"Jasper! Come t' the control room! I'm locked in! They're bustin' down the door! Bring that gun o' yours! Hurry, lad!"
Jasper looked upon his broken weapon, hesitated a moment, then picked it up—butt foremost. Seizing it in cudgel fashion, he made for the ship.
"Come on!" roared Cragley exultantly. "Now's our chance!"
We found our numbers reduced to ten, but every one of us leaped forward at Cragley's order, ready to stake everything on the one desperate, fighting chance which had come so unexpectedly. We had nearly overtaken the man we had heard addressed as Jasper when a crackling flame of lightning leaped out at us. A hissing roar smote our ear drums and we were temporarily dazzled by an intense light. The aim had been too high. The electric charge had gone over our heads. The man in the control room had frustrated the attempt to electrocute us.
Several of the brigands jumped out of the ship to meet us. They still wore the encumbering spirals. A powerful gas of paralyzing effect was shot into our faces. We became as immobile as statues. Jasper, too, was overcome. Instantly, we were divested of our weapons.
The man locked in the control room of the ship had been taken. Whoever these two men were who had championed our cause, their desperate efforts had failed, and now we were all in the same boat. The one who had addressed us over the speaker was led out of the ship and shoved into our group beside his fellow traitor, Jasper. The latter's spiral was promptly torn off.
As the outlaws passed among us, searching for concealed weapons, I felt a cold object thrust cautiously into my hand. My heart thrilled to the contact of a pistol. I held my hand close to my side that none might see. The effects of the gas wore off quickly.
The chief of the brigands, his brutal face set in anger, strode up to the pair who had turned against him during the stress of combat. His dark eyes blazed, and he raised his clutching hands menacingly above the two. Jasper and his friend stared back unabashed, a reckless glitter in their eyes, ready for what might happen.
"I don't know who you are, but I've got suspicions!" snapped the outlaw. "You'll both die horribly—the kind of death we reserve for such as you!"
He turned upon Cragley. "Where's the platinum?" he demanded. "Is it over there?" He pointed to the clump of bushes from which we had lately emerged. "Or have you hidden it?"