Far in the rear the _Sphere_ shone brightly, like a beacon. Between it and himself he could see the professor’s lantern bobbing up and down as he strode along. As he continued bewilderedly to search the sands for some sign of Taggert, his eyes became better accustomed to the semi-darkness. Suddenly he descried a long dark shape lying in the sand several rods away. He approached it cautiously, only to discover what seemed to be a large log. But as he looked up another dark object ahead caught his eye. Surely that looked like the figure of a man sprawled upon the sand. Even as he looked, it moved and struggled to a sitting posture. “Hello--that you, Taggert, old fellow?” he sang out, approaching. “It’s me all right,” came Taggert’s voice, weakly. “What happened to you?” “Fell over that dashed boulder back there. About knocked the wind out of me. I must have been going about forty miles an hour,” he explained, getting to his feet with Robert’s assistance. “What are you two up to?” cried Professor Palmer, coming up with them. “Our stowaway just tried to break his neck over a log back there.” “A log?” incredulously from the now recovered reporter. “Say, this is a desert, not a jungle! That was a rock I fell over.” They walked over to the object of their discussion, and examined it in the rays of the lantern. “A petrified log,” pronounced Professor Palmer. “Well, who brought it out here?”--belligerently. “It grew here many centuries ago, my boy. This is a relic of a dead forest, of which we are probably on the edge. See, there are others scattered about over that way. I have seen the same thing out in Arizona.” Their discussion ended, they decided to go back to the _Sphere_ and get a good night’s rest. “Suppose some of these oafs have taken possession during our absence,” suggested Taggert, persisting still in so calling the as yet unseen Martians. “If it hadn’t been for you young scamps it wouldn’t have been left unguarded,” retorted Professor Palmer. But they found the _Sphere_ as they had left it, and no one in sight. * * * * * With lights out for greater safety, they spent a quiet night. All three were up again with the dawn. The warm sunshine streamed in at the windows cheerfully. Soon the thermometer on the shady side registered forty-one degrees and was rising rapidly. It had dropped to twenty-five the night before when they retired. An appetizing breakfast was prepared by Taggert, who had insisted upon being the official cook. The keen Martian air and a good night’s rest had brought them all ravenous appetites, and they did the simple repast full justice. “Come to think about it,” mused Taggert, “the night passed mighty quickly. Professor, how long are the nights and days on Mars?”