They concentrated on the tricky entrance to the lee side of Little Harbor Cay. It meant finding and passing a treacherous coral head north of the adjoining Frozen Cay. Little Harbor Cay was midway in the chain of the Berry Islands which stretched to the north like beads in a necklace. "There's the cove," called Carol. About a mile of coastline ahead was the small native settlement. Once the center of a thriving sponge industry, the island was now practically deserted. A handful of small cottages, a pile of conch shells on the beach and two fishing smacks gave evidence of a remaining, though sparse, population. Dusk was rapidly approaching and Carol strained her eyes against the failing light. Bill heard her call his name and saw her pointing--not ahead to their anchorage, but amidships and toward the sky. He turned his eyes to where she was indicating and saw a dullish object in the sky, some thousand feet up. The object seemed to be falling leisurely towards earth. "What in the world is that?" asked Bill. "It's not a bird, that's for sure." The object seemed to be parachuting, not falling. The breezes were blowing it towards the island. Before they could study it further, it was lost in the lowering dusk and darkness of the shore line. "Looks like a ball on a parachute," Bill finally said. However, the business at hand was to make secure the _Seven Seas_ and together they spent the next quarter hour anchoring. After "setting the hook" securely, Carol and Bill donned swim suits, dove overboard and swam lazily the 300 yards in to shore. "Let's try to find that thing we saw. It shouldn't be too far from here," said Carol the moment they hit the beach. They climbed inland on the rocky island. Little green lizards scooted underfoot and vines scratched at their ankles. Bill was leading, when suddenly he called, "Carol, I see something up ahead! There's something lying on the ground!" He hurried toward what he had seen. The dying sun reflected on a luminescent bolt of cloth, somewhat like a spun-aluminum fabric. Thin wire lines were entangling it, and about ten feet away lay three fragments of what appeared to have been a dull metal box. Carol knelt at the closest piece, evidently a corner of the box. It was lined with wiring and tubes. "It looks like electronic equipment," decided Carol, peering intently at the strange piece. Bill had approached the second and largest fragment. He carefully turned it over. It was filled with black and yellow ... fur? "Oh no!" he cried, knowing in a flash, yet denying it in his mind at the same time. Stunned, he stared at the perky ears, the dull staring and unseeing eyes, the leather thongs that held the head and body of a dog to the metal encasement. Carol saw it the next instant. "It's some horrible joke!" she gasped. "It couldn't be the second Russian satellite, it couldn't be Muttnik! My God, no, it couldn't be!"