e caught the faint mutter. He squatted back on his
heels, pressed his forearm against his aching eyes in a kind of fierce
will to see.

Perhaps that pressure did relieve some of the blackout, for when he
blinked again, the complete dark and the fiery trails had faded to gray,
and he was sure he saw dimly a source of light to his left.

The Throg ship had fired upon them. But the aliens could not have used
the full force of their weapon or neither of the Terrans would still be
alive. Which meant, Shann's thoughts began to make sense--sense which
brought apprehension--the Throgs probably intended to disable rather
than kill. They wanted prisoners, just as Thorvald had warned.

How long did the Terrans have before the aliens would come to collect
them? There was no fit landing place hereabouts for their flyer. The
beetle-heads would have to set down at the edge of the desert land and
climb the mountains on foot. And the Throgs were not good at that. So,
the fugitives still had a measure of time.

Time to do what? The country itself held them securely captive. That
drop to the southwest was one barrier. To retreat eastward would mean
running straight into the hands of the hunters. To descend again to the
river, their raft gone, was worse than useless. There was only this side
pocket in which they sheltered. And once the Throgs arrived, they could
scoop the Terrans out at their leisure, perhaps while stunned by a
controlling energy beam.

"Taggi? Togi?" Shann was suddenly aware that he had not heard the
wolverines for some time.

He was answered by a weirdly muffled call--from the south! Had the
animals found a new exit? Was this niche more than just a niche? A cave
of some length, or even a passage running back into the interior of the
peaks? With that faint hope spurring him, Shann bent again over
Thorvald, able now to make out the other's huddled form. Then he drew
the torch from the inner loop of his coat and pressed the lowest stud.

His eyes smarted in answer to that light, watered until tears patterned
the grime and dust on his cheeks. But he could make out what lay before
them, a hole leading into the cliff face, the hole which might furnish
the door to escape.

The Survey officer moved, levering himself up, his eyes screwed tightly
shut.

"Lantee?"

"Here. And there's a tunnel--right behind you. The wolverines went that
way...."

To his surprise there was a thin ghost of a smile on Thorvald's usually