“Brother,” said Rudderbeak, finally, “it is not necessary that two of us watch over this sleeper. Let us decide by chance which of us may rest also.” “Words of wisdom, indeed. Let us do so by all means.” Fate decided against Rudderbeak. The pebble which he cast at the line drawn on the sand in the tent rolled a trifle too far. So, grumblingly, he took up the long night watch while his companion stretched out upon the floor with a sigh of contentment. He was to be warned in ample time at the approach of anyone. Here fate again took a hand. Rudderbeak found standing too great an effort with two peacefully slumbering beings before him. He felt that he was at least entitled to the luxury of sitting down. So he availed himself of the comfortable chair so lately brought in for their captive. The chair creaked as he settled his weight in it. Had it not been for this, another sound just outside the tent might have attracted his attention. Even as he stretched his long legs in extravagant comfort a shadow without flattened itself upon the ground. A little while after that Robert woke abruptly to see a face within a few inches of his. The lantern suspended in the tent top cast weird shadows around the enclosure, giving the features of the countenance above his a horrible aspect. An involuntary cry arose in his throat, but was suddenly checked. For there was a strange familiarity about the glint of red in the intruder’s hair! The shadow-blurred features quickly lost their ferocity. It was Taggert. Their hands met in a clasp of glad reunion. No word passed between them as Taggert proceeded to examine the length of chain with which Robert was fastened. He shook his head as he saw the heavy links. Robert saw his mouth straighten into a firm, hard line as he stared at the sleeping guards. He removed the gun from the side of the sitting guard. Then, drawing an object from his pocket, he walked over to where Rudderbeak lay. He hesitated. “Got to be done,” he muttered. Raising his arm he brought the object down upon the slumbering guard’s head forcibly. The Martian slumped deeper into his chair. His gun slipped to the sand. Stooping quickly, Taggert picked up the fallen gun, retaining it and handing Robert his automatic. The other guard, stretched upon the ground, had not stirred yet. Deftly Taggert searched the stunned guard. But the key he was looking for was not in the Martian’s possession. He turned his attention to the other guard, who still slumbered. As Taggert meditated, the sleeping guard stirred uneasily. In spite of the reporter’s efforts to avoid noise the disturbance had evidently been sufficient to break into the sleeping guard’s subconscious mind. He opened his eyes suddenly, looking directly at Taggert. Before the Martian could, gather his senses, however, Taggert pressed the _lahan_ against his chest. “Not a sound!” he commanded in the Martian tongue. “Now give me the key to this anklet--quick.”