bows and javelins and short bronze swords, their pikes
and shields; and under their round helmets their cruel,
bearded faces--white as our own where the black beards
did not cover them; their fierce and mocking eyes.

The springs of ancient Persia's long dead power, these.
Men of Xerxes's ruthless, world-conquering hordes; the
lustful, ravening wolves of Darius whom Alexander scattered
--in this world of ours twenty centuries beyond their
time!

Swiftly, accurately, even as I scanned them, we had
been drilling into them. They advanced deliberately, heedless
of their fallen. Their arrows had ceased to fly. I wondered
why, for now we were well within their range. Had
they orders to take us alive--at whatever cost to themselves?

"I've got only about ten cartridges left, Martin," I told
him.

"We've saved Ruth anyway," he said. "Drake ought to
be able to hold that hole in the wall. He's got lots of
ammunition on the pony. But they've got us."

Another wild shouting; down swept the pack.

We leaped to our feet, sent our last bullets into them;
stood ready, rifles clubbed to meet the rush. I heard Ruth
scream--