They piled a small cairn of the red rocks and Bradford planted the green and white flag of the Federated Nations. Encased in its protective covering he placed a note at its foot indicating their destination. "We ought to sign it 'Kilroy,'" Canham grunted as they trudged forward. "Say, how far do we have to walk?" "Around a hundred and fifty to two hundred miles." Their concerted whistle of dismay echoing oddly in their ear-phones, they set out in thoughtful silence across the red face of Mars, the hovering dust blotting out their footprints as they went. * * * * * Three days and seventy five miles later, they huddled wearily against the face of a small cliff shivering in the icy chill of the night wind. They had found a desiccated bush or two in a protected nook during the afternoon and carried it with them. Now, they fed the wiry twigs into the fire with miserly care glad of its meager light against the haunted dark. Rodriguez held a branch to the firelight. "Looks like a sort of poorhouse cousin to birch," he hazarded. "Wonder if they ever had forests on this God-forgotten planet?" Palmer grinned. "Well, at least there is still life of sorts. Rutherford would have flipped his lid over those comical little fellows we saw today." A half dozen times they had seen furry little marsupials, downy as chinchillas, their young poking out inquisitive snouts toward the interlopers and as promptly getting them slapped down again. A flicker of motion on the perimeter of firelight caught his eye. "We've got a visitor," he whispered. "There's one of the little beggars now." He tossed a crumb from his plate toward the peering head. Flicking a tongue like a lizard's, the visitor fielded it neatly in midair and advanced, peering hopefully at the circle of grinning faces. Palmer stretched out a stealthy hand and gripped it gently about the middle as it sniffed at his food can. "Look at him," he cried delightedly. "He doesn't even squirm. He likes me!" He tickled its ears, sliding his fingers down through the heavy, silky pelt. "You could make a fortune with these...." he dropped it abruptly with an anguished yelp and a string of blistering oaths, while his friends clung to each other and howled mirthfully. "Your little friend, he pulled a knife on you. No?" queried Rodriguez sympathetically. The grin faded from his suddenly startled face. "_Amigo, que lo es?_ Hey, fellows--something's wrong!" Palmer, his face shocked and dazed had dropped to his knees, whimpering and retching painfully. "My God, look--his hand!" whispered Bradford. They had removed their bulky gloves before eating and Palmer's exposed hand was black and swollen beyond recognition. Even as they watched, the skin split, leaking watery fluid. His body contorted, he rolled on the ground screaming with unbearable agony. Bradford's hand dropped to his pistol and fell away again. He looked at the others pleadingly.