"Whew, that was close," gasped Moore as the last of the soldiers fell.
"How about ray-guns now?" gibed Ross. "Do you know, I think we're in luck. This party is evidently supposed to relieve the sentries we met—so there'll be no alarm over their condition."
"You're right!" exclaimed Moore. "Now all we have to do is to get to that ray machine!"
They stood within sight of it when the heavy hand of Horta fell.
In the shadows of the cavern they had crept from arsenal to foundry, until they had inspected from far or near every establishment in this dim and fearsome chasm. And finally they saw it, a great cylinder nestling deep in the ground and looming high in the cavern, supported by guy beams of gleaming metal.
"A ray-gun!" cried Moore. His incautious exclamation was their undoing. A half-clad foundry worker, looking like a gnome in his eye-shade helmet and drooping gauntlets, gaped at them. Ross shot a split second too late to stop the shout of alarm. The foundryman dropped, but a dozen soldiers came on the run. Moore and Ross fired and fired again, but they went down in a charge of scores of Horta soldiers. The flat of a sword struck Ross a stunning blow on the side of his head.
He came to his senses to find himself in a strange room, bound hand and foot and prone on a stone floor. Beside him was Moore.
"Where are we?" muttered Ross.
"In Horta's headquarters," whispered Moore. "Here's Horta."