n's spirits rose somewhat. The ray of light, which he
could see sweeping back and forth downstream, was still following
slowly, as if Hagendorff were having trouble making out the
water-covered trail. Garth breathed easier, cuddled down--and then,
for some unaccountable reason, he felt uneasy.

* * * * *

He had not noticed it at first, but now his nostrils were filled with
a queer, musky odor that electrified his nerves and tensed his
muscles. He felt the short hairs on his neck rise; felt his lips
tighten and draw back over clenched teeth. Some long-buried instinct
was warning him of danger--and suddenly he sprang from the hole and
swung around.

From it, a killer came snaking out, its bared fangs thirsty for his
life blood!

Arching and swaying its lithe-muscled body, it slid forward in its
graceful, savage way--a weasel, the deadliest pound-for-pound killer
that prowls the forest. It was as long as the naked human who faced it
was tall. Unwittingly, he had chosen its hole as a refuge.

Retreat would have been impossible, but Garth for some reason did not
even think of it. A strange new sensation poured through his tense
body, a sensation akin to fierce joy. Gone was his tiredness; his
teeth too were bared, matching the wicked fangs before him. Two primal
creatures they were, tooth to tooth and claw to claw, the man as naked
and intoxicated with the blood lust as the ten pounds of bone and
sinew that now darted suddenly for his throat.

With the lightning quickness that had come to him with small size,
Garth stepped aside. And as the weasel's head streaked by he called
on man's distinctive weapon, and put every ounce of his weight behind
a right arm swing that landed square on a cold black nose and doubled
the weasel back in midair.

Stunned, it writhed for a second on the slippery bank; and then again
it was up, mad with pain now and swaying slightly as it gathered for a
second leap against this creature that fought so strangely.

* * * * *

But in the momentary respite Garth had reasoned out his best chance.
He did not try to fight off the second dart with his fists, but went
boldly in. Ducking through the needle claws with head lowered, his
tiny hands streaked in on the furry throat. He found it, and his
fingers thumbed into the wind-pipe; but not before the weasel smelled
the blood its claws had drawn and went utterly berserk. For a moment