"But we have no boat." "We can make a boat." Nicko said. "The rubber mattresses and cushions from the ship. I'll bet no one on this planet has ever seen such a boat as we'll have." Mike and Nicko struggled back and forth from the river bank to the ship, bringing what was needed. Doree, fearing to remain alone, trailed with them until she was exhausted, whereupon Mike began building the raft, leaving the rest of the trips to the indestructible Nicko. Mike bound the mattresses and cushions to a base of woven reeds. The reeds grew in abundance in a nearby swamp. Doree helped with the braiding and the work went swiftly. Nicko made a half dozen more trips and returned from the last one with several scales knocked off his back. "Somebody threw a brick at me," he said. Mike scanned the now-menacing jungle wall. "A brick?" "That was what it felt like. It hurt like hell." "You didn't see anybody?" "I did not. I didn't wait long enough." "We've got to get out of here." "An observation of amazing erudition." Mike lashed a long flat piece of driftwood to the raft as a steering oar, found two other such pieces to serve as unattached oars, and helped Nicko finish with loading the supplies. "All right," he said. "Let's go." They cast loose and while Doree worked with the stern oar, Mike and Nicko paddled feverishly toward the middle of the river. With this objective achieved, Nicko took over the stern. Mike forced Doree to lie down. He put a pillow under her head, kissed her and sat beside her until her eyes closed. Then he went back and sat down beside Nicko. The latter had not forgotten his terrifying grin. "We certainly get around, don't we?" he said cheerfully. "I'm glad it makes you so happy." "As a matter of fact I'm scared stiff. It is just that my sainted mother told me always to keep a brave front." * * * * * Mike looked at his assistant with sudden fondness. "Who was your mother, Nicko?" Nicko shook his dragon's head sadly. "I can't seem to remember but I know I had one. And of course she was saintly." "And your father?" A distant sound intruded, touching Mike's ears lightly. His eyes were still upon Nicko as the latter said, "You've got me--but I have a feeling he was a gallant knight in armor who swept my beautiful mother off her fairy-like feet." "No doubt," Mike smiled. The sound was louder now, but it still did not catch his attention. He was remembering that encounter in the polar forests of Mars; the day he found little Nicko crouching under a bush; how he'd come within an ace of putting a bullet into the hideous creature's brain. But some vagrant touch of compassion had stayed him. The little monster seemed so lost, so pathetic, so helpless. He'd taken Nicko back to camp, the Martian infant's parentage and ancestry a mystery Mike felt would never be solved.