Vale's communicator. More squeakings, somehow querulous. Then
something pounded the communicator on the ground. There was a crash.
Then silence.

Almost calmly Lockley swung his instrument around and lined it up for
Sattell's post. He called in a steady voice until Sattell answered. He
reported with meticulous care just what Vale had said, and what he'd
heard after Vale stopped speaking--the roaring, the sound of blows and
gasps, then the squeakings and the destruction of the instrument
intended for the measurement of base lines for an accurate map of the
Park.

Sattell grew agitated. At Lockley's insistence, he wrote down every
word. Then he said nervously that orders had come from Survey. The
Army wanted everybody out of the Boulder Lake area. Vale was to have
been ordered out. The workmen were ordered out. Lockley was to get out
of the area as soon as possible.

When Sattell signed off, Lockley switched off the communicator. He put
it where it would be relatively safe from the weather. He abandoned
his camping equipment. A mile downhill and four miles west there was a
highway leading to Boulder Lake. When the Park was opened to the
public it would be well used, but the last traffic he'd seen was the
big trailer-truck of the Wild Life Control service. That huge vehicle
had gone up to Boulder Lake the day before.

He made his way to the highway, following a footpath to the spot where
he'd left his own car parked. He got into it and started the motor. He
moved with a certain dogged deliberation. He knew, of course, that
what he was going to do was useless. It was hopeless. It was possibly