he
dusk. Most of the aliens were now flat on the ground, sending a creeping
line of fire into the perimeter of the camp area. A dark form moved
between Shann and the nearest patch of burning moss. The Terran raised a
spear to the ready before he caught a whiff of the pungent scent emitted
by a wolverine hot with battle rage. He whistled coaxingly. With the
Throgs eager to blast any moving thing, the animals were in danger if
they prowled about the scene.

That blunt head moved. Shann caught the glint of eyes in a furred mask;
it was either Taggi or his mate. Then a puff of mixed Throng and
chemical scent from the camp must have reached the wolverine. The animal
coughed and fled westward, passing Shann.

Had Thorvald had time and opportunity to make his planned raid on the
supply dome? Time during such an embroilment was hard to measure, and
Shann could not be sure. He began to count aloud, slowly, as they had
agreed. When he reached one hundred he would begin his retreat; on two
hundred he was to run for it, his goal the river a half mile from the
camp.

The stream would take the fugitives to the sea where fiords cut the
coastline into a ragged fringe offering a wealth of hiding places.
Throgs seldom explored any territory on foot. For them to venture into
that maze would be putting themselves at the mercy of the Terrans they
hunted. And their flyers could comb the air above such a rocky
wilderness without result.

Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster bolt singed
ground within distance close enough to make him wince, but most of the
fire carried well above his head. All of his spears were gone, save for
one he had kept, hoping for a last good target. One of the Throgs who
appeared to be directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's
position. And on pure chance that he might knock out that leader, Shann
chose him for his victim.

The Terran had no illusions concerning his own marksmanship. The most he
could hope for, he thought, was to have the primitive weapon thud home
painfully on the other's armored hide. Perhaps, if he were very lucky,
he could knock the other from his clawed feet. But that chance which
hovers over any battlefield turned in Shann's favor. At just the right
moment the Throg stretched his head up from the usual hunched position
where the carapace extended over his wide shoulders to protect one of
the alien's few vulnerable spots, the soft underside of his throat. And
th