They slept uneasily, with guards replaced every two hours, and the next day woke to find Captain Brown once more sunk into his Noctoli-trance. A few of the men complained of headaches. By mid-morning Paula succumbed to the poison. Garth did not realize at first what had happened. Then, turning, he saw the girl's blank face and wide eyes fixed straight ahead as she marched along, and knew that she was entranced by the Noctoli till nightfall. The exercise of walking, speeding metabolism, had hastened the action of the virus. They went on. An hour later another man went under. Then another. By noon only five men, including Garth and Sampson, were still conscious. Their difficulties increased proportionately. They had to be on guard every second. The Noctoli victims walked quietly in line, but they did not react to danger. If the tentacles of a bloodsucker plant flashed out, they wouldn't try to escape. Their instinct of self-preservation had been dulled and blanketed. The afternoon was pure hell. Garth, Sampson, and one other man had to guard and lead the rest. Their guns crashed incessantly, it seemed. When they camped at the onset of darkness, Sampson and Garth alone remained. * * * * * The red-haired giant, swaying on his feet, squinted at Garth, his face haggard with exhaustion. "Nice going," he said sardonically, after a time. "What now? Maybe we'd better cut our throats." Garth managed a shaky grin. "We're still okay. And there's only one more day left. Tomorrow--we'll make it then. We've got to." Unwilling admiration showed in Sampson's eyes. "You're dead on your feet. I don't see how the hell you keep up this pace. Anyhow--we can't go back now. That's settled, anyway." "Yeah. The others will wake up after a while. We'll have to stay on guard till then." They did, guns drawn, peering at the silent depths of the Forest around them, while the rest of the party lay motionless, helpless against attack. After a time Sampson spoke. Garth could not see his face in the heavy gloom. "What are you after, Garth?" "Eh?" "I had you ticketed wrong. A beachcomber.... There must be something plenty important where we're going, or you wouldn't be so anxious to get there. What is it? Treasure, of course, but--jewels? Or what?" Garth chuckled. "There may be. I don't know. Don't care." "Hm-m." Sampson was silent, baffled. Garth's mind swung back to that ever-present question. Had he killed Doc Willard? Very soon, now, he might know the answer. But that was important only to him. The vital point was the black notebook Doc had with him. After a time Captain Brown stirred and sat up. Then the others. The men were a little panicky, but the presence of Brown and Sampson calmed them. Garth, relieved of guard duty, had fallen asleep almost instantly. He woke at dawn. Red twilight filtered down from above. The others were lying motionless in their blankets. Sampson's big body was huddled at the base of a tree.