the trail floor.
The water in here is just shallow enough to let large animals break
their necks when they fall in and just deep enough to preserve small
animals--like ourselves--alive. We're in the hands of some sort of
reasoning, intelligent beings, Joyce!"

"In that case," said Joyce with a shudder, "we'd better do our best to
get out of here!"

But this was found to be impossible. They couldn't climb up out of the
pit, and nowhere could they feel any openings in the walls. Only
smooth, impenetrable stone met their questing fingers.

"It looks as though we're in to stay," said Joyce finally. "At least
until our Zeudian hosts, whatever kind of creatures they may be, come
and take us out. What'll we do then? Sail in and die fighting? Or go
peaceably along with them--assuming we aren't killed at once--on the
chance that we can make a break later?"

"I'd advise the latter," answered Wichter. "There is a small animal on
our own planet whose example might be a good one for us to follow.
That's the 'possum." He stopped abruptly, and gripped Joyce's arm.

From the opposite side of the pit came a grating sound. A crack of
greenish light appeared, low down near the water. This widened jerkily
as though a door were being hoisted by some sort of pulley
arrangement. The walls of the pit began to glow faintly with
reflected light.

"Down," breathed Wichter.

* * * * *

Noiselessly they let themselves sink into the water until they were
floating, eyes closed and motionless, on the surface. Playing dead to
the best of their ability, they waited for what might happen next.

They heard a splashing near the open rock door. The splashing neared them,
and high-pitched hissing syllables came to their ears--variegated sounds
that resembled excited conversation in some unknown language.

Joyce felt himself touched by something, and it was all he could do to
keep from shouting aloud and springing to his feet at the contact.

He'd had no idea, of course, what might be the nature of their
captors, but he had imagined them as man-like, to some extent at
least. And the touch of his hand, or flipper, or whatever it was,
indicated that they were not!

They were cold-blooded, reptilian things, for the flesh that had
touched him was cold; as clammy and repulsive as the belly of a dead
fish. So repulsive was that flesh that, when he presently felt himself
lifted high up and roughly carried, he shuddered i