think, the battle was not lost. He called upon the deep reserves of his mind. Suddenly he was aware of sand digging painfully into the skin of his face--the first physical sensation he'd know since he slumped forward into oblivion. Hands tugged at his body, and the sting of the sand was gone from his nostrils. He had been rolled over onto his back. Wild hope surged through Barry. He struggled against the leaden weight on his eyelids--without success. His muscles did not respond. He tried to move an arm--a leg--a finger. It was no use. Slowly, he realized what had happened. Some power ruled his mind--had overcome it while he was unconscious. For some reason, he had been _allowed_ to regain a very limited consciousness--just so much and no more! Perhaps he would learn the answer to this mystery. Why had the white mist not destroyed him? A murmur of voices beat against his ears. He'd been given back his hearing! The voices were low, soft. They spoke in a language foreign to him--Martian he guessed. Words faded away. There was a moment's silence, then the chant he had heard before. Above Barry, a voice spoke to him in inter-planetary Esperanto: "Son of Earth, you are not as the other Earthmen who come here to rob this unhappy planet, and slay its children."