By the time they entered the blue planet's atmosphere the intervals between the chirps of the s-tracer had shortened until now they were almost continuous. Gradually, as they plunged toward the planet's surface, the room's temperature rose. They stripped to their shorts and kept the pace steady. When it seemed that they could stand the heat no longer the ship paused, and settled slowly to the ground. Quickly Wallace shut off the drive motors. The only sound within the ship was the purring of the cooling apparatus. "Any chance that it can detect our cooling motor?" Saxton asked. "I don't believe it can follow anything smaller than our main drive," Wallace answered. He pointed to the s-tracer. "It's already lost us. Of course we know it won't go away. It'll circle the planet until we come out and try again." During the next hour, as the temperature within the ship returned slowly to normal, Wallace and Saxton kept busy checking the gauges that measured and recorded the elements in the planet's atmosphere. At last Saxton sighed heavily. "Livable," he said. "Closer to Earth norm than we could have hoped," Wallace agreed. "What do we do now?" "We could stay here for two years--until the bloodhound runs out of fuel. That's the estimated time it's supplied for." "That doesn't sound like a very encouraging prospect." Saxton's dark tan features were lined with worry. "We don't have food enough, for one thing. Maybe the aliens will get discouraged and go away." "Hardly. You've forgotten that the bloodhounds are fully automatic, and unmanned. A machine doesn't discourage very easily." "We sure as heck ought to be able to outwit a machine," Saxton said. He thought for a moment. "If we waited until it was across the planet from us, we might have time to get out, and take another jump toward home. One more and we'd be far enough in so our own cruisers could take care of the bloodhound." Wallace shook his head. "Its speed is too great. Our best chance is that it doesn't hold to a straight path around the planet. The aliens--not knowing the size of any body we might land on--wouldn't set it for a dead-line trajectory. I hope." There was nothing for them to do until the s-tracer had followed the movements of their stalker long enough to make an adequate graph. They decided to go outside while they waited. * * * * * Wallace and Saxton took only a few steps--and stopped in amazement. They had a visitor! The native rose from his kneeling position on the ground and stood erect. Wallace studied the face of the naked, stick-thin savage, trying to penetrate beneath the dirt and grime, beneath the mask of impassive features, to find the quality that held him in questioning immobility. For a moment he succeeded. It was not high intelligence that he found, but rather an innate conviction of power. A conviction and self-assurance so deep that it needed no demonstration for expression.