Wearily Garth got up and went over to the giant. "Sampson!" he called. "Wake up! We've got a job--" He stopped. Sampson's eyes were open, fixed and blank, and his dark cheeks had a significant ruddy flush. The Noctoli poison--! Garth stepped back, white to the lips. A sudden, horrible sense of loneliness pressed down on him. In the jungle things seemed to move, closing in menacingly. He was alone now. Alone--with twelve helpless companions to guard! Somehow--somehow!--he had to get them through. One more day, and they would be at their goal. They could not stay here, that was certain. Garth searched Sampson's pack till he found a half-empty whiskey bottle. He poured the burning stuff down his throat, though it rocked him back on his heels. But he needed artificial stimulation; it was the only thing that could keep him going now. It helped. Garth took Sampson's gun and stuck it in his belt. If his own jammed or ran out of ammunition, today, it would be unfortunate. One more day. _One more day!_ Somehow, he got Sampson, Brown and the others lined up. They would march when he gave the word. The hypnotic trance of the Noctoli pollen had turned them into robots. Garth put Paula directly behind him. The sight of her wan, drawn face made him feel a little frightened, though not for himself. He was remembering Moira, who had died on Earth years ago. Eleven men and a girl--and he was the only one who could save them. Garth made sure that the packs were in place on the men's shoulders. He took another drink, pulled out one of the guns, and gave the command to march. Like automatons the line followed him. If the day before had been hell, this was double-distilled hell. Within an hour, Garth's nerves were scraped raw. He had to be constantly alert. The wrenching strain of watching for camouflaged menace made his eyes ache. When movement came, he had to be ready. Ready to squeeze the trigger.... He had to have eyes in the back of his head. For Sampson, at the tail of the procession, was as helpless as the others. Liquor kept Garth going. Without it, he would have collapsed. By noon he was forced to call a halt, his eyes throbbing with the strain. But even then he could not relax. Danger waited everywhere. He never remembered what happened that afternoon. He must have acted automatically, through blind instinct. But he got them through, somehow.... It was like awakening from deep sleep. Garth was abruptly conscious that he was marching forward, his head moving rhythmically, his eyes searching the jungle. The red twilight was almost gone. He whirled, to see Paula directly behind him, unharmed. The others were strung out in single file--all of them, with Sampson's red head at the end. None was missing.