There were just the three of us at the meal. The interior of this hundred-foot aero was capacious, but there seemed only a few people on board. Turber once made reference to the fact that upon this, his last passing, we had many people to gather. But what few I now saw made a motley crew indeed! There were several men, brown, white, hairy of body, clothed in crude animal skins; heads which showed retreating foreheads upon which the tangled, matted hair grew low; dangling, gorilla-like arms. Men from some primitive age, snatched up by Turber. They seemed stupidly docile; animal-like. * * * * * There was a fellow who seemed the opposite extreme. Turber called him Jonas. A man of about thirty, small and slender, with a long white robe, a golden-tasseled sash, and a gold band about his forehead. His wavy brown hair was long to the base of his neck. His skin was pale white. His features delicately molded; his nose thin, high-bridged; his mouth loose-lipped. He was obsequious with Turber. He suggested Lea and San a trifle. I surmised that he might belong to their Time-world. The giant Indian, he of the flat, broken nose, was operating the controls of the aero. Turber called him Bluntnose. He was, I learned later, a Mohican Indian of New York State. Motley crew! And there was one woman. Turber addressed her as Josefa. She served us the meal. She wore a waist and a gaudy skirt with a vivid sash. Her thick black hair fell on her shoulders. Her face had a barbaric beauty with a mixture of races stamped upon it. She spoke English, with occasional Spanish words intermingled. She served us with what seemed a defiant sullenness. It contrasted with Turber's good humor. He reached for the woman once as she passed him--reached for her with a coarse caress. But she drew away; and his grin at me was a leer of amusement. This pantomime--which Nanette did not see--was to be plain enough. And a moment later, as I chanced to look around, I saw the woman standing watching us; staring at Nanette and Turber. And there was upon her face a blazing intensity of hate. She stood tense, hands upon her hips. Her fingers were writhing; and in the folds of her sash I saw protruding the handle of a dagger. CHAPTER X PLANNING THE ESCAPE We finished the meal. Turber rose. "Come into the control room. We can see better from there." There was only Bluntnose in the control room. He sat at his instruments and dials. His face was inscrutable as he looked up and saw Nanette and me. "We will sit here," said Turber. "Here, Nanette--by me." He pushed me away with silent vehemence. I sat down by a window. The door to the corridor which ran the length of the aero was behind me. I saw the woman Josefa out there; she was staring after us, but in a moment she moved away. Turber spoke to his Indian. "You have been pausing, Bluntnose?"