They reached the bottom of the valley and gently grounded upon tufted grass. As they did so, the captives glanced about and saw that they were surrounded by a number of rough-looking men, who had evidently been awaiting the landing. They also saw with some astonishment that in the forward rank stood a young woman, jauntily attired in a natty hunting costume. A short skirt of some dark material fell over a pair of high-laced russet shoes and a pert red feather peeped forth from the saucy little hat which covered her short black curls. As she stood watching the captives, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her black eyes sparkling, she presented a remarkably pretty picture of a brunette of the slender, sinuous type. There were hurried exclamations, greetings and questions--addressed by the men on the ground to the men in the arriving air-ships. The answers seemed to cause considerable perturbation and excitement. At a word of command two men stepped forward and seized Captain Mortimer roughly by the shoulders. In an instant he had shaken them off, and with two smashing blows sent them sprawling to the ground. “I surrender,” he said; “not to you, you scum; to the lady!” And he raised his hand in military salute. One of the men struck lay on the ground, apparently stunned, but the other sprang to his feet with an oath. His hand flew to the back of his belt and out flashed a long, ugly-looking knife. Mortimer sprang lightly over the quarter, set his back against the side of the air-ship and drew his sword. A murmur--half-angry, half-excited--went up from the surrounding groups of men. At the prospect of a fight their curiosity and interest were whetted. The man with the knife crouched as if seeking an opportunity to spring in and attack, while Mortimer stood coolly on the defensive, a half smile upon his face, as he watched the man’s awkward points. At this juncture the girl turned and hastily whispered to a tall, rawboned man who had just climbed out of one of the capturing air-ships. He instantly broke through the ranks and came forward. “Back, Jackson,” he cried to the man with the knife; “quit now!” “He hit me,” replied the man, with a savage growl, “and I’m going to rip him up. Out o’ the way, Cap’n.” “It looks as if two could play at that game,” replied the man addressed as Captain, with a grin. “Back, I say. This man is a prisoner and goes before the Colonel.” With some hesitancy the man sheathed his knife and slunk back among his fellows. “Follow me!” said the Captain to Mortimer; “and you, too,” he added, nodding to the Professor. The latter clambered over the side of the air-ship. “I’m ready,” he said. “But I don’t know whether I am,” cried Mortimer, still standing sword in hand. “Who are you? A military organization, or a band of outlaws? I hear you speak of captains and colonels! And by what authority do you talk of prisoners?”