As they neared each other the fugitive flitted suddenly behind a tent and remained there. Evidently Robert’s presence had been discovered and had startled him. The pursuer came on swiftly, running directly toward the point where his quarry had hidden. He brandished some object resembling a long whip. From time to time he shouted something unintelligible, which Robert could hear but faintly. His curiosity now thoroughly aroused, Robert himself moved behind a near-by tent in order that he might observe without being observed. The pursuer came on quickly, but finally stopped as if confused by his quarry’s disappearance. It was plain that he did not know which tent the other had taken refuge behind. At this moment Robert saw the fugitive dart out into the open again and make directly toward the tent behind which he himself stood. Simultaneously he heard a shout from the other, who in another moment appeared in pursuit. It was at this juncture that Robert suddenly perceived that the fugitive was a woman! Before he could think further the fugitive dashed round another tent and past his. She halted uncertainly, then, unaware of his presence, darted quickly to his side. Her hand, as she flattened herself quivering against the wall of the tent, touched his. Quick as a flash she wheeled upon him. Even as her involuntary cry of fear rang out, she recognized him. It was Zola! The next instant her pursuer panted round the tent’s edge, his evil face distorted with passion. “You devil,” he hissed, raising a murderous-looking whip to strike her. His hand dropped abruptly as he espied Robert. Before the Martian could recover from his astonishment, Robert swung at his jaw with every ounce of his remaining strength. His fist landed with crushing force, driving the Martian’s suddenly inert body before it like that of a stuffed dummy. Several yards away it plowed through the sand and lay still. Weeping softly, Zola crept into his arms. “Oh, my Ro-bert,” she faltered, “I thought--I should--never--see you again.” As for Robert, he could but hold her hungrily to him. “You will never--never--let them keep me--from you again?” “Never, dearest!” She sighed contentedly. Her arms crept round his neck. She raised her face to his. Her soft, tremulous lips met his tenderly. Then she caught sight of the reddening bandage upon his arm. Instantly all her mothering instinct was alive. She wriggled free from his embrace like a sinuous kitten. “You have been wounded!” Robert chuckled. “But not nearly so badly as our friend, the late emperor,” he said. “He is----?” “Dead. He had the misfortune to stop the sharp end of my blade during the skirmish between us.” He said nothing of poor Taggert’s death. She would be sadly grieved over the jolly little reporter’s brave finish. Time enough when she questioned him, or noticed Taggert’s continued absence. “You fought him for me, my brave! Ah, I should have died had you fallen!”