Disbro found his own feet, and shakily wiped his clear-cut face, still pale from exertion and terror. "That was close." "Say," ventured Max, "Mr. Planter, he's gone." Disbro looked around. The mud expanse around them was stirred up as if by boiling struggles, but there was no sign of Planter or the thing with the tentacles. "That thing got him," decided Disbro, but Max shook his heavy head. "Huh-uh," he demurred. "No. The girl, she got him." "Girl?" echoed Disbro, and scowled. "What girl?" Max pointed with a finger like the haft of a hammer. "She was in the trees. Got him." Disbro peered at the trees, then at Max. His scowl deepened. "What are you drivelling about?" "The girl," said Max. Disbro snorted and skinned his teeth in scorn. "How," he demanded of the misty skies, "do I get mixed up with minus quantities like this? A girl, the man says! Here on Venus!" "A girl," repeated Max firmly. Disbro wheeled upon him. "Come off of that!" he commanded sharply. "Planter's gone. Dead. You're all I have to associate with. You'll act sane, whether you are or not." Max's big, pained eyes faltered before the glittering accusation of Disbro's gaze. "All right," he conceded. "There wasn't any girl there, you idiot!" Max nodded. "I saw--" "Shut up!" Disbro cut him off. "No girl, I said!" "No girl," repeated Max obediently. Rain began to fall, fat drops the size of marbles. "Back inside," commanded Disbro. "There'll be lots of this kind of weather. We'll have something to eat, then study another way to reach the trees yonder." "No girl," said Max. "But I saw." * * * * * The rain that drove Disbro and Max back into their shelter filtered through layers of leafage, beginning to wash the mud from Planter's clothing. He stared again at his rescuer. "I seem to have understood what you said," he managed at last. "Isn't so strange, that?" she flung back, in words somehow run together. "E'en though you're mad enow to sport with yonder muck-worm," and her wide, bright blue eyes flicked toward the danger he had lately avoided, "you'll have the tongue of mankind. Art no man?" "Man enough, young woman," rejoined Planter, a little nettled. "I suppose it's like the fantasies--we can read each other's minds, or something." "Something," she echoed, as if humoring a child. "And I owe you thanks for saving my life." "Oh, 'twas no great matter." She shouldered the crossbow. "Come, for the Skygors will be about our heels." She picked her way rapidly among the steam, with the surest and cleverest of feet. Women on Earth were never so graceful or sure, decided Planter, hurrying after. He was aware that he did not step on the muddy surface of Venus, but upon a matted over-floor, of roots, fallen stems, ground-vines, sometimes great sturdy leaves like lily-pads grown to the size of double mattresses. "Wait, young lady," he called, "who are the Skygors, you mentioned and why should they be after us?"