chances, however, and came down a good three Earth miles
away. The egg-shaped hull sank through the glossy, brilliant treetops,
through twisted vines, and was buried in the dank gloom of the jungle.
Here it might remain hidden for a hundred years.

* * * * *

The twilight of the jungle was almost darkness. Landmarks were not.
But Olear made a few small, inconspicuous marks on trees with his
knife until he came to an outcropping rock. He had noticed the
scarlike white of it slashing through the jungle from the air, and
used it as a guide to direct his stealthy return to the trading post.
His belt chronometer told him it would be about time for Morones to
get up from his "night's" sleep. A little discreet observation might
tell much.

Long before he reached the compound, Olear heard the rushing of the
great Blue River in its headlong plunge to the corrosive heat of the
desert. And then, through the mists, he glimpsed the white metal walls
of the Company sheds.

He climbed a tree and for a long time watched patently, lying prone on
a limb. Blood-sucking insects tortured him, and flat tree-lice,
resembling discs with legs, crawled over him inquisitively. Olear
tolerated them with stoic indifference until at last his patience was
rewarded. Morones was coming out of the compound. He was alone and
obviously did not suspect that he was being watched, for he stepped
out briskly. Once in the jungle he walked even faster, watching out
warily for the panther-like carnivora that were the most dangerous to
man on Mercury.

Olear shinned to the ground and followed cautiously. Morones had his
ray-tube with him, as any traveler in these jungles did. Olear could
and did draw fast, but a dead trader would be valueless to him in his
investigation, so he stalked him with every faculty strained to
maintain complete silence. Often, in occasional clearings where the
brown darkness grew less, he had to grovel on the slimy ground,
picking up large bacteria that could be seen with the naked eye, and
which left tiny, festering red marks on the skin. Mercury has no
snakes.

The trader seemed to be heading for higher ground, for the path led
ever upward, though not far from the tossing waters of the river. And
then, suddenly, he disappeared.

Olear did not immediately hurry after him. A canny fugitive, catching
sight of his pursuer, might suddenly drop to the ground and squirm to
the side of the trail, there