Crouched in the brush, panting and slightly dizzy from unaccustomed exertion, I watched Pilon stalking across the bridge, rifle at the ready. My breath began to come easier and my head cleared. He was across now. He moved into the trail, eyes straining into the shadows. For a moment I had the mad notion of rushing him until I realized in what poor condition my academic life had left me for any wrestling with an outdoor type like Pilon. Instead I would lure him to the edge of the gorge. Disturbing the undergrowth to look for a stone would be suicide; the noise would attract his attention and fire. As a substitute missile I slipped off my wrist-watch, clipped my pen on the band, and lofted them across the trail into the brush near the gorge, praying they would make enough noise. They did. Pilon turned sharply. For a moment he listened. I was certain he would hear my heart pounding wildly. Cat-like he made his way to the spot where my missile fell, probing the leafy undergrowth with the rifle. Then, calling on four years as blocking back at Princeton, I raced out of hiding. Pilon half twisted in surprise as I smashed into him with a rolling hip block that sent him teetering backwards over into the gorge. I can still hear that long shrill scream of terror echoing in my ear. The impetus of my drive carried me into the bush. I disentangled myself and looked over into the dry, rocky bed of the gorge. Two forms lay motionless there, in dark spreading splotches. Thoroughly shaken, I stumbled over the bridge and back along the darkening trail to Pilon's camp, where I collapsed in a stupor on the dead man's cot, too exhausted for superstitious misgivings, and fell into a deep sleep. In the morning a native runner went into Katanga to notify the authorities of the deaths and to have another jeep sent out for me. For two days I was held up in Katanga during the inquest and inquiry. Disney flew down to talk with me, angry that I should upset the leisurely routine of his existence. My explanations, from which I omitted any mention of Chetzisky, didn't satisfy him, but he let matters rest rather than perturb himself by probing further. _EXTRACTS, HOSPITAL CASE HISTORY NO. 3007_: _6:35 P.M. Thrombopenia very far advanced. Blood bubbling at patient's lips. Lab reports heparin in blood stream.... 6:50 P.M. Noted radiologist flown in by jet bomber from Los Angeles. Says there is no hope. Radioactive element absorbed through lacerations in patient's body and is now fixed irrevocably in bone marrow. Patient seemed to smile at radiologist._ I wonder who that serious looking gentleman is who was just examining me. I couldn't help smiling at his pompousness; you'd think he was a judge reading out a death sentence.