Rogers consulted Loto's notes. "He landed in this time world at twenty-eight thousand two hundred and four years. We must stop at the beginning of that year and watch for his light." Using the fourth intensity, the daylight and darkness was separated into two brief, but distinguishable periods. Thus the voyagers sped through the days and nights, the weeks and months and forward into another year. At the beginning of the fourth year, Rogers changed to the third intensity. It was daylight--a yellow-red, swiftly mounting sun; flying blurs of white clouds close overhead; a blue sea, and a bright green island. The sun plunged across the sky and sank blood red, with an instant of glorious colors suffusing the western sky. Night came, with its deep, purple mystery. Then day again. Thus the days of that fourth year went by; each hardly a minute long, but slow to the two men so anxiously watching. They were tired to the point of exhaustion, but the excitement and anxiety kept them going. "He said from the tip of the island," Rogers murmured. "A blue-white, vertical beam of light shining for a day and a night...we couldn't miss it. A minute would show it to us plainly." "I haven't taken my eyes off that island for a second," commented George from his seat on the floor. "Why doesn't he hurry up? He's down there, why doesn't he give us the signal?" Rogers did not answer. The sun dropped below the horizon. The turning world, with its motion made so visible, was dizzying to one who watched the sky. The purple night was momentarily colored with a red moon; it rose and swiftly plunged into a thick bank of clouds that swept down upon it. Abruptly, from the tip of the island, a shaft of blue-white light shot into the sky. It wavered an instant, then stood motionless: _clear_, _distinct_, _unmistakable_! CHAPTER SEVEN The proton current had been entirely cut off. The interior of the cabin was solid in appearance once more. The Frazia motors were still droning and the plane hung motionless in a night that was without wind. Below it, now, lay a scene of complete normality: the sea was rolling up on the white sand and the moon, almost at its zenith, bathed the green island in a silvery, red-tinged light. And from the tip of the island, quite near its southern branch, Loto's narrow beam of blue-white light was flashing upward into the sky. They descended, in a gentle glide. The beach was broad and firm; they landed upon it, swooping along. It was like racing an automobile along the sand in the moonlight, with the ocean on one side--far out at low tide now--and a jungle of green, tropical vegetation on the other. Rogers, at the controls, saw a number of human figures standing on the beach ahead of him. They scattered hastily, and the plane, rapidly losing velocity, went past them and stopped a hundred yards farther. "_We're here!_" George cried. "Let's get out. Was that Loto we passed? Where's the light? Are we near it?"