captives. Angry at missing the carousal, the man called
Keyger kicked Friday, whose eyelids did not budge and whose body did
not quiver, and then, more gingerly, kicked Carse and swore at
him--but he turned somewhat hastily when the mild gray eyes slowly
opened and stared up into his.

Then the two guards pulled out chairs and placed them by the open
port-lock, where they could command a view of the celebration. They
drew one ray-gun each, laid them ready, close by, and sat down.

CHAPTER VII

_Jamboree_

Two hours later their eyes were taking in a fantastic, mad scene, one
that in some ways might have occurred in the days when buccaneers
roamed the Spanish Main of Earth.

A little over a hundred yards away, straight before them, was the
corral of the phantis: far behind it encroached the shadowy fringe of
the jungle: to their right, closer to the corral than to the space
ships, was the ranch house, lonely now and silent. But these objects
were only the background for what had grown in front of the corral
wire.

It was the roaring mass of the monster fire that had been lit, a
splash of fierce, leaping flames in the velvety cool of the night.
Black shapes were clustered around it; bottles were raised and
drained; and a frieze of shadows, staggered and jumped and danced
around the ruddy pile of fire. The carousal was in full swing; a
chorus of wild song rose noisily into the night; more cases were
smashed open and more alkite drawn out. The carcases of three animals
taken from the ranch's storehouse sizzled on the barbecue pits, to be
ripped apart and the rich, dripping meat torn at, tooth and claw. Ever
higher pierced the shrieks and oaths, till the calm night was
distorted and crazy.

Other heavier sounds accompanied the bedlam of human noise: deep
snortings and roarings and the scraping of scores of horn-shod feet.
Behind their wired electric fence was clustered the herd of phantis,
staring with their evil, red-shot little eyes at the flames and the
shapes of the hated men. The big bulls were bellowing, bucking their
heads angrily, churning up the soft soil with their strong,
dagger-spurred feet: the welter of noise and the sight of so many men
had wrought them up into a vicious and dangerous state.

Judd the Kite, a bottle in one hand and in the other a huge joint of
meat which he was tearing at with his teeth, suddenly paused with
mouth crammed full and stared over through the flickering light at