Jarl Gare glanced at Waltk sharply, and then at the gray vegetation. He grinned. "I wish I had your eyes, Waltk, or been raised on Jupiter where I'd have to develop such keen perception." Waltk shrugged his big shoulders. "You Earthmen have good eyes, too, but you do not need them as much as we do." "Are we still heading right?" Jarl Gare asked. Waltk nodded. They plodded on. That night they supped on a queer animal that Waltk had run down and throttled with his bare hands. It tasted like beef-steak. Waltk ate prodigiously, but Jarl Gare, who wanted to be sharp and quick on the morrow, ate sparingly. During the night, Jarl awakened several times, his nerves on edge for the test he knew lay ahead, but Waltk slept heavily. When they awakened the Chameleon men were there. [Illustration: _When they awoke the Chameleon men were there._] Waltk was on his feet instantly, his great hands reaching out. Jarl came to his feet more slowly, wondering that the Chameleon men had not slain them while they slept. The skins of the Chameleon men were a mottled gray, colored to match the gray background in which they lived, he observed. There were a dozen of them ranged around the big Jovian and the slight Earthman. Their barbed two-pronged spears were held lightly in their webbed hands, and their lidless eyes stared blankly at the naked pair. Jarl Gare waited quietly, one hand on the powerful biceps of his companion. Finally, he became aware of a picture growing in his mind. Of a vine and tree-latticed river spouting out of a jungle into a deep pool. All around the edges of the pool were stacked great piles of huge oyster shells. The surface of the pool broke regularly, conical heads popped out and the mottled bodies swam toward shore, depositing the huge shells where they were taken by other Chameleon men, expertly split open and examined. One out of three yielded a pulsating pearl. Then into Jarl Gare's mind came another picture. He and Waltk leaping through the trees, then jumping through the force field, finally coming to the fields, leaving the jungle behind. Then a picture of the pearl beds again. Now a picture of strange men--wrestling with the Chameleon men, throwing great weights, leaping, diving into the pool, racing against the Chameleon men in their own element. A great sigh lifted Jarl Gare's breast. "Waltk," he cried. "We have passed all but the final test. One more, and the pearls are ours." The Chameleon men nodded and turned, to march ahead of them across the fields. Jarl Gare was exulting. "I will win a pearl--a glorious gray pearl pulsing with life and beauty. I have no weakness, Waltk. My quest is almost over." Waltk said quietly, "You have a weakness, Jarl. Perhaps I can help you." Jarl Gare drew his slight body taut. "I need no help now, Waltk. I used you when I needed you. I don't need you any longer. I will win out alone. With all your strength, you are weaker than I."