"It sure _is_ fast," Eakins said, his voice conversational again. "Fastest damned bug I've ever seen. Jumped on my neck, stung me and jumped off again." "How do you feel?" Sorensen asked. "Fine," Eakins said. "Hardly felt the sting." "Where is the bug now?" "Back in the bush." "The animals?" "They went away. You know," Eakins said, "maybe this thing doesn't work on humans. Maybe--" "What?" Sorensen asked. "What's happening now?" There was a long silence. Then Eakins' voice, low-pitched and calm, came over the walkie-talkie. "We'll speak with you again later," Eakins said. "We must take consultation now and decide what to do with you." "_Eakins!_" There was no answer from the other end of the walkie-talkie. IV Returning to their camp, the men were in a mood of thorough depression. They couldn't understand what had happened to Eakins and they didn't feel like speculating on it. The ravaging afternoon sun beat down, reflecting heat back from the white sand. The damp jungle steamed, and appeared to creep toward them like a huge and sleepy green dragon, trapping them against the indifferent sea. Gun barrels grew too hot to touch, and the water in the canteens was as warm as blood. Overhead, thick gray cumulus clouds began to pile up; it was the beginning of the monsoon season. Drake sat in the shade of the copra shed. He shook off his lethargy long enough to inspect the camp from the viewpoint of defense. He saw the encircling jungle as enemy territory. In front of it was an area fifty yards deep which they had cleared. This no man's land could perhaps be defended for a while. Then came the huts and the copra shed, their last line of defense, leading to the beach and the sea. The expedition had been in complete control of this island for better than three months. Now they were pinned to a small and precarious beachhead. Drake glanced at the lagoon behind him and remembered that there was still one line of retreat open. If the bug and his damned menagerie pressed too hard, they could still escape in the ketch. With luck. Sorensen came over and sat down beside him. "What are you doing?" he asked. Drake grinned sourly. "Planning our master strategy." "How does it look?" "I think we can hold out," Drake said. "We've got plenty of ammo. If necessary, we'll interdict the cleared area with gasoline. We certainly aren't going to let that bug push us off the island." He thought for a moment. "But it's going to be damned hard digging for treasure." Sorensen nodded. "I wonder what the bug wants." "Maybe we'll find out from Eakins," Drake said. * * * * * They had to wait half an hour. Then Eakins' voice came, sharp and shrill over the walkie-talkie. "Sorensen? Drake?" "We're here," Drake said. "What did that damned bug do to you?" "Nothing," Eakins said. "You are talking to that bug now. My name is the Quedak." "My God," Drake said to Sorensen, "that bug must have hypnotized him!"