Crag's attention was suddenly yanked back to his predicament, when Joe Braun darted for another shadow. Crag snapped another bolt and missed again. Either the bandit had plenty of guts or he knew Ron Crag was really a poor shot. He did not hesitate in his advance from shadow to shadow toward the catatread. It was a duel to the death, here in the shadows. Ron Crag dashed to the next shadow without drawing flame. Apparently Joe deliberately held his fire, for the lighted area between this one and the next shadow was much further than Crag could sprint even in ten seconds. And beyond the next one lay the catatread. He crouched against the rock cliffs, glancing first toward the vehicle, then back at the black blot that he knew concealed the killer. There were only three more spires between Joe Braun and the catatread, three more shadows, three more short sprints. Once the claim jumper made the machine Ron Crag knew the duel was over anyway. Maybe his best chance was to wait here, aim carefully and take a chance on a lucky hit. But if he missed Braun in the first sprint the man could make it all the way to the spire nearest the machine before Crag could recharge. And if he reached that last spire.... Perhaps he'd better run for it, after all, Crag thought desperately. But he knew with a cold certainty the sure aim of the gunman could not miss him in the long sprint. Perhaps if he shot in Joe's direction just after he broke into the earthlight it might divert the killer's aim enough for a miss. He decided abruptly that it was his only chance. * * * * * With trembling fingers he checked the range dials on the gun. His tongue clung to the roof of a dry mouth. Crag crouched, darted forward--then halted so abruptly on the very rim of the shadow that he fell backwards and landed gently on both elbows. Slowly he got to his feet, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Several space moths were weaving through space toward the shadow of the pinnacle concealing the bandit. Crag stared, breathing more evenly now. More and more of the nebulous creatures were rising above the catatread and moving straight as a plumb line in the wake of the leading moths. He stared at the inky shadows where he knew the killer lurked. The first two or three moths had already reached their destination. He could see their pulsating, irradiant veins curled around some object that had attracted them. More and more of the creatures floated into the shadow, disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared for a moment, and then reappeared as a vague glow, fluttering toward the mass their companions had already formed.