. Once three deer--a buck
and two does--stopped in front of him and stared for a moment, then
bounded away with a flutter of white tails.

He was driving slowly, now; laying behind him a reeking trail of scent.
There had been another stock-killing, the night before, while he had
been on the First Level. The locality of this latest depredation had
confirmed his estimate of the beast's probable movements, and indicated
where it might be prowling, tonight. He was certain that it was
somewhere near; sooner or later, it would pick up the scent.

Finally, he stopped, snapping out his lights. He had chosen this spot
carefully, while studying the Geological Survey map, that afternoon;
he was on the grade of an old railroad line, now abandoned and its
track long removed, which had served the logging operations of fifty
years ago. On one side, the mountain slanted sharply upward; on the
other, it fell away sharply. If the nighthound were below him, it
would have to climb that forty-five degree slope, and could not avoid
dislodging loose stones, or otherwise making a noise. He would get out
on that side; if the nighthound were above him, the jeep would protect
him when it charged. He got to the ground, thumbing off the safety of
his rifle, and an instant later he knew that he had made a mistake
which could easily cost him his life; a mistake from which neither
his comprehensive logic nor his hypnotically acquired knowledge of
the beast's habits had saved him.

As he stepped to the ground, facing toward the front of the jeep,
he heard a low, whining cry behind him, and a rush of padded feet.
He whirled, snapping on the headlamp with his left hand and thrusting
out his rifle pistol-wise in his right. For a split second, he saw the
charging animal, its long, lizardlike head split in a toothy grin,
its talon-tipped fore-paws extended.

He fired, and the bullet went wild. The next instant, the rifle was
knocked from his hand. Instinctively, he flung up his left arm to shield
his eyes. Claws raked his left arm and shoulder, something struck him
heavily along the left side, and his cap-light went out as he dropped
and rolled under the jeep, drawing in his legs and fumbling under his
coat for the revolver.

In that instant, he knew what had gone wrong. His plan had been entirely
too much of a success. The nighthound had winded him as he had driven up
the old railroad-grade, and had followed. Its best running speed had
been just good