ner, when they all came pelting in
through the little door into the living room, making an excited outcry.
Little Fuzzy and one of the other males came into the kitchen. Little
Fuzzy squatted, put one hand on his lower jaw, with thumb and little
finger extended, and the other on his forehead, first finger upright. Then
he thrust out his right arm stiffly and made a barking noise of a sort he
had never made before. He had to do it a second time before Jack got it.

There was a large and unpleasant carnivore, called a damnthing--another
example of zoological nomenclature on uninhabited planets--which had a
single horn on its forehead and one on either side of the lower jaw. It
was something for Fuzzies, and even for human-type people, to get excited
about. He laid down the paring knife and the yummiyam he had been peeling,
wiped his hands and went into the living room, taking a quick nose count
and satisfying himself that none of the family were missing as he crossed
to the gunrack.

This time, instead of the 6-mm he had used on the harpy, he lifted down a
big 12.7 double express, making sure that it was loaded and pocketing a
few spare rounds. Little Fuzzy followed him outside, pointing around the
living hut to the left. The rest of the family stayed indoors.

Stepping out about twenty feet, he started around counter-clockwise. There
was no damnthing on the north side, and he was about to go around to the
east side when Little Fuzzy came dashing past him, pointing to the rear.
He whirled, to see the damnthing charging him from behind, head down, and
middle horn lowered. He should have thought of that; damnthings would
double and hunt their hunters.

He lined the sights instinctively and squeezed. The big rifle roared and
banged his shoulder, and the bullet caught the damnthing and hurled all
half-ton of it backward. The second shot caught it just below one of the
fungoid-looking ears, and the beast gave a spasmodic all-over twitch and
was still. He reloaded mechanically, but there was no need for a third
shot. The damnthing was as dead as he would have been except for Little
Fuzzy's warning.

He mentioned that to Little Fuzzy, who was calmly retrieving the empty
cartridges. Then, rubbing his shoulder where the big rifle had pounded
him, he went in and returned the weapon to the rack. He used the
manipulator to carry the damnthing away from the camp and drop it into a
treetop, where it would furnish a welcome if puzzl