For agonizing instants it was a nip-and-tuck race. Then as he felt his wheels lift, he pulled hard back on his stick, and swept up and away from the deadly claws that clutched after him in vain. Climbing swiftly, Jim banked once, swept back, put the bead full on that scattering half-circle of fiery termites, and pressed the trigger of his automatic camera. "There, babies!" he laughed grimly. "You're in the Rogues' Gallery now!" Then, swinging off to the northeast, he continued to climb, giving that weird ant-hill a wide berth. Funny, about those things losing their wings, he was thinking now. Would they grow them again, or were they on the ground for good? And what was their game out there in the desert, anyway? Questions Jim couldn't answer, of course. Only time would tell. Meanwhile, he had some pictures that would make the Old Man sit up and take notice, not to mention the War Department. "They'd better get the Army on the job before those babies get air-minded again!" he told himself, as he winged on into the rising sun. "Otherwise the show they've already staged may be only a little curtain-raiser." * * * * * Jim's arrival in the city room of _The New York Press_ that afternoon was a triumphant one, for he had radio-phoned the story ahead and extras were out all over the metropolitan area, with relays flashing from the front pages of papers everywhere. No sooner had he turned over his precious pictures to the photographic department for development than Overton rushed him to a microphone, and made him repeat his experience for the television screen. But the city editor's enthusiasm died when the negatives came out of the developer. "There are your pictures!" he said, handing over a bunch of them. Carter looked at them in dismay. They were all blank--just so much plain black celluloid. "Over-exposed!" rasped Overton. "A hell of a photographer you are!" "I sure am!" Jim agreed, still gazing ruefully at the ruined negatives. "Funny, though. The camera was checked before I started. I had the range before I pulled the trigger, every shot." He paused, then added, as though reluctant to excuse himself: "It must have been the heat." "Yeah. I suppose so! Well, that was damn expensive heat for you, my lad. It cost you ten thousand bucks." "Yes, but--" Jim had been going to say it had nearly cost him his life but thought better of it. Besides, an idea had come. "Give me those negatives!" he said, "I'm going to find out what's wrong with 'em." And since they were of no use to Overton, he gave them to Jim. * * * * * That night again, Jim Carter presented himself at the Wentworth home in Hartford, and again it was Joan who admitted him. "Oh, Jimmy!" she murmured, as he took her in his arms. "We're all so proud of you!" "I'm glad someone is," he said. "But what a fearful risk you ran! If you hadn't been able to get your motor started--"