The dull drumming of the enemy’s awakened fire was punctuated by occasional thuds near by as their bullets found marks in the onrushing column. The Svergadians met a brief check as they encountered the outpost. Then onward they swept like a great wave upon the dismayed besiegers. The growing flush in the east bathed the battlefield in pale rose, touched here and there with purple dusk. Overhead the fading stars twinkled faintly as if shrinking from this scene of wicked strife. In spite of their surprize the enemy rallied to a stiff defense. They had the advantage of greatly superior numbers, and knew it. And Robert’s column had charged directly into the main body of their forces. The morale of few armies, however, could have withstood the fanaticism with which the Svergadians charged that morning. Their long, slender bayonets flashed viciously as they plunged forward fearlessly again and again. Every man was fighting to avenge his princess, whom the leader of these men had abducted. The enemy was dismayed. They were given no time to rally. Surely these were fiends who attacked them with no care for their own lives! Dismay became consternation--rout! In vain did the enemy’s officers struggle to stem the mad retreat. The front ranks turned in panic from the vicious line of steel, and stampeded over the troops supporting them. Side by side fought Robert and Taggert. Long since, they had emptied their automatics. Armed with bayonet guns picked up from fallen Martians, they charged blindly with the rest. That they both continued unwounded in the foremost ranks was a miracle. But the goddess of chance is a capricious deity. She selected a moment of comparative safety to strike. It came as Robert and Taggert were vigorously following up the rout. “Keep them on the run, men,” shouted Robert, turning and setting the example. As he sprang forward, a thud at his right caused him to turn sharply. He was just in time to catch Taggert as he swayed and pitched forward! “Where is it, Tag, old man?” he sobbed. A crooked smile struggled to the reporter’s livid lips. He fumbled at the right side of his breast. A fleck of bright-colored foam showed on his lips as they moved feebly. Robert stooped close to listen. “Running like--hell, ain’t they--Bob?” “Like hell,” Robert assured him, choking. Feverishly he ripped open Taggert’s shirt to reach the wound, but the latter restrained him with his last remnant of strength. “No use, Bob. I’m--done. Please listen--closer. That’s better. Take papers--inside coat pocket--send them--_The Chronicle_--if you get back. Let money go--to Mother. Picture here. Tell her--and Sarah--good-bye.” His body went limp. The last word was barely audible. His gallant spirit had flown. Robert let Taggert’s body down reverently. Poor, happy-go-lucky fellow! Three weeks ago he had been a stranger, a stowaway, an outsider prying into their affairs. Now he seemed like a lifelong acquaintance--a brother!