Recovering from his first shock, he twisted the carbine over his shoulder until he felt the muzzle prod into flesh and pulled the trigger. The flat vicious "craack!" of the rifle slapped back from the cliffs. The arms relaxed. He wrenched himself free, spun around. One glance told him these were the lean red-haired savages he'd seen last night. He was already pulling the trigger as he recognized them. The shot knocked the nearest brute off his feet. The others hesitated, ringing him in like a pack of wolves. Down the trail, the two green tinted porters stood nervously, the litter perched atop their shoulders. The glittering purple-shelled octopod was sitting bolt upright in the litter. At this distance it looked like a huge snail--an obese snail that has grown out of its shell. Perched on one of its tentacles was a kite-like thing. Jupiter jerked the gun around. But at that moment the purple-shelled monstrosity tossed the kite-thing into the air where it spread enormous membrane wings. With a shock, he realized that the kite was alive--a huge, flying, web-like bird! He put a bullet through it. But if the shot had the least effect, it wasn't apparent. The creature swooped at him suddenly like a hawk dropping on a rabbit. He shot again, then tried to hurl himself aside, but the pack hampered his movements. One moist wing snared him, slapped around him like wet rubber. He twisted, squirmed, toppled to the ground, rolling over and over. The other wing lapped around him, binding his arms to his side, squeezing, squeezing. The pain was intolerable. As if from a distance, he could hear shouting. The savages had closed around him, snarling, baying triumphantly like hounds at the kill, but he was only dimly conscious of them. The octopod on the litter put a silver tube to its mouth. A loud mourning note wound through the jungle. The horn! It was the horn he'd heard earlier. It was also the last sound that he heard, for the terrible constriction never relaxed. Blackness welled up suddenly behind his eyes, blotted out everything. * * * * * When Jupiter Jones struggled back to consciousness, he was lying in a cage like a wild animal. The realization shocked him. The cage, he saw, was about two and a half meters long, very narrow and barely high enough for him to sit up in. It was only one of a whole row of such cages, and they were all occupied by men and women like himself. His gun was gone. His pack, even his clothes had been taken away from him. He grasped one of the bars, pulled himself to a sitting posture. His neck felt stiff and for a moment his head swam dizzily. Then the scene jarred into focus. Afternoon sunlight overlaid everything like an angry orange wash. Striped tents had been pitched along the river bank. Four of the purple-shelled octopods squatted about a cloth spread on the ground beneath the largest pavilion.