And, to underline that gloomy prophesy, there issued from that hole
through which they had just come, muffled and broken, but still
threatening, the howl of the Throgs' hound.
The Survey officer caught the torch from Shann's hold and knelt to flash
it into the interior of the passage. As the beam slowly circled that
opening, he held out his other arm, measuring the size of the aperture.
"When that thing gets on a hot scent"--he snapped off the beam--"the
beetle-heads won't be able to control it. There will be no reason for
them to attempt to. Those hounds obey their first orders: kill--or
capture. And I think this one operates on 'capture.' So they'll loose it
to run ahead of their party."
"And we move to knock it out?" Shann relied now on the other's
experience.
Thorvald rose. "It would need a blaster on full power to finish off a
hound. No, we can't kill it. But we can make it a doorkeeper to our
advantage." He trotted down into the valley, Shann beside him without
understanding in the least, but aware that Thorvald did have some plan.
The officer bent, searched the ground, and began to pull from under the
loose surface dirt one of those nets of tough vines which they had used
for cords. He thrust a double handful of this hasty harvest into Shann's
hold with a single curt order: "Twist these together and make as thick a
rope as you can!"
Shann twisted, discovering to his pleased surprise that under pressure
the vines exuded a sticky purple sap which not only coated his hands,
but also acted as an adhesive for the vines themselves so that his task
was not nearly as formidable as it had first seemed. With his force ax
Thorvald cut down two of the stunted trees and stripped them of
branches, wedging the poles into the rocks about the entrance of the
hole.
They were working against time, but on Thorvald's part with practiced
efficiency. Twice more that cry of the hunter arose from the depths
behind them. As the westering sun, almost down now, shone into the
valley hollow Thorvald set up the frame of his trap.
"We can't knock it out, any more than we can knock out a Throg. But a
beam from a stunner ought to slow it up long enough for this to work."
Taggi burst out of the grass, approaching the hole with purpose. And
Togi was right at his heels. Both of them stared into that opening,
drooling a little, the same eagerness in their pose as they had
displayed when hunting. Shann remembered how that first howl of the
Throg hound had drawn both animals to the edge of the occupied camp in
spite of their marked distaste for its alien masters.
"They're after it too." He told Thorvald what he had noted on the night
of their sortie.
"Maybe they can keep it occupied," the other commented. "But we don't
want them to actually mix with it; that might be fatal."
A clamor broke out in the interior passage. Taggi snarled, backing away
a few steps before he uttered his own war cry.
"Ready!" Thorvald jumped to the net slung from the poles; Shann raised
his stunner.
Togi underlined her mate's challenge with a series of snarls rising in
volume. There was a tearing, scrambling sound from within. Then Shann
fired at the jack-in-the-box appearance of a monstrous head, and
Thorvald released the deadfall.
The thing squalled. Ropes beat, growing taut. The wolverines backed from
jaws which snapped fruitlessly. To Shann's relief the Terran animals
appeared content to bait the now imprisoned--or collared--horror,
without venturing to make any close attack.
But he reckoned that too soon. Perhaps the stunner had slowed up the
hound's reflexes, for those jaws stilled with a last shattering snap,
the toad-lizard mask--a head which was against all nature as the Terrans
knew it--was quiet in the strangle leash of the rope, the rest of the
body serving as a cork to fill the exit hole. Taggi had been waiting
only for such a chance. He sprang, claws ready. And Togi went in after
her mate to share the battle.