MacFarland left the screen and swung the automatic rifle to bear on the beast. He carefully adjusted the telescopic sights, centering the hair lines on the target. There was a quiet whir and a slight shifting of the rifle as the computer device allowed for correct elevation and windage. "I have the critter dead center," MacFarland said eagerly. "Don't shoot," Gallifa suddenly warned. "There is something awfully peculiar about this. I'm positive our friend sees that fellow, but he doesn't seem the least bit worried. Keep the rifle trained, but let's watch a little longer. I'm interested in this." The gnome did seem aware that he was being stalked. Every so often he stopped to peer over his shoulder where his adversary was in plain view. Then he calmly went on feeding. He made no effort to flee or find concealment. Gallifa watched in puzzlement. Was the creature really so stupid? It wasn't logical. It just didn't make sense. How had the race survived? The pursuer tentatively crawled a few feet and stopped, its eyes gleaming. It crawled a few more. It seemed to be appraising the distance to be traversed. All at once it gathered its powerful legs snugly under it. A quick rush and a spring ... The gnome suddenly stopped feeding and curled into a tight ball. The charging beast seemed to be trying to change its course in mid-leap. It landed almost on top of its prey, but it didn't strike. Instead, it whirled, biting its shoulder and clawing spasmodically. Then it charged headlong across the slope and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Back at the truck, Gallifa turned to MacFarland. "Did you shoot it?" he asked with wide eyes. MacFarland shook his head. "The gnome just curled up like a porcupine," Gallifa said, frowning. "And that's certainly no protection ... I wouldn't think. It doesn't have spines or anything." "You're right," MacFarland answered. "I think the meat eater had a fit, and it's a damn good thing for your friend Mr. Gnome, too!" "You may be right," Gallifa speculated slowly. "Only--You know, it's a far-fetched thought, but maybe the gnomes throw out some scent that stops their enemies cold." "It would have to be considerably potent," MacFarland snorted. "To cause a fuss like that!" "Well," Gallifa affirmed with finality, "Samuels will have several specimens for us back at the base. We will find out after we get back." "I just thought of something," MacFarland exclaimed suddenly. "Do you think maybe that--that cat--or one like it, attacked Bradshaw? It may have been the reason he ran through the brambles, figuring the beast couldn't follow." "Hmm, I see what you mean," Gallifa replied thoughtfully. "The beast _was_ sort of catlike, and it _could_ have roughed Bradshaw up some. Only it doesn't seem logical that the experience could have driven him to the type of mental breakdown he suffered. Still, it's as good a guess as any, I suppose. Maybe Bradshaw will snap out of it and be able to tell us himself."