The Outlaws of Mars

As the powerful car plunged up the mountain road, Jerry Morgan wondered
what sort of reception awaited him at the end of this drive. Would the
mysterious, eccentric man who was his uncle, and who lived in this
mountain retreat which his nephew had never been permitted to visit,
turn him away now?

It was not until he had reached the highest limit of timber growth that
he came upon a log habitation built against the mountainside which rose
steeply behind it, rugged and bare of vegetation. He stopped the car in
front of the log porch, off the road enough to avoid blocking it. No one
was around; no one appeared as he slammed the car door shut, climbed the
steps and crossed the veranda. No one answered his knock; the door swung
open at the impact and Jerry entered.

He found himself in a large living room, finished and furnished in
pioneer style, the walls decorated with trophies. Despite the chill at
this altitude, there was only cold, gray ashes mingled with bits of
charcoal in the fireplace. Jerry had the feeling that the place had not
been lived in for some time.

Exploration confirmed his initial impression. Shelves in the kitchen
were empty save for a few dishes and utensils. There was no sign of
food, and a thin film of dust had settled over everything, even the
sink.

Puzzled, he returned to the living room and seated himself on a birch
settee before the cold fireplace. Obviously, though this was the nominal
residence of his uncle, Doctor Richard Morgan did not really live here.
Where, then, did he live? As far as Jerry had been able to see in every
direction there had been no sign of a building of any kind, save this
one.

As he sat there, reflecting on these mysteries, he suddenly heard the
door open, and turning, saw his uncle.

Like his nephew, Richard Morgan was tall and powerfully built. The
remaining black among the silver hair and beard was as jet as Jerry's,
and though he did not look like a military man, his presence radiated
authority. His forehead was high and bulged outward over shaggy eyebrows
that met above his aquiline nose; and he wore a pointed, closely cropped
Vandyke.

"Glad to see you, Jerry," boomed the doctor in his resonant bass voice.
"I've been expecting you."

Jerry Morgan stared in amazement as he took his uncle's proffered hand.
"Expecting me? Why, I told no one--intended to surprise you. It sounds
almost like thought-transference."

"Perhaps you are nearer the truth than you imagine," replied the doctor,
seating himself.

Jerry brushed this aside, mentally, as he groped for the proper words
with which to frame his next speech. "I'm afraid you're not going to
like what I have to tell you, Uncle Richard," he began. "The fact is,
I've disgraced . . .

"I, know all about it, Jerry," said the doctor gently, and then
proceeded to give a detailed account of the episode the young man had
been about to tell. He ended with: "You knew the colonel would never
believe a story about your being framed in a manner reminiscent of
nineteenth-century melodrama, so you had no choice but to resign. What
you didn't know was that it was not Lieutenant Tracy, your rival, who
arranged the affair but Elaine herself."