ade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly in the sun. On the
shingle below, the wolverines prowled back and forth, whining in
bewilderment.

"Thorvald----!"

Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing the name
ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the man in the boat
did not turn his head; there was no change in the speed of that paddle
dip.

Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding the last few
feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the water only by a
painful wrench of his body.

"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright under the sun
did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore at his clothes and kicked
off his boots.

He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters as he
plunged into the water, swam for the canoe edging along the reef,
plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. Shann was not a
powerful swimmer. His first impetus gave him a good start, but after
that he had to fight for each foot he gained, and the fear grew in him
that the other would reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He
wasted no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath and
energy into the effort of overtaking the craft.

And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along the log which
furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers tightened on the slimy
wood he looked up, and loosed that hold again in time perhaps to save
his life.

For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an impromptu half
dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, a picture so astounding
that he was a little dazed.

Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle had to be put
to another use. Had Shann not released his hold on the log and gone
under water, that crudely fashioned piece of wood might, have broken his
skull. He saw only too clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an
ugly weapon, and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which
made it as inhuman as a Throg's.

Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once more. The paddle
was back at the task for which it had been carved, the canoe was
underway again, its occupant paying no more attention to what lay behind
than if he _had_ successfully disposed of the man in the water. To
follow would be only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so
lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try any tricks such
as overs