It took about fifteen minutes. Abel finally lay panting on the ground, exhausted but conscious, while Tinnerman rummaged in the pack for first aid. "I knew you could take me," Abel said. "It had to be fast, or that damn endurance of yours would figure in. You ever been tired in your life, Tinny?" Tinnerman handed him the sponge, to clean up the blood. "Last night I climbed the Quink," he said. "I stood on its head--and it never made a motion." "Quink? Oh, you mean the monster." Abel sat up suddenly. "Are you trying to tell me--" A look of awe came over his face. "That thing with the legs, the big one--you mean we slept under--" He paused for more reflection. "Those tracks--it does figure. If it hadn't been so dark, we would have seen that the monster was still standing in them! That's why there were leaves under there, and a couple of prints from the front feet. It must have been asleep...." His mind came belatedly to grips with the second problem. "You _climbed_ it?" Tinnerman nodded soberly. "It couldn't have slept through that. I used the spikes.... I didn't catch on until I saw the way the leaves had been eaten around the head. All it had to do was open its mouth--but it let me go. Live and let live." Abel came to his feet. "O.K., Charlie--we'll wait six hours before heading for the ship. That'll give us time to look this thing over. Don't get me wrong--I haven't made up my mind. I may still tell the captain ... but not right away." Tinnerman relaxed. "Let's see what we can learn," he said. He reassembled Abel's pack, then glanced up. * * * * * The foot was there, poised with Damoclesian ponderosity fifteen feet above their heads. The eye was open, fibrils extended. The quinquepedalian had come upon them silently. "Split!" Tinnerman yelled. The two men dived in opposite directions. Once more the ground bounced with concussion, as he raced for the nearest tree. He slid around it, safe for the moment. A glance back showed the monster hauling its foot back into the air. Only half of Don Abel had made it to safety. Then the huge hoof hovered and dropped, and the grisly sight was gone. There was only another flat print in the earth. Abel might have been fast enough, if he hadn't been weakened by the fight. Just as Slaker would have been more careful, had he been warned. The quinquepedalian was the agent; but Tinnerman knew that he was the cause of the two deaths. Now Quink approached the tree, spinning in her stately dance, hoofs kissing the shadowed ground without a sound. She stood. Why hadn't she crushed them both as they fought, oblivious to the danger above? She must have been there for several minutes, watching, listening. One gentle stomp, and vengeance would have been complete. Why had she waited? Fair play? Was this thing really intelligent? Did it have ethics of its own--her own?