"That damned bird is blocking the trail." "We'll have to knock him over," Sorensen said. "Watch out for his feet. Let's go!" They raced toward the cassowary, swinging their spades. The cassowary hesitated, unable to make up its mind between targets. Then it turned toward Cable and its right leg lashed out. The partially deflected blow sounded like the flat of a meat cleaver against a side of beef. Cable grunted and collapsed, clutching his ribs. Sorensen stabbed, and the honed edge of his spade nearly severed the cassowary's head from its body. The wild pig and the anteater were coming at him now. He flailed with his spade, driving them back. Then, with a strength he hadn't known he possessed, he stooped, lifted Cable across his shoulders and ran down the path. A quarter of a mile down he had to stop, completely out of breath. There were no sounds behind him. The other animals were apparently not following. He went back to the wounded man. Cable had begun to recover consciousness. He was able to walk, half-supported by Sorensen. When they reached the camp, Sorensen called everybody in for a meeting. He counted heads while Eakins taped up Cable's side. Only one man was missing. "Where's Drake?" Sorensen asked. "He's across the island at North Beach, fishing," said Tom Recetich. "Want me to get him?" Sorensen hesitated. Finally he said, "No. I'd better explain what we're up against. Then we'll issue the guns. _Then_ we'll try to find Drake." "Man, what's going on?" Recetich asked. Sorensen began to explain what had happened at Site 4. * * * * * Fishing provided an important part of the expedition's food and there was no work Drake liked better. At first he had gone out with face mask and spear gun. But the sharks in this corner of the world were numerous, hungry and aggressive. So, regretfully, he had given up skin diving and set out handlines on the leeward side of the island. The lines were out now, and Drake lay in the shade of a palm tree, half asleep, his big forearms folded over his chest. His dog, Oro, was prowling the beach in search of hermit crabs. Oro was a good-natured mutt, part airdale, part terrier, part unknown. He was growling at something now. "Leave the crabs alone," Drake called out. "You'll just get nipped again." Oro was still growling. Drake rolled over and saw that the dog was standing stiff-legged over a large insect. It looked like some kind of scorpion. "Oro, leave that blasted--" Before Drake could move, the insect sprang. It landed on Oro's neck and the jointed tail whipped out. Oro yelped once. Drake was on his feet instantly. He swatted at the bug, but it jumped off the dog's neck and scuttled into the brush. "Take it easy, old boy," Drake said. "That's a nasty-looking wound. Might be poisoned. I better open it up."