"Nothing," he said slowly. "At least, nothing I can put my finger on."

"Then," Blake insisted, "from what O'Toole says, you've both been pretty tough on him. That is, if you're telling me the truth."

"d.a.m.n it, Blake," Ferrell exploded. "When I say nothing, I mean we haven't caught him violating any laws. It's--well, I just never had any admiration for Wade. He's what the younger generation would call a cream puff. Soft, flabby and a mind that refuses to grasp any problem fitted to a man of his age."

Blake stared out the window, waiting. The mono had pulled out of Hope.

Outside nothing was visible in the night except an occasional jagged peak outlined against a cloudy sky. Troubled by Ferrell's continued silence, he turned again to his friend.

"You haven't told me much," he protested. "O'Toole called me home because he thought important things were going to take place. He thinks I ought to knock Wade around a little, but I've got to know why."

Ferrell swore softly.

"O'Toole is always sticking his neck out where it gets clipped every now and then. He's a swell Irishman, but his mountains are actually mole hills."

Blake nodded and said covertly, "Someone tried to heave a knife into me at the s.p.a.ce-port. Was that one of O'Toole's mole hills?"

Ferrell's body jerked upright, and the muscles in his face stood out tautly.

"The h.e.l.l you say!"

"Truth--ask O'Toole."

Blake's voice died. His eyes turned to slits. The coach door had opened quickly and a man had stepped inside. He was dressed from head to foot in skin-tight black leather. His eyes were covered with a flashing, silvery mask. Blake's gaze was on the small, ugly electro-gun in the bandit's hand.

"A visitor," Blake said laconically. At the same time he pushed his feet far back under the chair and braced them, like bent springs.

The masked man crouched at the waist and the gun whipped around, covering the few pa.s.sengers in the car.

"Stand up--all of you." He spoke harshly and with deadly precision. "On your feet, and make it fast."

Blake waited. A low monotone of voices protested, died out to a whisper of fear, and the pa.s.sengers, including Ferrell stood with arms raised.

The electro gun came around slowly toward Blake.

"Up on your corns," the bandit spat at him. His eyes were black, diamond slits in the silver mask.

Blake's gaze never wavered. Silver Mask came toward him slowly.

"You heard me."

A scorching flame seared Blake's cheek as the electro gun exploded and part of its force burned his skin. Blake's face whitened with rage and he dove desperately forward. Smashing a hard fist into Silver Mask's face, he watched the fellow's body go limp. Two swift reflex actions, one savage and murderously threatening, the other desperately defensive, had brought lightning developments.

Blake heard Dauna scream in terror and turned like a flash. But the heavy b.u.t.t of a new electro gun swept down on his head. There was a sudden sickening jolt and bright flashes of light went tearing into his brain. He pitched forward across the first bandit's limp body, and the car, spinning before his eyes, went blank.

When Blake came around, he was stretched out full length on the floor, a pillow under his head. He looked up into Dauna's eyes.

"If you're wondering about the silver masked man who struck you," she said, "There are dozens of them on the train. They have us all under guard."

He sat up a little weakly, felt his head clear. Ferrell and O'Toole sat across from his make shift bed.

"They won't let me make a dash for the door, Jeff," O'Toole said in an unhappy voice. "Once in the hall, I could clean up on a snag of those black devils."

"And get your head bashed in, like Jeff did," Ferrell added. "You're sitting right here with me, _Mr._ O'Toole until we find out what this is all about."

Ferrell turned to Blake.

"You asked for trouble, Jeff," he said tersely. "You've got it. These are the same Silver Masks that have practically ruined my business.

Looks as though this might do it. Wade was told to clean out this tribe of black devils six months ago. I detailed fifty men to work with him.

I'll bet you a ten spot that at this moment Wade Blake is at South Station watering his flower bed, or some equally insane occupation."

Dauna was on her feet, arms akimbo, cheeks blazing.

"That's not fair, Dad," she flared. "He just isn't the type of boy to handle this problem. You saw what happened to Jeff...."

"Wait a minute," Blake begged. "O'Toole is all for knocking Wade's head against his garden wall. Ferrell, you want him to keep us out of trouble when he's eight thousand miles away, and Dauna is protecting him when I'm not altogether sure he deserves it. For the time being let's worry about what is to become of us. Later, there'll be time to fight over Wade."

Ferrell looked abashed.

"You're right," he admitted more quietly. "But you're a better man than I am if you can make sense out of this. Why don't they take what they want, kill us and be on their way?"

Blake looked out of the window. The sky was clear now. The rain had stopped and the moon and stars were visible.

"I think I can answer that," he said. "From my following the stars, we are now heading directly east, into the heart of the mountain country.

If I'm correct on directions, the monoline runs directly north and south. Right?"

O'Toole pushed past him and strained his face to the gla.s.s. He turned, face shining.

"By golly," he said. "Jeff's right. We must be flying or something.

There isn't any track that's laid in this direction!"

Ferrell stood at O'Toole's shoulder, looking out into the blackness. He turned toward them, face stark with terror.

"It--can't--be!" he spoke slowly. "Vancouver is south of us, and yet...."

"And yet you're going east." The strange voice cut in on them harshly.

Blake wheeled about to face the third Silver Mask he had seen tonight.

The man towered above them, a full seven feet tall. His thick lips, visible below the mask, were curved in a cruel, delighted smile.

"You've bought one way tickets," he said gruffly. "Tickets that will take you--nowhere."

Continuing, he turned to Ferrell.