The wind had grown stronger, so strong that the thick plastic over the window shivered slightly. Purnell thanked the galaxy that he wasn't out chasing an escaped prisoner. He never liked those jobs, regardless of the weather. He remembered once when he had gone out with hounds after a murderer. Closer and closer they had come, with the hounds baying and yelping. At the end they trapped the man in a cave and the dogs got in first. It was not a pretty sight and Purnell had found it too easy to think of himself in the other man's shoes. It didn't seem right. He turned to the warden. "What happens when the mertha corner the fellow. Do they attack?" "Not physically, but they leave terrible mental scars unless the men get there quickly and call them off. You saw how Jim acted when they came into the room. They weren't paying any attention to him, but he escaped once and the mertha tracked him down. Now he goes to pieces whenever he sees one of them." Purnell grunted and pushed himself out of the chair. "It will be quite a while before they can catch him. I am going to the office you were helpful enough to lend me and work on my report. We can finish our business after you get this affair off your mind. Will you let me know how the chase comes out?" "Yes, Mr. Purnell, I shall be glad to. I'll call you." The warden turned to a stack of papers on his desk and Purnell strode through the door. * * * * * The water was cold. He clung to the log for as long as he dared but his fingers were getting numb and his thighs could no longer grip the log tightly. It swung close to the left bank and the man slid off it and wearily stroked himself over to the bank. It was steep, and slippery from the rain, but he managed to crawl up. He lay on the wet grass feeling the rain soak through his prison uniform. If he could just close his eyes, but he had to go on. They would be after him in no time at all. The mertha. He shuddered at the thought of the stories he had heard. The rain was thicker, slanting sharply from the strong wind. It was vile weather but it would keep the helicopters grounded. They wouldn't dare fly in the gusts that were sweeping up the valley. The mertha were fast but not as fast as a helicopter. If he could get over the ridge and into Zadda City there was always a space scout ready to take an escaped prisoner to the pirates' moon. He had been walking and running for an eternity. He slipped and stumbled up the long slope to the ridge, gasping for breath and digging his fist into his side to dull the sharp pain that cut him there from the running. He found himself straining to listen through the pounding of the rain. Then he cursed to himself. There wouldn't be anything to hear, no baying of these hell hounds, the mertha. Nothing for the ear--just torture and anguish for the mind.