"_You_ won't blame us," he almost squeaked. "Who asked you? Damn it, haven't we consciences of our own? Are we quitters, yellow-bellied Mercutians to quit a pal? Are we, Grim Morgan? Speak, you big ox." He wheeled abruptly and shook a small fist high in the air. It barely reached under Grim's nose. The big man looked down at the little gamecock unsmilingly. "No, Wat Tyler, we are not," he said gravely. Wat turned to Hilary triumphantly. "There, you see," he crowed, "we stick together. We'll lick those Mercutian monsters; we'll sweep them into the ocean, into space. And what's more, we'll rescue your girl too." He stopped to catch his breath. Grim was nodding slowly. He had not the little man's exuberance. _His_ girl could not be rescued any more, but he could remember. Hilary's frozen heart warmed into life again. With loyal comrades such as these, even the impossible might be accomplished. Very quietly, without heroics, the three men shook hands. Nothing more, yet they knew that they were bound indissolubly together, as long as there was a gasp of breath in any of them. * * * * * Hilary's brain functioned with racing smoothness. In minutes the Mercutians would be back. "We must find a secure hiding place at once," he said. "Know of any?" Grim shook his head negatively. "There is none," he spoke slowly. "Their search beams penetrate everything." "Except lead," Hilary interposed. "Except lead," he conceded. "Very well then. We shall have to find a place we can line with lead. In the meantime. I have my space flier up in the Ramapos. If it hasn't been discovered yet, it will be essential to our task. We'll have to get there quickly." "How?" Wat asked, "By the conveyors, of course." "No good," the little man declared. "Mercutian guards will be patrolling them. You have no identification tag. You would be caught." Hilary considered that. "Suppose you two go on along," he suggested. "Find it and wait for me. I'll manage somehow." "No," they answered unanimously; "we go together or not at all." Hilary did not try to argue. He would have replied himself in exactly the same terms. He looked longingly at the abandoned flier of the gray-faced Mercutian, lying cold and still within the house. "If only we could operate the ship," he said. Then, characteristically, he dismissed the vain longing and bent to the business in hand. "That means we'll have to make it on foot, and keep under cover all the way. Come on." As the three men moved rapidly over the great lawn toward the nearest covert, a little wood a quarter of a mile away, the horizon that was Great New York showed silhouetted against the westering sun numerous little black dots. The Mercutians were coming. CHAPTER V _Outlaws of Earth_