Inside, dry and crumbling, was a small doll made of brown clay. Harris and Cantrell stared at it, amazed at its perfection of modeling. It was, or seemed to be, a very good image of an Earthman. Certainly, it was not intended to portray one of the stunted little S'zetnurs, for the legs and feet were perfect, the hands beautifully formed, the facial details fine and delicate--though there was about the thing, Cantrell noted, an odd expression of cruelty and arrogance-- "Well! What d'ya know?" he snapped. "A graven image! The aborigines on Terra used to make these images of an enemy--just before slipping him a poison-dart in the back! Juju ... and they made sure it worked!" He whirled on the little S'zetnur, who was whistling shrilly now, jumping up and down in agitated protest. At that moment, one of the diggers shouted a warning. Cantrell turned, to see beyond the handful of workers in the valley a small army of S'zetnurs advancing on them from the jungle-edge. Backs to the cliff wall, Harris and Cantrell snatched out their blasters. The captain yelled, warning the unarmed workers to make a dash for the camp: "_General alert! Prepare for attack!_" * * * * * Then the dwarfs were upon them, armed rather pathetically with clubs strapped to their fingerless hands. Advancing in a rough semi-circle upon Cantrell and Harris, and completely ignoring the half-dozen workers who dashed past them, the little S'zetnurs closed in. Lips tight, eyes narrowed, the Earthmen waited until they were within ten feet-- Then, methodically, they let go with their blasters, searing the attackers from left to right. Screaming, they went down, half-charred bodies and burning hair. One little creature, luckier or bolder than the rest, struck a blow that numbed Harris's left arm. Cantrell blazed away at him. He fell, an unrecognizable mass of ashes. The men from Terra pressed against the cliff wall, panting, their eyes raking the pale jungle for the next wave of attackers. "How d'you like these babies?" Cantrell snarled. "Planning to jump us all the time--And we were feeling sorry for them!" They waited, tensed for the next attack. In the distance they could hear the siren on the spaceship, calling a general alert. Calling in the Geiger crews, and the diggers, and the ethnologists. _Natives hostile, natives hostile!_ the signal was screaming-- Cantrell turned his head briefly--and stiffened as he saw the small S'zetnur decked in flowers. He was still alive, crouched just inside the cave, clutching the mud doll and whimpering softly. The captain glared at him, hard-eyed. "Ambassador, huh?" He smiled without mirth. "To keep us from being suspicious of this juju-attack, until it was too late!" He jerked his head at Harris. "Blast him! He's a spy, isn't he? Been all over the camp. Knows just where everything's located--"