head of which was dyed the same reddish yellow as the blood still
seeping from the torn body. Swinging the weapon so close to Raf that
the Terran was forced to retreat a step or two to escape contact with
the grisly relic, the officer burst into an impassioned speech. Then
he went back to the gestures which were easier for the spaceman to
understand.

This was the work of a deadly enemy, Raf gathered. And such a fate
awaited any one of them who ventured beyond certain bounds of safety.
Unless this enemy were destroyed, the city--life itself--was no
longer theirs--

Seeing those savage wounds which suggested that an insane fury had
driven the attacker, Raf could believe that. But surely a primitive
spear was no equal to the weapons his guide could command.

When he tried to suggest that, the other shook his head as if
despairing of making plain his real message, and again beckoned Raf to
come with him. They were out on the littered street, heading away from
the central building where the rest of the Terran party must still be.
And Raf, seeing the lengthening shadows, the pools of dusk gathering,
and remembering that spear, could not resist glancing back over his
shoulder now and then. He wondered if the metallic click of his boot
soles on the pavement might not draw attention to them, attention they
would not care to meet. His hand was on his stun gun. But the officer
gave no sign of being worried; he walked along with the assurance of
one who has nothing to fear.

Then Raf caught sight of a patch of color he had seen before and
relaxed. They _were_ on their way back to the flitter! He had come