of squirming insects in his
mouth and offered the bowl to Sheckly, who shook his head as politely as
he could and indicated the fruit in his hand.

Fortunately, the serpentman did not insist on his taking anything other
than fruit, so the meal passed without physical discomfort.

When they were through, the leader hissed several syllables to the
interpreter, who said, "The leader wishes to see your games. You will
set them up now."

Sheckly ran his tongue over dry lips. "They're in the ship," he said,
and eagerness crept into his voice. "I'll have to get them." Once inside
the ship, he'd never come back. He'd slam the airlock door and bolt it
and then blast off as fast as he could get the motors going, Harding or
no Harding. He got up.

"We will help you," the interpreter said.

"No. I can do it myself."

"We will help you," the interpreter insisted firmly. His eyes bored into
the Earthling, as though daring him to refuse again.

Sheckly's mouth felt dry once more. "Where's Harding?" he demanded.
"Where's the other Earth man? What have you done with him?"

The interpreter looked at the leader, who nodded. The interpreter said
gravely, "It is too bad. It is the season for the shedding of skins. At
the shedding feast last night--"

"The shedding of skins!" Sheckly said, remembering the pile he'd seen at
one corner of the village; "those translucent things were your cast-off
skins." He recalled that some reptiles back on Earth had regular seasons
of shedding. That intelligent creatures should do it made him feel
slightly sick.

"Your friend joined us last night," the serpentman went on. "But he
could not shed properly, so--"

Sheckly felt his blood turn to ice.

"--so we helped him."

"You _what_?"

"We helped him out of his skin," the serpentman went on calmly. "We try
to help those who are friends with us. Your friend had trouble getting
his skin off, but with our help--"

"No!" the Earthling cried, trying to reject the thought.

The full realization of what had happened struck him at once. Despite
himself, he could picture Harding struggling, trying to convince these
creatures that Earthlings don't shed their skins. His struggles must
have convinced them only that he was having trouble shedding, so they
"helped him." They had come to skin the natives, but the reverse was
happening--only literally.

"Where--where is he?" he asked finally, though he knew it didn't really
matter.

"We will take yo