a
speed and roughness indicative of their feelings.

The hour was close to dusk and Shann glanced wistfully at promising
shadows, though he had given up hope of rescue by now. If he could just
get free of his guards, he could at least give the beetle-heads a good
run.

He saw that the camp was deserted. There was no sign about the domes
that any Throgs sheltered there. In fact, Shann saw no aliens at all
except those who had come from the com dome with him. Of course! The
rest must be in ambush, waiting for the transport to planet. What about
the Throg ship or ships? Those must have been hidden also. And the only
hiding place for them would be aloft. There was a chance that the Throgs
had so flung away their chance for any quick retreat.

Yes; the aliens could scatter over the countryside and so escape the
first blast from the cruiser. But they would simply maroon themselves to
be hunted down by patrol landing parties who would comb the territory.
The beetles could so prolong their lives for a few hours, maybe a few
days, but they were really ended on that moment when the transport cut
communication. Shann was sure that the officer, at least, understood
that.

The Terran was dragged away from the domes toward the river down which
he and Thorvald had once escaped. Moving through the dusk in parallel
lines, he caught sight of other Throg squads, well armed, marching in
order to suggest that they were not yet alarmed. However, he had been
right about the ships--there were no flyers grounded on the improvised
field.

Shann made himself as much of a burden as he could. At the best, he
could so delay the guards entrusted with his safekeeping; at the worst,
he could earn for himself a quick ending by blaster which would be
better than the one they had for him. He went limp, falling forward into
the trampled grass. There was an exasperated click from the Throg who
had been herding him, and the Terran tried not to flinch from a sharp
kick delivered by a clawed foot.

Feigning unconsciousness, the Terran listened to the unintelligible
clicks exchanged by Throgs standing over him. His future depended now on
how deep lay the alien officer's anger. If the beetle-head wanted to
carry out his earlier threats, he would have to order Shann's
transportation by the fleeing force. Otherwise his life might well end
here and now.

Claws hooked once more on Shann. He was boosted up on the horny carapace
of a guard, the bonds on his