* * * * * The rifle hung there a long moment, as Elliot watched Blayne's pudgy finger tightening on the trigger. Then he lowered it. "No," he said. "I don't trust my aim. I might ruin the bird, and I'd never forgive myself." He handed the gun to Elliot. Elliot took it reluctantly, feeling the coolness of the barrel, feeling the heaviness of the stock. "_You_ shoot it," Blayne said. "No I won't," Elliot retorted. "We said nothing about--" "That doesn't matter," said Blayne blandly. "I'm not asking you to shoot the bird. I'm _ordering_ you to." Hot arrows of rage danced before Elliot's eyes. He saw the Dragonbird--now feasting on its sacrifice--saw that beautiful, noble head pierced by a rocketing lump of metal, pictured the smoking rifle in his hands--and he could barely check the impulse to swing the rifle and bash in Blayne's bloated skull. "I won't do it," he said. "I will not shoot that bird." "You're a fool, Elliot. You know that if we don't get the bird, you don't get paid. Why don't you--" "_I won't do it!_" "Very well," said Blayne coldly. "I can't waste further time arguing with you. The bird may go back inside the temple any minute. Give me the gun. I'll do it myself--and I'll settle with you later." Silently, Elliot returned the gun to the fat man. Blayne took it, cocked it, sighted along the barrel. A second time, his finger began to tighten on the trigger. Suddenly, in a flash of bitter insight, Elliot realized he could never live with himself again if he allowed that finger to close on the trigger. No matter what the cost to himself, he couldn't let this fat butcher kill one of the most beautiful things that had ever lived, as--as a _trophy_. All the pent-up rage that had been building inside him since his first meeting with Blayne exploded. Realizing exactly what the significance of his action was, he threw up his hand and slammed it hard against the barrel of the rifle just as Blayne fired. The shot cracked out, breaking the silence, and a native fell. Blayne looked at him in astonishment. "You fool!" he shouted. The fat man leaped up, swinging the rifle around in a buzzing arc toward Elliot. The pilot side-stepped, and the butt whistled through the air inches above his head. Blayne, off-balance after the swing, fell away to one side, and Elliot sprang at him. * * * * * The fat man sank to one knee under Elliot's attack, but he turned out to be stronger than the rocket man had thought--under the coating of fat was solid muscle. Grunting, Blayne forced himself upward and hurled Elliot away from him. Livid hate sparkled in Blayne's eyes, and Elliot knew that his own face was an angry mask. This was going to be a battle to the death, here on the banks of this sluggish Venusian river. The two men circled warily around each other. Blayne swung out one apelike arm in a tentative offensive gesture, and Elliot danced backward.