George mounted Atal. It was almost like mounting a horse; and yet not like a horse either, for the dog's huge body under him was springy, supple. As it moved toward the doorway, George was reminded of the lithe grace and strength of a tiger. He missed the reins, and in lieu of them, twisted up two handfuls of hair on the dog's neck and clung. Dee was ahead of him. "All right, George?" "Right," he said confidently. "But we might as well take it slow for a minute or two." They moved silently through the garden. George leaned forward and down to the dog's face. "Nice dog, Atal. You go slow till I tell you different." In the street, Dee was drawing away, and Atal broke into a run. George clung desperately. But it was unnecessary. The dog's strides were even and long; its padded paws made no sound as they hit the ground; its legs, all its muscles, seemed to give to the shock and absorb it. They were running faster now; the dog's body seemed to settle closer to the ground. The wind whistled by George's ears, but he felt curiously secure. There was no question of the dog stumbling, falling; and its gait, now at a steady run, was far easier to ride than any horse he had ever mounted. Dee was still ahead; the ends of the ribbon band about her head fluttered out behind her. The white road was a blur; the houses and gardens of the city were flying past. An exhilaration--a feeling of triumph and power--came over George. He was perfectly at home on the dog's back now. This little Dee was a daredevil, as Loto had said. Well, that was the sort of girl he liked. They'll overtake Toroh, kill him with a flash from the thunderbolt globes and rescue Azeela. George leaned forward over the dog's neck. "We might as well catch up with Dee," he said into the silky ear. "Faster, Atal!" At once the dog increased its pace, overtaking its mate. Side by side, they swept through the city. To George the ride soon became a blur: a white moonlit road passing under him, palm trees flashing by, occasional houses, thatched shacks; the wind whistling past his ears, and that lithe, powerful body beneath him, with its rippling muscles. Dee rode gracefully and easily, leaning slightly forward into the rush of air. Often she would draw ahead, but a whispered word from George to the brute beneath him, and again the dogs were running side by side. Presently Dee stopped them; the dogs stood panting, with tongues lolling out. "What is it?" George demanded. "Where are we?" The girl's face was drawn with anxiety. "Azeela had been trying to find out from Toroh why he takes her to Orleen." "Yes?" he prompted. "And I wondered--" "Toroh has told her now. Loto's old plane is there. He wants the plane!" "Oh!" George's heart sank with dismay. "But the plane is in the Orleen Cavern. How can they get to it? Isn't the cavern guarded?" "Yes. Wait. Toroh says he can get it. He has a spy there--a man whom we trust. One of the guards." "Good grief! Dee, where are they now?"